Recap & Wreck Part II

Recap
A small recap of the week's events:

Nephew: My nephew has a name! We are excited to meet baby Lincoln sometime in Mayish!!

 
Bugs: Those long-legged bugs with a 12 second lifespan are about to drive me insane. Our house has approximately 23 of them flying around at any given moment, and last night I woke up to one dive-bombing into my forehead. Die, you flying freaks. That is maybe too harsh. Let's try: Fly back outside, you weirdo bugs.  

Revelation: I really want to adopt a child(ren), right? So I had a dream last week of an adoption agency in Ghana that helped find families for the children who aged out of the orphanage at age 8. I truly thought I'd had some revelation in my sleep so I started to Google the agency in the morning...but then I started to remember the rest of the dream. The agency name had the word "jeans" in it, because their big gimmick was that they provided a lifetime of jeans to the child. Then, when the child turned 18, they mailed a scrapbook of pictures and memorabilia they'd been keeping. After further investigation, it was no revelation. Just a dream about a fictitious adoption agency called "Jeans & More (More = Children)" or something. It is kind of a genius (jean-ius...get it?!?!) business idea though. Who doesn't want a lifetime supply of jeans?

Scams: About 6 months ago, I tried to buy some cookies from our nice neighbor girl. She came to the door, gave me a heart-wrenching speech about the proceeds going to "the cancer people", and handed me a school fundraiser form. Naturally, I wanted to help her out. By help her out I mean eat cookies. Long story short, she pocketed the cash and never delivered my cookies. She was a sneaky little con artist who scammed the whole neighborhood. Fast forward 6 months later: Taylor and I found some smashed, uncovered cookie bars on the sidewalk on Tuesday. Either they were from a newly repentant con artist, another neighbor, or the Stockyard Stalker*. I choose to believe they were from the scammer. What a nice girl to take my $15 and bring some homemade cookie bars, right? 

*I actually have no idea who these are from or if they were even for us. If you have any information regarding the smooshed treats, either fess up or call Crime Stoppers.

Solo cups: Instead of playing with the cool toys we have for Beckett, he's been playing with the same red Solo cup for the past few days. It is absolutely mesmerizing. It stays firmly in his grasp as he sleeps because, as we all know, Solo cups are expensive and in short supply as all good baby toys are.

 

Wreck Part II

Monday night, I had dinner with Lauren and Savannah. Their company is decent at best. 

Just kidding. 

I am in serious love with them both and we laughed a lot. Well, they laughed a lot. They found my diaper bag to be a source of great amusement. They laugh as if they weren't glad I had my trusty Johnson & Johnson Hand & Face Wipes to clean the honey off our hands from the sopapillas.

Lauren kept asking if our dinner could be on the blog. I informed her that unless she faceplanted into the people and food at the table next to ours, there was no deal.

We finished dinner (and dessert), walked to the parking lot, said our goodbyes...and then watched a car smash into the back of my car. I saw the driver look over her shoulder, possibly put it in drive, and look like she was about to drive off. Even if she wasn't, I took no chances, especially after the insurance drama with the wreck with the thing last year. I ran in front of her car with my hands up attempting my best "Oh heeeeck no...don't even think about driving off" face.

Minor bumperal damage.

The girl who hit me was pretty young and really sad when she got out of the car. When I asked if she had insurance she said, "Yea, but I'm from Colorado so I don't know how that works..." as if I might say, "Oh - out of state? Great news! You're free to leave! Insurance only covers in-state accidents." Poor girl.

The whole way home from the restaurant I was wondering how Taylor would react. When I walked in the door, before I could even say a word, he goes, "Uhh...I might have made a mistake while you were gone... I may have dropped the video monitor in the toilet and broke it..." which of course I followed with, "Sweet. Well someone hit my car."

Calling Progressive was interesting. "How many people were in your vehicle at the time of impact?" "Um...none?" "Are you the driver?" "Well, yes, but at the time I was a walker."

The monitor started working, the girl's insurance is already mailing me a check, and Lauren and Savannah are featured on the blog. All is well.

Stockyard Stalkers & Throwbacks {cont.}

I know you all came here to see endless pictures of Beckett and to get minutely updates on what he's doing. We'll get to that in due time.

I already talk too much about baby poo, so I'm not going to mention how I nearly asked another mom at Corner Bakery if I could buy a spare outfit off her so my kid wouldn't have to sit through breakfast in the soggy poop clothes I unsuccessfully attempted to wash off in the bathroom.

Since I'm not bringing up the mom fail from above, I will bring up Taylor's latest sleep-talking. It went a little something like this:

Taylor: What? What did you just say? Did you just say cheap date?
Me: No. No I did not. In fact, I said nothing at all. I just got back in bed after tending to our child.

He's totes cray cray.*

*for you, Lizard.

