Safronified

Thursday, March 11, 2010

2010-03-14T02:09:01Z

Kiddo and I were out the door at 9:01. I remember looking at the clock as I backed out of the driveway. We made our way to the highway and headed south to Lawton, Oklahoma. The last time Kiddo had been down that turnpike was when he was four days old. On the drive down, the spotty cell phone coverage annoyed me, Kiddo really didn't want to be in the car for an hour and a half, and the construction threw me for a loop when it was time to exit.

When we finally turned onto the road to my grandparent's house, I noted, as usual, how dejected the surrounding homes looked. I pulled into the driveway, not realizing how sad the house looked. Over the past decade, the house has gone from glistening pickets on the surrounding fence, to piles of metal, junk, and this time, a car (pretty much on blocks), just sitting in the driveway.

I pulled Kiddo out of the car and finished my phone conversation before heading to the back door. "Hello?" I called out, but it was quiet. We walked past the master bedroom. Diana Jo was sitting in there, quietly watching TV. She's home-schooled, and had spent a lot of time at Gran and Pop's over the past year. In the kitchen there was a care taker.

After unloading a fussy Kiddo, I fixed a bottle and we headed in to the front room. Pop's back was to me, but Gran saw something going on from a distance, and perked up. They were both sitting in their recliners. As I walked in, I saw a cat sprawled across Pop's lap, upside down. He didn't really say anything, but that's what he's been doing lately. Gran grinned at tired grin, and said "That's my thirteenth great grandchild!" Pride oozed out of her voice. It was about 11:00.

Kiddo and I perched on the edge of one of the two hospital beds that sat in the middle of the living room. I fed him his bottle, and started chatting with her. When he was finished eating, I held him up and he looked around the room, locking eyes on Gran. She said, "Well, he's a big boy!" and started making the dorkiest noises at Kiddo. She wanted to know where Hubs was, and asked how business was, if Kiddo was a good baby. "You need to get a picture of him with Pop," she said.

Uncle Joe walked in, carrying a bag of barbecue. He was there to do payroll. I stayed seated on the bed, but turned my attention to him. When I turned back around to talk to Gran again, she had fallen asleep sitting up. I passed the minutes talking to Pop.

A new nurse arrived, and Gran snapped out of her nap. While the nurse took her vitals, Gran asked her if she wanted to hear a dirty joke--and then proceeded to tell one! She was smart-alec and fiesty. I fed Kiddo and continued to talk to her about what was going on with work, with life. She occasionally would comment to the nurse that she knew her body was failing her, and then we would resume talking about something else.

After the nurse left, I looked at Gran. "How are you really doing?"

She looked at me through narrowed, fatigued eyes. "I'm most frustrated because I'm not mobile."

"You mean, you can't putz around here?" I asked for clarification. She nodded. "You mean, you can't boss Pop around?" She smiled, almost laughed, and nodded.

One of the caretakers brought Gran lunch and set it up in front of her. Pop managed to get to the dining table to eat his lunch. Gran looked at her plate. "She's served me a double portion!" She looked up at the caretaker. "Get me another plate and give some of this to her." She is bossy, bossy, bossy.

"Gran, I am fine!" I exclaimed, and jumped up to go get my own plate before she griped at the caretaker anymore. I sat on the stainless steel, vinyl-upholstered stool and ate my lunch with her, while the caretaker held Kiddo. Before I was finished with lunch, Aunt Judy showed up with a birthday cake for me. She cut slices of it for Gran and Pop.

After Gran was done eating, I asked if she wanted to hold Kiddo, and without hesitation she said yes. He was starting to get fussy at that point--it was past time for him to take a nap. I had no idea how he would react to being held by someone else, but it was worth a try. It all went well. He laid on her patiently, and she was happy to hold him. "Get a picture of him with Pop," she insisted.

Kiddo needed a nap, so I held him and bounced him until he was almost asleep and put in him Pop's arms. There must be something about Pop's arms, because both that cat and Kiddo were thoroughly happy to remain there for extended periods of time. Kiddo dozed happily on him for a good fifteen minutes, and then I had to start gathering him up to get ready to head back to the city.

We walked back over to Gran, and I bent down and she kissed Kiddo on the head. I bent down further and kissed her on the lips. My eyes teared up. If I had counted Granny-kisses over the course of my life, I knew which one that was. Kiddo and I headed over to Pop and kissed him as well. I could only whisper "bye" because of the tears stuck in my throat.

Aunt Judy walked us to the kitchen, then back to the car, and hugged me goodbye.

This morning, my phone rang at 7:00 a.m. The caller ID said it was my mom, and I knew.

Gran used to sit back after Thanksgiving dinner, or on Christmas Eve after we had finished opening presents and look at me and say "I'm safronified. Are you?" Without leaving time for me to respond, she'd ask again, "Do you know what safronified means? It means you are completely satisfied." I tried explaining to Gran once that I had reserved the domain name "safronified.com" to start a blog. I should have just said I decided to write a book and title it Safronified, because I know I lost her at domain name.

Gran, you are now, officially, safronified.

