A Veritable Sundry of Thoughts

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May 30, 2012

I’m sitting on our sun soaked patio at the computer while Hudson is inside watching Mighty Machines. He’s so excited about that show, and even does synchronized grunts with the theme song. “UGH UGH, Mighty Machines!!” That’s right, there are grunts in the theme song, the only thing better than hand claps in a song are grunts, in my humble opinion.

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Zoey is sitting with me on top of the table, and that’s fine, because she usually wants to sit in my lap, but there is limited space on my lap, plus it hurts my legs, and she farts uncontrollably. I guess everyone farts uncontrollably, right? Because if it was controllable, we’d all just not fart, or fart at really awesome times, like when you’re mad at someone and you want to make your storm off exit that much more memorable.

Like I said, Zoey is sitting on the table with me, and every so often she gets anxious and wants to get down. The table is too tall for her to jump off it, and I’ve explained it many times to her, that she’s not as lithe and nimble as a cat, instead she’s girthy and uncoordinated. So, wait, here comes the funny part, I told her, “If you want to get down, let me show you the way…” And holy crap, I’m singing the Whoomp There It Is song. And that’s about as exciting as my day will probably get today. Unless someone wants to get in an argument with me so I can try out the whole farting on cue thing when I exit. That would defiantly be a highlight, might even make it in my diary.

The nice thing about sitting out here, other than ignoring my youngest child, is that I can be at one with nature. There is a hummingbird nest on one of my magnolia trees, and her babies just hatched, and I was able to take a blurry photo of the oily little creatures. SCIENTIFIC FACT: baby hummingbirds are not cute, so I’m basically sparing you the icky details with my blurry photo.

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Today I sent Berlyn to school despite the lice outbreak that was recently reported by her school director. I’m nervous right now, because I had lice when I was little, TWICE. And both times my mom tried to give me away to various neighbors and relatives, but no one wanted me because of all the bugs.

I remember coming home from school early after being checked by the school nurse who wore plastic baggies on her hands and examined my scalp with a popsicle stick (we were an economically challenged school, to say the least), but at the time all I wondered was where the popsicle that used to be on that stick went.

Do you need help cleaning off another popsicle stick? I’ll handle that for you, Miss nurse lady ma’am.

When we got home I remember washing my hair with that medicated shampoo and then having my mom attempt to comb it out with that itty-bitty spaced comb, all while teaching me a string of colorful superlatives that I think she envisioned me teaching my own children one day. A gift, really.

As much as I’d love to pass on the gift of wrath and the spewing of dark and treacherous words to my children, should Berlyn bring home an itchy head of festering lice, I thought I’d take some precautions. My first idea was a swim cap, and shaving off her eyebrows, but Berlyn didn’t take to the idea very well. Her loss really, I think it would have made her more interesting, I mean, look at Whoopi Goldberg, but Berlyn prefers to have eyebrows, and (deep sigh) that’s fine.

So my only choice was to spray her head down with tea tree infused water, slick it into a nubby pony tail, and shellack it with enough hair spray to win her the gold title in a Miss Alabama pageant.

It’s a helmet really, and if she falls down at school today, I have confidence that her head will be properly protected.

4 Comments:

There is only 1 thing missing from this post… I know, hard to imagine b/c it was jam-packed… but I would have loved to see a picture of Berlyn’s Alabama Helmet Up do 🙂

by Wendy Wilson on May 30, 2012

Hahah! Love it!

by Debbi on May 30, 2012

I guess you gotta take some chances in life. 😉
I was smiling through this whole post, I really enjoy your writing. (gush gush)

by cynthia on June 3, 2012

When I was little, my Mom did daycare in our home. My sister and I got treated so often for lice, just as a “precaution” it’s a wonder we aren’t both brain damaged from the chemicals. If we got so much as a note home that there was lice going around, we all got treated no matter what.

I finally got smart enough to start throwing the school notes away before she could see them.

by Kelly on June 5, 2012

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Sabbath

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May 29, 2012

We went to church this weekend, we don’t go very often. Not because of any other reason other than, it’s hard to get there. It’s hard to find space in our lives to fit church in, because we busy our lives with things that we think we should be doing, or we sleep in, or we pretend to forget, and then laugh when the clock says it’s too late, and say, WHOOPS! Like it was all some big mistake, but we know the truth. The truth is, it takes sacrifice to set apart two hours every week to move into a posture of being mindful of what this world is really all about. 