Stockyard Stalkers

Mom was in town from Kansas this past week for "Jared's birthday", aka to see her grandson. 

Regardless, Jared went along with the cover story and took a day off work to hang out with us. We went to the famous stockyards of Fort Worth and had a blast. 

We bought and played with a 75' Sky Ball in an empty parking lot, ate at Joe T's, raced each other in the Cowtown Cattlepen Maze, chose prizes from said maze out of a dirty Ziplock bag that had likely not been replenished since 1982, and ate our body weight in Nothing Bundt Cakes bundtinis. 

Our added excitement of the day came from the creepy kidnapper man who followed us from the restaurant to the stockyards. I had just finished telling my mom and brother how spooky the guy behind us at the restaurant was...what with his order of 5 margaritas and no food. 

Shortly after the words were out of my mouth, we saw him in all his creeptastic glory standing behind my car at the stockyards. My brother (who is a big, scary fellow at first glance) asked if he needed something; he said no. After said creeper winked at me, kind Mr. Stalker took my brother's warning of, "You need to get out of here." to mean "You should cross to our side of the street and walk 5 feet behind us." 

I think I saw a little steam come out of my brother's ears. It was reminiscent of high school brother who scared off any possible suitors of mine by threatening their very existences.

My brother kept trying to give him the stink eye but Mr. Creepy kept turning to face different directions as if he just found the most interesting speck on the ground or the most fascinating cloud.  I'm sure it had nothing to do with avoiding Jared's attempts at intimidation.

I was officially weirded out and made the executive decision to head home. I know you're all worried for our safety, but I've got it covered. I watch plenty of Chuck. Enough, in fact, to notice the red Chevy Cavalier that followed us at a safe distance for several miles. In perfect spy maneuvering, I intentionally missed the ramp to the highway to lose the tail. (The tail that ended up being a nice Hispanic family of 4.) 

You can never be to careful when it comes to Stockyard Stalkers.

I know what you're thinking: "You forgot about the hidden GPS tracker he slipped under your car!" Nope. Got it covered. Thanks for your concern.

Throwbacks {cont.}

So a few weeks ago I started a list of stories I wanted to remember in the event I need a stockpile of good material. You can find the original list here.

Behold the newest additions:

• Getting in an altercation at a showing of Passion of the Christ.
• Being mistaken as an 11th grader instead of a youth volunteer....a year ago.
• Chastised by a kidney donor for watching the abominable show House (and for hoarding all of my organs to myself).
• Receiving the nickname "Scuba Sarah" after running a 4wheeler into the same pond I'd been driving around for 2 hours.
• Being rear-ended on the interstate by an old man who offered baked goods from his car as consolation as we waited for the police.
• Being rear-ended by a shopping mall security vehicle.
• Pet-sitting for a hoarder whose kitchen floor was composed of alternating layers of newspaper and cat poop. 
• Keeping silent about an incredibly painful rash I developed in college because I believed it to be an infection from the tattoo I hadn't yet confessed. Turns out it was shingles at the ripe ole age of 21.

I'm still waiting to see your throwback stories. Don't think I've forgotten. Shoutout to Casey for her hilarious list.

And a shoutout to Grayson for letting Beckett borrow your blanket and your glasses seen in the following picture:

A letter for Beckett

Hi, Beckett boy.

Guess what? You're 6 months old! 6 big ones. How does that even happen? It seems like yesterday I was meeting you and your chipmunk cheeks for the first time, but at the same time it kind of seems like you've been around forever.

You have gotten so big! It blows my mind how much you've changed in the past several months. You went from a sweet, little, limp nugget to a big, strong, active boy! You're so smart and curious - always scoping out the world at large.

You're currently hanging out at the top of the charts in height, which is awesome and all, but all of your clothes are a little short. I'm in denial about the size clothes you should be wearing. I'm not ready for you to be so big yet!

You've mastered army crawling and eating solids. If future Beckett reads this, let me ask: Do you still hate avocados? You despised them at 6 months - as in violent gagging and shuddering. You sure do love fruit, though. You turn into an eating machine when pears are involved.

You've also mastered the game of Peek-a-Boo. I honestly think that JoJo and you could play an uninterrupted game for at least 72 hours.

Everyone is always commenting on your beautiful eyes and big, wide smile. You have got to be one of the happiest babies around. Maybe the happiest baby on the block. Get it?! (Note: I didn't always make lame mom jokes. Lucky for adolescent you, I waited to start that until you came around.)

You're constantly laughing, smiling, shrieking, or babbling. You're quite a social fellow, compliments of me. You're also pretty laid back, compliments of Daddy.

You love to read already! Well, you love to be read to. We're still working on our alphabet, but you'll get there. You'll sit really still and look at all the pictures on the books we read. Occasionally you'll try to nibble on the book, but hopefully you'll outgrow that before kindergarten. 

