“Why are you dressed so scary?” (Mean Girls, anyone?)

If your iTunes library is like mine, you never know what’s going to play. It makes my wanting to go to both the Kanye and Andrea Boccelli concerts a little more understandable.

Am I headed to library story time?
Are we getting spiritual?
Are we robbing a 7/11?
Is it Christmas? (Always kills my gym vibe.)
Am I 80?
Am I white?

(I did some cleaning house after Gus played a 1999 Xzibit song in Hobby Lobby.)


The nights I don’t fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, my brain mirrors that same randomness found on my music selection. I can’t stop shuffling through the sporadic thoughts.

I would love to be in Maine for fall. I’ve never been to Maine. I’d eat lobster rolls every day. I bet Canadians have friends that live in Maine. What would I do if I ran out of gas driving to work? I wonder how many kitchen fires Pinterest has caused.

And every Halloween for the past three years, I’ve thrown this into the bedtime thoughts:

I want to be a dead doll. Can I do that makeup?

Get reeeeal. I can’t do that makeup without looking like a cracked out drag queen, but one Jessica Cannon’s got that makeup and body paint DOWN, and Eric Cannon documented the whole thing. It really happened. I am obsessed with the, “This is beautiful. No, it’s the creepiest. No, it’s pretty. No, it’s so scary,” indecisiveness. That’s why the idea has haunted my thoughts for years.

Thanks, Jess, for knocking that thought out of my brain’s bedtime playlist. You created something even better than I’d imagined!

(If we ever have a toy haunt OUR house, it would definitely be SOPHIE. You, know, the giraffe? She’s got some major motives.)






Like I said…Sophiiiiiie.

As always, if you feel inclined to share, please do!

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Should I Call This “My Boos” Like Everyone Else?

I would say this weekend was eyebrow raising, but I pay good money to make sure they don’t.

On Thursday, some tiny hands were “cooking,” but I realized too late that actual spices were being used. Since my floor was dusted with almost an entire bottle of oregano, vacuuming seemed to be the easiest clean up method. Right?

No. Wrong.

Now every time we vacuum, an unmistakably oregano scent wafts through our house.

We smell like blonde Italian enthusiasts, or an oregano dispensary.

The rest of the weekend, I worked.

My job, man. It’s the best, and I love it, but bouncing around on an emotional roller coaster from client to client for 12-14 hours is bound to give me some sort of figurative motion sickness, right?

I can usually handle the quick conversational turns and drastically different moods of each client. I try my best not to bring it all home, but this weekend was heavy. I got news of an unexpected death as I was walking in to do hair for a fun, on location bridal party, and the rest of the weekend followed suit. High highs and low lows, all jumbled together.

I’m ready to turn the page on a fresh (well…lightly seasoned), festive week, with all my energy focused on my guys and their Halloween costumes they don’t yet have…

img_1402pumpkinsguspumpkin (“Hey! That pumpkin DIED!”)

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I Hid in the Bathroom for a While When Brian Came Home…

More and more often, I find myself trading in my beloved bedtime internet surfing/checking weather in Fiji for looking at photos from the day.

More and more often, those pictures are reminders of how many times I said, “No.”

“Hey, don’t climb on that (everything)!”
“Quit wiping your hands on the wall!”
“Don’t squeeze your brother that hard!”
“Stop poking that dead bird with a stick!”

Okay, they’re all valid “no” situations, and said with love (usually), but tonight, I came across this picture from the other day:


I wondered what my sweet boys’ perspectives of me were that day as we grocery shopped. I wondered what their little minds absorbed as they ate their doughnuts in the cart and quietly observed me.

How odd it must seem that I say hello only to the people I am acquainted with and ignore everyone else (unlike Gus).

Hold cold I must look not waving to every person we pass in every aisle (unlike Gus).

And how demeaning it must be for me to apologize to the man whose arm Gus was tapping to tell him his hat is “very very neat.”

Amongst other concerns, what kind of person am I going to turn into one day without innocent, perfect little children in my home teaching me? It’s taken me 30 years to understand what being childlike really means, and I am in awe at the near perfection that word truly implies.