The pastor talked about taking a modern Sabbath; a time to break from the usual and rest. Also know as a Shabbat, a festive day when we free ourselves from the regular labors of life. It gives us a pause to consider the spiritual aspects of life and to spend the day with family. And that’s what we did this weekend. We rested, and we ignored our phones, at least for a tiny bit, to focus on the things that were happening right in front of us, and we did it at the beach, because nothing quite says Shabbat Shalom, like two lazy afternoons at the beach, am I right?

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Pat and I watched a couple struggle with a kayak. They were our entertainment. We named them Ronda and Mike. She was svelte, spirited, and energetic, while Mike showed a stubborn side and was overwrought with body issues (clearly, because he wore pants and a shirt into the ocean). They tried to get past the breakers but their boat kept capsizing, Ronda would giggle and throw her arms around Mike’s neck, while he would become discouraged, and push her off him. Finally they gave up, and her hand found his as they walked back to the shore, but his fingers didn’t curl around her hand, and his eyes wandered away from hers. We never heard their words, or their voices, but instead we observed their actions, and they spoke volumes. Pat and I decided that this might be the final date for Mike and Ronda as they walked back to their car, tired and quiet. And in that moment, I made a note to myself, to always curl my fingers around Pat’s hand when he holds mine, because love is in the details. Tucked away in the small crevices, and I never want Pat to wonder, I want him to know.

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Sunday night we went out, just the two of us. We found ourselves at a crowded restaurant in Laguna Beach, where the tables were scrunched together, and the people sitting next to you are awkwardly involved in your conversations. But I was kind of alright with it, because a pseudo celebrity sat next to Pat, Laurie, a past housewife, from the Real Housewives of Orange County. I tried to appear subtle and unaffected, but my insides were dancing a little bit.

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She asked me a question about what I was drinking, and if my salad was yummy, and I wanted to ask her a thousand questions in return, none of which were related to our dining experience, but I din’t want to come off as a total loser, so I kept my mouth shut and tried to focus on my husband instead.

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We went on a walk Monday night, and we went a new way, curving around paths we’ve never walked on before, and we found this perfect rope swing tied to a sturdy tree that was nesetled around a patch of grass, and the light was filtering through the surrounding trees, and it was all outstanding.

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And on our way back home we talked about Memorial day to our children, and how memorial is just another word for remember, and how it’s important that we take time to remember and fill our hearts with gratitude. We used words like country, fight, freedom, and sacrifice.

And there was that word again.

Sacrifice.

“Mommy, what’s sacrifice mean?”

“It means when you give something up for someone else.”

And then I paused, and got quiet, and I filled my heart with gratitude.

This week, I’ll be rolling that word sacrifice around in my mind because it’s sharp, with many points, and it’s sticky, and it’s heavy, and all of it is very important.

2 Comments:

Love this. We were at the same service this weekend. It was an awesome reminder. Glad you guys had a nice weekend!

by Sara on May 30, 2012

Beckey, the comment about always curling your fingers around Pat’s hand b/c you never want him to wonder was…..was just sweet and lovely and beautiful. Also beautiful? Your hair. I was about to say “wow! Your hair’s gotten so long!” Then I realized, “wait. Hair extensions. Still great hair, though.”

by Michelle on May 30, 2012

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Kind of poetic.

7 Comments

May 24, 2012

When I ask Hudson how he feels about Mama having another baby, he turns inward and stomps his fat foot on the ground. And I’m fairly certain that means, no thank you mommy. Then he crawls into my lap and proclaims with his blue as the moon eyes, that he is the baby.

Yes, my child, you are the baby.

I started showing for real last night. After the kids went to bed, I took a hot shower and when I got out , I looked at myself in the mirror, and there it was, belly. Protruding, and firm, and full of baby stuff. I rubbed it with oil and tried to sing to it, but all I could find in my mind was Whitney Houston’s, I want to Dance with Somebody. Which I guess, in a way, was kind of appropriate.

I watched my best friend labor yesterday.