Sometimes (ok...every day) I'll sneak into your room at night and just stare at you. I'll also laugh at the booty-in-the-air sleep position you're in, but I'll mostly just stare at you. You are so precious and perfect. I never in my life imagined loving someone so much. Of course I love your daddy more than words can say, but we both agree that you're our favorite.

You're growing up so fast, little boy! Part of me wants to stop time so I can squeeze your leg rolls and baby buns forever and always be able to entertain you with a piece of string or a single sock, but the other part of me is excited to watch you learn to walk, run, find bugs, get dirty, play ball with daddy, chase Mack...it's going to be a blast.

I found a verse the other day that made me smile. It reminded me of whose you are and who will love and support you infinitely more than I ever can:

"When I left the womb you cradled me; since the moment of birth you've been my God."

Psalm  22:10

You were fearfully and wonderfully created by God. You are his child - his pride and joy. Your daddy and I are forever grateful and humbled he chose us to be a part of your life.

I'm the proudest, most smitten momma you'll ever find. I'll love you forever, Beckett boy. I'm so proud of you. 

Now it's time to smother you in kisses and squeeze your biscuit buns while you're still too small to fight back. Sucker.

I love you baby boy.

Momma 

Soul Patches & Tails

We have an action-packed week in the Brooks' house. Yesterday my friend Candace (affectionately known as Auntie Candy by Beckett) and I had a delightfully horrible shopping experience during the torrential rainstorm, ate at a delish Mexican joint, and stayed up googling "staph infections" and "stretch marks" well into the night.

Tuesday, my mom comes in from Kansas. She's scheduled to come anyway. There's a good chance she'll spontaneously combust before she even gets down here. She's just a wee bit excited.

Wednesday is Ladies' Bible Study, but more importantly - my brother's birthday and Beckett's 6 monthiversary.

It's going to be a good one.

Here's a few highlights from last week:

Soul Patches

I choose my friends strategically. I always opt for the funny folks whose friendship will benefit me somehow. I found the perfect friend in Aimee.

Aimee is one of those people who is incredibly likeable, friendly, funny, creative, wise, loving, hospitable... (Hey A - how much am I getting paid for this description again? Because I can keep going.) ...and all-around super friend.

That said, she gave me a pack of 4 mustaches she found (as every good friend should) which I immediately put on my baby. It's only natural.

I think my favorite part of this pack is either the tiny comb or the "Field Guide to Mustaches".

Regardless...here are the results.

That is comedy at its best.

Tails

Mack "broke" his tail again. Yes, again.

Not only is he a super quirky mutt who possibly suffers from PTSD, but he has a history of tail sprainage.

I mean, of course I feel bad for him, but mostly I'm embarrassed to take him in public. No walks for him until this thing gets straightened out. 

Have you ever even heard of such a thing? It's ridiculous.

For being the best dog ever to live, Mack sure is kind of a freak.

Love.

6 years ago today, a boy that I really liked gave me the most thoughtful present I've ever received.

Men: take notes. Or just print this post. Either one.

He gave me a dozen red roses which I displayed proudly in my freshman dorm room. The roses were just a teaser for our date that night after he got off work and showered to rid himself of the ever-present fish smell. He worked at Red Lobster. Now we're off topic.

My friend came in, counted the roses, and reported back that there were only 11. My response was, "Seriously? Who counts someone else's flowers?" But, alas, she was right. The florist jipped him.

The boy picked me up, we went to his family friend's house and exchanged presents. My present seemed good in theory - I bought a box of kiddie valentines and wrote things I liked about him on each one.

He, on the other hand, gave me a single red rose in a vase full of shredded paper. A single rose that, in addition to the ones in my room, totaled one dozen red roses. After further examination, I noticed that the pieces of paper had words on them.

Words that told me on 157 different pieces of miniscule paper why he loved me. 157 reasons, because that is how many days we'd been dating.

[insert swoon]

 

Every Valentine's Day, and periodically throughout the year, I dump them all out and reread each piece of paper.

I always look for my favorite:

It's my favorite because 1,054 days after I read it the first time, I married that boy.

And  961 days after that, we had this guy:

I'm in love with two boys. Sometimes when my first love plays with or reads to or holds or even looks at my second love, I think my heart might explode.

I am one lucky girl. 


As an aside, I'd like to take the opportunity to apologize to my elementary school suitor who, on this day many years ago, gave me a flower which I then threw in the trash can in the bathroom when I thought he wasn't looking. (He saw the whole thing.)  I'd also like to apologize to my 7th grade boyfriend for dumping you on this day even though I knew you had a present for me. I'm sorry to you both.

Maybe Taylor is the lucky one for making it through 6 Valentine's Days without my breaking up with him.