Hey, Mrs. Wilson!

Dumb Canadians we are.

I spent the evening at Ann’s doing more painting and such. It was supposed to be just the two of us, when all of a sudden most of her growth group (small group from the church) came by and said that instead of doing a Bible study, they were going to help her finish the suite and do anything else she needed done.

How awesome is that? That is true Christianity. Helping others. Showing love to others. Showing up and doing what needs to be done when you were not asked or expected to do it.

So, instead of Ann and I doing all the work, there were 13 of us.

We ran out of trim paint, so Jeny, Ann, and I whipped over to Wal*mart to get some. While Ann was waiting to have the paint shaken, Jeny and I went to go look at curtains to section off the bedroom-ish inlet thing (more on that later).

The space that needs to be sectioned off is 11 feet long. We were trying to figure out how many inches that is. Um, there are 16 inches in a foot, so 11 x 16 is … what? It took us about 10 minutes to figure that out. There was a lady standing by us who must have killed herself laughing at us Canadian idiots.

Ann came with the shaken paint and we told her what we were trying to do. She looked at us like we’d just told her the sky turned green and said. “Guys. There are 12 inches in a foot, not 16.  There are 16 ounces in a pound.”

“Oh.”

And I call myself a bookkeeper and she (Jeny) a nurse.

It was almost as bad as Harold, with his back to the living room, turning the dimmer switch up and down thinking it didn’t do anything just to be turned around and asked by the painters of the living room what he was doing.

But not quite.

Or maybe we were worse.

What can I say. I grew up with the metric system, eh?

Garage salers are crazy.

I advertised that we’d start at 4:00 pm. A guy knocked on the door at 2:00 pm saying that we’d advertised for that time. Noah told him to go and check his list (I wasn’t even off work yet) and he came back and said, “Oh, you’re right, see you at 4!”

As I was setting up inside our garage, a lady was scoping out the place at 2:45. She sat there in her car across the street until 3:10. I wasn’t about to open the garage door because all hell would break loose if I did that. I finally was ready and opened the garage door at 3:25. We were bombarded by about 60 people even before our real start time (including the overeager lady).

The bad news: It was stinkin’ cold! We closed up shop early because we were freezing, and because it seemed as though Rush Hour was over. The good news: we made $638.63. Wahoo! In reality we made $200 less than that because we sold Todd’s guitar and apparently if it’s his guitar we have to give him the money. Pffft. (No Todd, that’s not farting, it’s spitting.)

In other news, I got my hair cut. And dyed. And my eyebrows waxed. That hurts! I’ve never done the eyebrow waxing thing before, but my hairdresser is also my friend and we’d talked about it the day before, so I figured I’d try it. It’s worth the pain.

Oh, you want to see pictures? Okay.

I have to say that this is my favorite hair cut in a long time. (I should have gotten Noah to take the picture this morning, instead of after a day of work and dealing with crazy garage salers, but alas.) I like the color, I like the cut, I like the fact that my bangs go behind my ears, I like that it’s short enough not to annoy my neck, and I like that I can still put it up.

What’s that? You don’t like it? Well I’ll do to you what I did to Noah earlier.

I may have given Noah the hairy eyeball for making me laugh when I was trying not to look like a geek for once. You know Noah, you’re supposed to put me in focus, not the background. Nice try though. You may have deserved the hairy eyeball.

But you know, when all the hairy eyeballs are said and done, I still love this guy. Because he’s hot.

Every sentence that I wrote after this, Noah made me delete because of supposed inappropriateness (which apparently isn’t a word) he exercised creative control.

The end.

I put on rice and went to read blogs play with my baby.

I heard a boiling noise.

I remembered that I put rice on and went to check on it. Whoops.

It was bad. It was not as bad as this, but it was not good.

Nothing was damaged, but I had to start the rice over again.

While I was in the kitchen, I left my baby alone with my laptop and my slurpee.

When I remembered this fact, I ran back to the den to find Liliana flicking blue slurpee on the keyboard.

Awesome. (Noah. Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.)

When the rice was back on, I remembered that Liliana was supposed to be having her evening nap. She went down 15 minutes late (which is okay in the morning and afternoon, but not that swell in the evening.)

As I came back down the stairs after tucking her in, I remembered again about the rice. It was boiling. It was okay. I put a lid on it and turned it to low.

Like I said, I’m a genius. And Mother of the Year.

I’ve climbed on the band wagon. I opened an etsy shop. If you don’t know what etsy is, it’s like a giant craft fair. It’s a site where people sell all things handmade. From clothes to diapers to lampshades … you name it and it’s there.

I listed my first item last night and will continue to list items for the next couple days. My first one? A taggie blanket. I’m starting small. There is a link to my shop in my left banner.

My goal by the time we move is to be able to work from home. I love working outside my home, but more than that, I want to raise my children myself. Kaylie started daycare when she was 7 months old and was in it until just before she turned six. I don’t want to do that with Liliana. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with daycare, it’s just that Liliana will most likely be my last baby and I want to be there for the early years.

The plan (after the move) is to have a day home caring for 2 or 3 children that are not my own and to have an etsy shop. I’m hoping that it will be enough for me to contribute to our income. If not, I will find a job outside our home. Plans change, but that’s what I’m hoping for.

During this now-over Christmas season, I think we’re over saturated with false pictures of Jesus. False physical pictures. All the pictures I’ve seen portray a white baby or a white man. Jesus was not white. Are you shocked? Think about it. He was born in Israel to Israelite parents. I know that He was not conceived the conventional way, but I do believe that he looked just like any other Israelite man would. He had dark skin and black hair. He was not white, he did not have blonde hair, and he did not have blue eyes. He did not look like Brad Pitt.