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I wished that sentence could have said, I watched my best friend have her third baby yesterday, but I missed it. I had to leave because my mommy time card had expired, and the sacrifices I made throughout my day had finally caught up with me. I feel like I missed out, like I let her down, like I could have done more. But I can’t help to think on some level that I was exactly where I was meant to be. I was with her through her hardest time, and praying over her exhausted body. And when I got home, I was where I was meant to be. I was with my children, feeding them dinner, letting them paint their own toenails, and then get dirty in the street, putting them in the bath, and then reading them stories at bedtime. And it all felt kind of poetic. Because my friend’s baby was born at the same moment that my babies were in the bath giggling over bubbles, acting British, and twirling washcloths around until their faces were slick with dripping water. And as much as I wanted to be a part of my friend’s moment, I’m reminded that it was theirs, and my moments are here, in this tub, with really crappy English accents.

I tucked Hudson in bed last night and I laid with him for a while, and we watched the ceiling and laughed about the word “ouch.” And then it got quiet for a while, and I thought he was asleep, but then he put his babyish arms around my neck and said, “I don’t want you to have a nodder baby, ’cause I want you to be my mommy.”

OH.

I guess I never thought of it that way. I just thought he always wanted to be the baby. I used my adult understanding, to try to figure out a 2-year-old, and I had it all wrong. He thought that if I have another baby, that somehow I’d stop mothering him, that maybe I would love him less, or I wouldn’t be able to snuggle him at night and we wouldn’t be able to stare at the ceiling together anymore.

I just squeezed him tight and told him, “You know what Hudson? There’s nothing that could make me stop being your mommy. I’ll always be your mommy. ALWAYS. I’ll always be Hudson’s mommy. Even when this new baby is crying and needs to be fed, but you need help peeling a banana, I’ll still be your mommy. Even when you’re embarrassed of me when I drop you off at school and I’m wearing Garfield pajamas and all your friends laugh at my saggy boobies, I’ll still be your mommy, And even when I have to stand on a chair to look into your blue as the moon eyes, because you’re so tall, just like your daddy, and I’m a hunched over old lady with osteoporosis, I’ll still be your mommy.

“Nothing will change that. Nothing.”

And then he fell asleep, and it all felt kind of poetic.

7 Comments:

I should have known this would be incredibly well written….So thanks for writing this and making me cry while sitting at my desk at work…No really it’s cool that I look like the emotionally unstable one in the office now!

by Courtney on May 24, 2012

Aww. This is so sweet. Saggy boobies and all.

by Kelly on May 24, 2012

Very nice.

by Libby on May 24, 2012

swoon

by melinda on May 25, 2012

Preciousness galore.. Well said <3

by Debbi on May 25, 2012

So sweet. I also had the chance to watch my bestie labor, but missed the birth. You’re right, I think it’s meant to be that way. Congrats on your new upcoming baby! How exciting!

by Rachel on May 25, 2012

Absolutely loved this.

by Kristen on May 25, 2012

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Hands, Feet, and Mouth

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May 18, 2012

Hand, foot, and mouth disease just sounds gross. Am I right? It sounds like the only way you catch it is by sticking your hands AND your feet in your mouth…at the same time. Which reminds me, when I was younger, I used to have this nasty habit of biting my nails, maybe because I was a latch-key kid and I was always anxious that some stranger would beat down my door at any minute and show me a gun and then steal all the cereal out of the cupboards. I donno, I was young, what did people with a weapon that pounded down your door at 4:15 in the afternoon want? My cheap plastic collection of jewelry? For me to order a magazine subscription from them? You know what? I’ll bet they wanted our fancy television set that weighed as much as a fattened calf, and was on one of those swiveling bases, ours was oak. It was like a lazy-suzan for your T.V. That’s right, people we were living the dream.

My mom always warned my brother and I two things when were were home by ourselves: Never open the door to strangers, and don’t use the stove. Apparently everything else was fair game. Like eating all the Strawberry Shortcake vitamins, and jumping off the aforementioned television set into a pile of couch cushions. It was the only way to properly handle my vitamin high.

Clearly I was a nail-biter. I blame my mom, and the fear of strangers, and maybe it had something to do with all the vitamins, those made me paranoid.