These past few weeks, I discovered I’m not learning patience because they’re testing it; I’m learning patience because of their examples of endless patience with ME! I’m so thankful that these babies are quick to forgive and forget as I figure out this mom thing. I’m still in training, but I’m deciding lists, titled:


I’m looking forward to a bright, new morning to cuddle them tomorrow. If they want to sleep in a little bit, that would be okay, but my mom guilty makes me so excited to pull their faces away from Paw Patrol to kiss them.

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Pecan Pie, Okra, Biscuits, Collard Greens

I am a total dreamer. I don’t know that all my dreams would be qualify as “bucket list” items, because things like installing a Stair Genie for recreational use probably shouldn’t be eligible for bucket listing (unless I’m about to kick that bucket).


For about ten years, I’ve hoped to live in Georgia. The height of my Georgia obsession was in 2006, when my friend Natalie and I made “in our dreams” plans to move there for a summer. (Did a favored TI album release around that same time fan the flame? Hard to say. Was I a regional ebonics expert? Yes.)

That summer move didn’t happen, or else at this moment, I would be living in a plantation style home with a peach orchard heir, writing this from a patio rocking chair that my 500 pound, Southern-food loving self finds most comfortable.

I may have simultaneously been applying for a feature on My 600 LB Life, but think of all the fried okra!

My friend Jessy moved to Atlanta from Miami recently, so you already know Natalie and I were there. Natalie came in from D.C., and I had theeee best time. These two are truly my best friends. You know, the type of friends that even make gas station pit stops fun? And you can be completely, fully, pre-mom-life YOU around? Throw in some homemade biscuits, and I mean…

Pregnant Jessy kept working us out. We showed up in matching pants for a Britney/2 Chainz themed spin class, and both those things made me so happy.
Her cutest little guy. I love him.

If you can overlook the pink camo workout pants, I’m such a natural here, right? I (independently) sent Brian’s resume to several Atlanta based companies right after college. We didn’t hear back, which was rude, especially considering the amount of time I’d spent watching Paula Dean shows in preparation, but okaaay. Jessy introduced me to pimento cheese, and now I’m back on track. I’ve got to get to Georgia. Even if it’s just a couple of years, I’ll take it, especially if Natalie and Jessy stay put for a while!

No one question my fraudulent accent after I’ve only been there a few weeks.

Hashtag I wish these two girls lived closer.

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We may be more worried about plumbing than accidents.

Announcement. We have a potty trainee.

This was a bridge I was resistant to cross, and since I took so long, G was more than ready to claim his rightful seat on the porcelain throne. (I would like to take this opportunity to point out that I was not on board until after our Disneyland trip, because that sounds stupid…right?)

Once again, Gus has proven to be the easiest little guy. He required no potty charts, no bribery, no rewards, just the thrill of toilet flushing with a purpose. Our house is filled with pride and commemorative toilet paper squares, courtesy of Roscoe, who is also a determined flusher.


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Happy Birthday To My Child Who Was Created Solely By In n Out Protein Style Cheeseburgers

My babies’ birthdays are bittersweet to me, and birthday eves seem to be the “bitter” part. I can’t help but feel incredulous that an entire year has passed. I accuse time of robbing me, yet with an overflowing heart.

Three years ago, at this very moment, I listened to my unborn baby’s little heart beat with a total serenity that one can only experience when Heaven is lingering very near. It’s not necessarily emotional; it’s just perfect. It’s calm and blissful. It’s overwhelmingly familiar. It’s short lived, and it delicately slips through the fingers of anyone trying to hold onto it.

Mercifully, your hands to get to hold a more tangible piece of that bliss, to take home and marvel over for a little while longer.

Gus has brought us that light far beyond the newborn stage. He is so EASY. He is happy. He is kind. He is fun and enthusiastic. He is a sleeper. (Bless him. His brother was not.)

Gus is excited about EVERYTHING.

…as evidenced by this reaction to his dollar store gifts. (We already took him to Disneyland, remember? That’s what I had to keep reminding myself.)


I enjoyed the “sweet” part of his birthday today as he played with his new toys, fresh from China, that will probably fall apart tomorrow…just how I like them. In the garbage by next Thursday is the goal. My house doesn’t have storage for this stuff.

We had a handful of friends over tonight, and Gus was beyond thrilled.


I adore this little guy, and love this tiny human he is becoming. He tells me almost daily, “I so proud of you, mama!” I hope I have another while before I embarrass him. Happy third birthday, my sweet boy. I’ll love you forever.

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