When I was all done biting 10 of my fingernails, and the surrounding finger skin, and I still had a hankering for more, I’d start on my toes. That’s right folks, I’d bite my own toenails. I’ll give you a minute to soak up that visual…My feet probably stained black with asphalt, dirt, and neighborhood dog fecal particles, the underneith of my toenails dirty and foul smelling, my mouth salivating at the thought of tearing off a thick piece of toenail…Yup. Good stuff.

So anyways, I’m disgusting, and no that’s not how you contract hand, foot, and mouth disease. You catch it like you catch anything else, hanging out at your local preschool, eating sneeze muffins, or licking other people’s faces.

And somewhere in all that, Hudson got it. Which makes sense, because if there is an illness floating around, chances are Hudson wants a piece of it. Stomach flu? Check. Ear infections? Check. Pink eye? Sursies. RSV? Ooookay. Roseola? No problem. And then there’s your garden variety of colds, and flus, check, and check. So really it was only a matter of time before the hand, foot, and mouth thing got the best of him.

And lemme tell you, this sucker is a bitch. First it started off as super high fever which sucked a lot, but we’ve dealt with that before, and I know how to tackle a fever with the best of them, so I wasn’t too worried. Plus I got all those fever snuggles that ultimately come when your child is so lethargic and disoriented due to a lack of food and sleep, that they have no more energy in them to resist you and your overbearing motherly embrace. Beckey for the win.

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But then the fever broke, and I thought, Yess! We defeated this MoFo, up top Hudson! And when he went to give me a high-five I noticed a blister on his hand, then I looked at his chin, and it was covered with tiny red bumps. And that would have been fine if the bumps just stayed there, but they spread into his mouth, and basically turned my sweet cuddly boy into a fire monster who is now rejecting all food and water, snuggles of any kinds, naps, and happiness in general.

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It’s been a week since his fever started. I’m ready for this to be done with. And I’m pretty sure he is too.

Hand, foot, and mouth blows.

7 Comments:

Crazy sauce! It’s totally going around. Addy may or may not have gotten it too (it’s possible she contracted something else while this disease was spreading), but all her little friends at our church’s nursery got it, including a whole family! As you put it, “Hand, foot, and mouth blows”.

by Mark on May 18, 2012

My favorite is your inclusion that the swiveling TV base was made of oak. Miss you, Brumfield.

by amanda on May 18, 2012

Awww, poor kiddo! I hope you all make it through that as quickly as possible.

by cynthia on May 18, 2012

Your recap of how scary staying home alone was made me laugh out loud! I was exactly the same way 🙂 Sorry you guys are dealing with this. We had it last year and it was shiiiiiity.

by Nicole Dyk ( is di-ke not dick-try not to be jealous) on May 18, 2012

So sorry to hear Hudson is dealing with this ugly thing! Hang in there and hope he gets well soon… Loved the story of when you were a latch-key kid.. Hysterical! I think we had that same oak swivel base for our 200 lb. TV!! LOL! Hysterical.. Take care Brumsfields.<3<3

by Debbi on May 19, 2012

It is the pits!! I was so sad for Eli when he got it especially since I thought it was teething at first and didn’t really think much of anything for the first few days until the sores started to show up. I hope Hudson is feeling better, I’m sending some prayers out to him. For Eli it was a good 10 days so it sounds like you’re on the tail end of it. As a fellow nail bitter, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you didn’t get it because you built up so many immunities due to eating finger and tone jam for years on end. I hope the rest of your family doesn’t get it!!

by mariah on May 19, 2012

Yuck. That blows. Maybe his lack of biting his toenails made him weak…

by Libby on May 21, 2012

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Cats Will Eat You When You Die

6 Comments

May 16, 2012

Alternate title,

Thoughts I have after watching a particularly dark and moody independent film, (that in no way referenced cats eating their owners at all, but the super morose film churned up enough vile thoughts within me that it ultimately led to this oddly shaped blog post), because I was bored last night, because my husband went to watch The Avengers with his BFF and I almost rented New Year’s Eve, but I wanted to be considered less vapid in the eyes of my mate, who would unavoidably judge me when he got home.

I googled cat eating their owner today.

Not because I have a specific fear of a cat eating me, but because I read about it in a book. The author casually mentioned that if an owner of a cat dies, the cat will eventually get hungry and eat their person, and I had to find out if it was true.

And it is.

And now I am.

–afraid of being eaten by a cat, that is.

But I don’t live with any cats.

I live with a mouth-breathing pug that licks the upholstery, and the air, if she or someone in the room just farted, and her personal favorite, your shin if you’re not careful. And apparently dogs will eat you too. They might wait a little longer, because they actually have a heart, but eventually they might start to nibble at you.

I also live with 3, soon to be 4 other human beings. So the likelihood of me dying in my home and no one discovering me for such an elapsed amount of time that my dog starts to eat me is about as probable as me discovering that I have a conjoined twin. In my armpit. Whose  name is Dottie. And works as a telemarketer. And enjoys Corn Nuts, the BBQ flavored ones.

Nonetheless, the fear has been evoked.

I mean, can you imagine? First of all you’re dead, but you’ve probably died in some noble way, like giving money to an online charity to help people build water wells in Africa, and then your brain literally explodes with the sheer joy of picturing all the lives you are going to change with one small tap of your cursor. ::Click:: And that’s when you fall to the floor, smiling of course.

And then your obese pug waddles over sniffs your hair, and then starts to eat at your nose.

I’d like to think my dog is considerate enough to lay with me for a while and mourn my passing, Perhaps lick my shin for an unrefined, even by her standards, amount of time.

Actually I would not like to think of it at all, because this topic is entirely too morbid, and terribly vulgar. But it’s too late, I’ve already dug it up, shaken it around, and let it fall all over myself.

So my next logical step in this morbid conundrum is to teach my dog to fend for herself, should the need arise.

From now on, I’m going to start keeping a box of Cheez-Its low enough in the pantry that she can just open the pantry door, knock the box off the shelf, eat away at the box, rip open the plastic bag, then she could possibly live for enough time to not eat me. That’s actually asking for a lot, especially for my less-than-intelligent dog, but maybe my death will cause her to rise above her shortcomings and persevere. It would be like her very own made for TV movie, Watch as one courageous pug that lost it all begins to build her life back together one Cheez-It at at time. 

I’d watch that.

But if she absolutely had to eat me, I’d prefer that she start on my toes, and work her way up. I mean, it’s bad enough to die in your home and nobody notices, but then you add the extra level of embarrassment because now your dog is feasting on your face, and you might as well be dead.

Oh, wait.

Sooooo, in conclusion, I think I’ll stick with anencephalic films next time. They’re way more my speed.

6 Comments:

I appreciate that you thought this all the way through. Didn’t just have the thought and consider it such a remote & rediculous possibility, but entertained it and how it would really play out. Kudos.

by Patrick on May 16, 2012

Just for the record, your husband was off watching *the Avengers* and you felt the need to watch a movie he couldn’t make fun of you for. While he was watching the Avengers. The Avengers? Girl, you could have watched the Notebook 3 times in a row and he’d still have nothing on you.

by Yellaphant on May 16, 2012

1) I’m with Yellaphant- and I’m going to go rent New Years Eve right now. 2) for what ever reason I don’t envision a death after noble behavior but rather a tripping on the hem of your bathrobe and flying into the wall after drinking too much vodka. But, that couldn’t be you. At least, not right now. So you are safe.

by Maurine on May 16, 2012

Hysterical.

by Dena Lucas on May 17, 2012

My oldest daughter has been turning into a crazy cat lady. I have often told her that Olive will eat her eyes if she dies. She claims Olive would never do this.

by Kelly on May 17, 2012

Thoroughly enjoyable post – and totally morbid. Probably why I enjoyed it so much!

by Nicole Longstreath on May 17, 2012

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Tres Magnifique

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May 14, 2012

We give our children music.

As if it were food.

We let them chew it.

Listen.

Taste it.

Inhale it.

Because we want them to sing triumphantly. Loudly and boldly. We want them to dance without boundaries. We want them to appreciate melodies and instruments, the subtle falsetto of a voice, and the way music makes your body sway without you knowing. It just rocks you from side to side, and your head nods gently, as if it were agreeing to the lyrics. So we celebrate that in our home. It’s always spilling out of our windows, out of our hearts, and out of our mouths.

Lately we’ve been listening to French music. I’d like to sit here and wax on about how we chose to listen to French music because we are such an elevated family. Because we are cultured, creative, and always searching for new ways to express ourselves. Because everything sounds better in the French language, and that’s actually true. Pat and I went to Paris for our honeymoon, and we heard it spoken all day, it poured into our ears, but it could never make it’s way out of our mouths. We would hear homeless people cussing at each other in the subway, and I’d think, now that’s a beautiful language. The phrase, “Your mom is a worthless whore,” inspired me on that trip to write tragically embarrassing poetry and take black and white 35 mm pictures of Parisian children on a merry-go-round in a very non-creepy way. But that’s not why we chose French music to fill our house. The truth stems from my children still being massively addicted to the Cars movie franchise. Disney is their drug, and I am their busted up dealer. My eyes puffy and swollen with lack of sleep and my judgment impaired because the movie promises 90 minutes of peace and quiet to fall over my children. I give in because it’s easy. Easy to push play and relax outside on our patio and pretend I’m somewhere far away where animated cars who have to use the bathroom don’t exist.

So there’s this scene in the Cars 2 movie where they fly to Paris and this adorable little French song comes on and it’s so perfect and Berlyn and I have practically mastered all the words in it, except for not at all because we know absolutely no French. “sha sha a mor parfume.” That’s as close as we can get to the language. And it suits us because we still feel tres magnifique.

Although I almost have a physical reaction to the mere mention of the Cars movies, this song helped widen our musical expanse. And next I think we’ll start start on Bollywood music. Jai ho!

And speaking of French things, I thought that I would try my hand at making French macarons this weekend for Mother’s Day. I had visions of me presenting perfectly airy pink cookies with a chocolatly middle to my mom and she would inevitably swoon and her hand would fly up to her mouth as she’d swear I bought them at an authentic patisserie. But hard cold reality set in and my cookies were chewy instead of airy, they were flat instead of poufy, and I was mildly ashamed to give them as gifts, but I did any way, because they were still the fanciest cookies I have ever made, and on some strange level I was proud of myself.

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And then it was Mother’s Day which was festive and light and made my heart swell up like a giant balloon because all day Berlyn would find herself saying, “Mommy I love you.” and “Mommy,  you’re so beautiful.” And then it would ignite Hudson to chime in and say, “I love mommy too!” as if it were a competition. It’s not. But if it were, everyday a different victor would emerge. Because sometimes Berlyn says, “I love you, but not when I get in trouble.” Because their love for me right now is conditional upon how many treats I let them eat or how long they have to sit in time out, but my love for them never ends. Ever.

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And I heard someone once say that having children is like having your beating, pumping heart walk around outside of your body; vulnerable to everything. And it’s true because most of the time all I want to do is wrap my arms all the way around them, squeeze tightly, and never let go.

 

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Hair Did.

2 Comments

May 8, 2012

 

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Yesterday I went to Fox 5 News Studio in San Diego to model some fantastic hair extensions by Hot Heads for hair stylist extraordinaire, Tera Rae Stephens. I’ve never been to a News Studio before, and I was entirely wide eyed and fascinated by everything. 

Everything.

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The green room was bustling with military wives getting make-overs, varicose vein doctors giving impromptu consultations, and us, with our lushious long hair.

When we walked into the studio I was like woooooaah, and oooohhh and cooooool. Because I’ve have never been in a studio before, and it was pretty darn neat.

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 So naturally I took all the blurry photos I could manage.

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If you want to watch the segment here’s the link.

 

 

2 Comments:

So the video won’t load – it told me to come back later 🙂 I am sure you looked fabulous though! That is the same studio that the OC Housewife does her really awkward guest segments at, right? And yes…I watch a ton of Bravo! reality shows…no shame in my game…well, maybe a little 🙂

by Julie on May 9, 2012

you rocked it 🙂

by Jen on May 9, 2012

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Music for your Monday: Brought to you by Local Natives

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May 7, 2012

This video is amazing. Watch it, you won’t be sad.

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Thanksgiving Baby

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May 3, 2012

So I dropped the bomb last week, I was like, “Boom, I’m pregnant. Beckey out.” Then I turned the mic side ways, let it go, and left the stage.

Which ultimatly left you hanging.

Which is fine for most of you, because the thought about me divulging information about my uterus makes you want to cut your eyeballs out a little bit. And I totally get that, especially because I’m friends with about 80 pregnant women right now on Facebook, and if I have to hear another update about how tight their pants are getting, or how many bowls of ice cream they’ve consumed in the past 12 hours, or how many times their fetus has kicked them in their pee-pee bags, I’m going to hand deliver those babies myself right here, right now. Seriously.

But for those who are fascinated with the exciting world of pregnancy, I’ll fill you in with my business.

I’m feeling surprising well most of the time. If you don’t count the constant fatigue, and the night time nausea, I feel fantastic.

I’ve gained 7 pounds already and I’m only 11 weeks pregnant. Which means I’m gonna be a chubby and happy pregnant lady. I usually eat a vegan diet, but lately I’ve been craving cheddar cheese, cottage cheese, and MEAT! (Duh! That’s where the 7 lbs came from).

I have a pooch. It looks like I have a ripe beer belly. My pants still fit, but my baby gut hangs over sides and wiggles and jiggles. Apparently when you’ve done this twice before, you baby making parts have no problem remembering exactly what they’re supposed to do, and the pooch appears much sooner. Yay!

I’m due on Thanksgiving (please, hold your applause).

Which means if I play this sucker right, I’ll get numerous days of Thanksgiving leftovers delivered to my door.

Although, if my memory serves…

((FLASH BACK)) Queue the wavy lights and the eerie music.

It was December 24, 2009, I had just birthed Hudson 3 days earlier, and I was hosting Christmas Eve dinner at my house. Turkey, cornish game hens, and mounds of mashed potatoes decorated the table. I think I had even lactated in the brussels sprouts and no one seem to mind. It was a joyous time. The family got to see a tiny baby, and I got to eat like a king in the comfort of my home, in the comfort of my own elastic paneled sweatpants. It was an ambitious undertaking, yes, especially when you considered the freakish control nut I become in the kitchen. But I have to be; when my mom wants to add water to the gravy, I need to be present to slap her wrist and offer milk her instead.

We ate, then everybody said their goodbyes and left.

Christmas morning came, and we celebrated as a new family of four.

Then came Christmas evening.

But there weren’t any leftovers to fill our bellies.

The grocery stores had all closed.

No one offered to bring us a meal.

It was bleak, dark time for us. I called my mom crying, and she came to the rescue.

What did she bring us? Was it a bounty of leftovers from the Christmas gathering she just departed from?

No.

Was it a bowl watered down gravy?

No.

It was Jack in the Box.

A chicken fajita pita for me and a hamburger for Pat.

Merry Christmas Brumfields.

So I have to be careful how I play this one. If you want to bring me a meal after this baby is born, you must bring me your Thanksgiving leftovers. Especially your pumpkin pie. I’m not accepting a chicken fajita pita this year. I also love mashed potatoes, but I draw the line at cranberry sauce from the can, you can keep that. Unless it’s homemade, then I’ll take it. I’m sorta luke warm about brussels sprouts, but I love grean beans. And of course, don’t forget the turkey. I think I’ll go back to being vegan when I’m done nursing.

3 Comments:

I love hearing about your uterus. And for the record, I also am currently rocking a pooch. And every time I refer to it as “my pooch” Billy dry heaves. As such, I try to fit it in everyday conversation approximately 12 times a day.

by Yellaphant on May 3, 2012

hi.

i found your blog via jodie tallmen and i have been silently blog stalking you. in a non creepy way of course. this post had me almost peeing my pants laughing. your my kind of mom!

your hilarious!

nic

by Nicole Dyk ( is di-ke not dick-try not to be jealous) on May 3, 2012

cheddar cheese + apples = awesome

by lora on May 4, 2012

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Do-nots

8 Comments

May 1, 2012

We went to the donut shop this morning. Which for normal people, they’d be all, yee haw! I’m fixin to git myself a cherry glazed cinnamon and cream filled bear claw, or sompin’.

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Only I don’t like donuts. And I apparently think that those that do like donuts are back wood Appalachian folks that drop their G’s and order donuts that really don’t exist at all. Not even in Appalachia.

Now brace yourself, because here comes the part in the story that you’re supposed to feel sorry for me, oh the poor girl who doesn’t like donuts. But let me tell you, life not liking donuts was tough. For most, when that pink box appeared, people would become elated, bouncing around claiming things like “Glazed!” or “Sprinkles!” There would be shared hi-fives, and fist pumps. And then there was me, I would solemnly shrug and say something like, is there a bagel in there? No? Okay, I guess I’ll just drink this scrumptious glass of water instead. Mmmmm, water. It’s almost as satisfying as a sugary cake snack that is acceptable to eat first thing in the morning. Truth of it was, donuts made me feel left out. And no one likes feeling left out, even it it means that those involved are going to get diabetes and hypertension.

I want hypertension too!

The reason why I don’t like donuts is unknown. Especially because I love everything about donuts except for the actual consumption of them. I love walking into a donut store, and seeing all the shiny cakes lined up in the cases under the lights. I love the colors and the smells. I love how pretty they are when they’re dripping with glazes or nuts or sprinkles.

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I just don’t want to put it in my mouth. I think maybe because they’re too greasy and sugary.

Wait, am I even saying that right now!? Something is too greasy and sugary? Like cookies being too chocolaty and delicious? Ice cream being too creamy and sweet? Brownies being too gooey and moist?

So I thought about it long and hard while everyone was placing their donut order this morning.

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I thought, hey, you know what? I think I’ll try one. Maybe a sprinkled one, ya, that sounds nice. Plus this time I’ll actually be included in the donut enthusiasm, and be part of the sugar high and inevitable lethargy that soon follows. Count me IN!!

And so I ate one. A multi-colored sprinkled one. Deep fried and oozing with sugar. The hardened glazed became crushed and fell in sheets of saccharine under the weight of my teeth when I took that first bite. The cake was slightly crisp on the corners but soft and doughy inside. And to my surprise it was light and airy. But it sat heavy in my stomach, and my mouth was coated with its grease. I gave the donut a good hearty try, and I’ve concluded something that I’ve known for many, many years now.

It was true when I was 7, and I’ll say it again now, sick! Donuts are nasty.

8 Comments:

I’m with you sista, donuts are not my favorite. Plus they’re aweful for you. It’s a good insentive to stay away. I’ll stick with my hoard of girl scout cookies and ice cream, everyone else can have their nasty donuts.

by Margie on May 1, 2012

I love ’em. I’ll eat yours. No problem.

by Amy Giuliani on May 1, 2012

I love the donuts, but I do understand when you have a dislike of something that people think is “too” weird. I hate potatos. Cannot stand them. Any way they are prepared, with the exception of an occaisional french fry, which doesn’t count.

Every holiday, every family meal, everyone thinks it’s so hilarious to ask if I’d like some potatos. After nearly 38 years, the joke is getting really old. 🙂

by Kelly on May 2, 2012

I grew up in a donut town. Except we spelled them doughnuts. And they were good. And then I moved away and began to travel and I realized that the nation’s idea of donuts were not my idea of doughnuts and that donuts are really disgusting.

It’s sad.

I hate bacon and popcorn, and people think I’m crazy for that.
My husband hates potatoes, and people think he’s crazy for that.

We like what we like. And it’s okay no matter what.

by Lora on May 2, 2012

I love the thought of eating donuts but get sick every time and I’ve finally said it’s not worth it. Ok well sometimes it’s worth it like once a year. Isaac on the other hand could have them everyday and always thinks it’s weird that I don’t want one. The best donut shops have boba at them. I get boba and he gets a donut = happiness.

by mariah on May 2, 2012

This is crazy talk. When Evan was little and cried without ceasing, there was many a day that the only thing that made me feel better was the compulsive consumption of donuts (yes that’s plural). Oh how I adore the nursing diet. My compulsive eating of donuts was the hardest part of the weaning process.
Have you ever tried a plain old fashion, broken into bites and dipped in coffee. It takes donuts to another level.

by Natalie on May 2, 2012

I don’t like them either. I always feel sticky afterwards and slightly naeseous. Give me a bagel any day. Or a glass of wine.

by Libby on May 3, 2012

I don’t really like doughnuts or cupcakes, either. Seems like a new doughnut/cupcake/cake emporium opens every week to wild applause and I’m left standing in the dust of the stampede shaking my head in confusion.

by Middle State on May 7, 2012

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