Tearfully

2010-03-10T03:38:59Z

This morning, the most adorable, precious two-year-old little girl met Jesus, face to face. We had never met; I didn't know her. In her short years on this earth, her little body went through more agony than mine has in 31 years. I've been following her updates on twitter for the past couple of weeks, unsuccessfully bracing for tears every time I navigated to check her status. Her name was Layla Grace.

This morning, something was wrong. Her mother still had not posted a twitter update by 10:30, which was rare. Lately, her morning updates had been coming much earlier than that. As I realized this, sitting in a meeting, I flashed back to the moment I suddenly woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. It was a different kind of waking--I wasn't thinking about work, wasn't watching TV, I was just laying there. My mind went to Layla, and I started praying furiously. Hardcore, focused, begging-praying. In my gut, my heart of hearts, I knew--well, something. I don't know what. But it was SOMETHING.

Fast forward to 10:30, when I realized her mother had not yet updated the twitter status. My heart sank. I prayed some more. Packing up my things, getting ready to leave the meeting, the topic of cause-focused marketing came up. I mentioned to the leader of the group that I was trying to find a way to support an organization that funded research for childhood cancer. She looked up at me, suddenly. "My daughter died of neuroblastoma, twenty-eight years ago..." she said, pausing only slightly before finishing her sentence, "...today."

Goosebumps hit me. The odds of me (the Tin Man) discussing Layla Grace with her, on this day of all days, were eerie. But if you subscribe to classic theories, there is no such thing as coincidence, and everything happens for a reason. I do not know her daughter's name, so we'll call her Dee. She was five.

I left my meeting at 1, came home, checked twitter and realized that Layla had gone. Forever. In the arms of a merciful, merciful, gracious Savior. And as hard as it is for us to understand that from down here, I know that God saw it as good. His plan for that little girl is far more amazing than anything I can grasp in my feeble human mind.

The phone rang, and it was Caroline, who has run a non-profit for several years called Katie's Kids. Her sister-in-law, Katie, died at 28 of a brain tumor. Katie had founded the non-profit to help find and fund a cure for pediatric brain tumors.

I told Caroline the story of Layla and little Dee. She got goosebumps, too.

Since the earthquake in Haiti, I've been following several blogs. A couple of weeks ago, I read this beautiful, poignant story, told by a missionary who was visiting a remote orphanage.

There were two little children who very much broke my heart--a (very) little girl named Jemima and a (very) little boy named Ezaye. Both were malnourished to the point where they looked like skeletons. There was no meat on them at all, their skin was saggy and baggy, their eyes sunken in, the hair they had (not much) was orange and brittle, their eyes half closed and unresponsive. Holding them was like holding a bag of bones. We've all seen pictures of starving children on TV. But this is the first time I actually saw, touched, and held a truly starving person. It wasn't that great for me. Barton was the first to cry. Tears poured down his face in silence, dripping onto the blankets they were wrapped in to keep them warm. He whispered to Ezaye, "Go home. Just go home. You won't feel pain any more if you just go home. It's okay. God is waiting for you there."

I bent down close to him and started singing quietly a popular children's song in Haiti, "Eske 'w vle ale, lakay papa mwen, lakay papa mwen, lakay papa mwen? Eske 'w vle ale lakay papa mwen? Genyen jwa, jwa, jwa." (Translation: Do you want to go to my Father's house, to my Father's house, to my Father's house? Do you want to go, to my father's house? It has joy, joy, joy.") It was the same with Jemima. I sang it to her too. I touched her and prayed that God would find a way for there to be redemption in the situation. I even asked if we could foster them in our house--I knew it probably be of much use, but I would at least know that they would be held and fed every two hours around the clock. If it helped, great. If not, they could die in a home, in the arms of someone who cherished their sweet souls. But I wasn't given permission. (That's another story for another day.)

Yesterday I went back with our visiting group. Ezaye was still there. I sang to him again. I held him and prayed for him again.

Jemima was not there. I asked a nanny where she was, knowing already the answer.

"Jemima? Oh, li mouri." (Jemima? Oh, she's dead.")

Here's the funny thing. Though my heart initally sunk when I heard her words, I quickly saw the goodness of God, and I decided not to think of her as dead. Instead I am thinking of her as finally truly alive. No longer a skeleton, but the proud owner of a new body. Running and playing and laughing and hugging the neck of Jesus. I asked God for redemption in this situation. I can't imagine a more full redemption than she was granted...

Right now, I am having a hard time wrapping my feeble, human mind around this concept of redemption, this concept of grace, this concept of justice. It just doesn't seem RIGHT. I just don't UNDERSTAND.

But I take heart in knowing that sweet little 2 year old Layla, baby Jemima, and five-year-old Dee are running through those fields with Katie and Jesus. Completely healed. No more pain.

And for that, I'm grateful.

Six Months

2010-03-09T03:01:06Z

Dear Kiddo,

You'll have to start learning to forgive me early in life, I suppose. I've started several drafts of these letters to you, but haven't finished them, for one reason or another. The excuses have been plentiful; time has not. I started with the best of intentions, but haven't written you a three month, four month, or five month letter.

Sometime during your month three, I walked in late from work. Things had been hectic, as they always are at that time of year. It was quiet in the house, without a daddy, dog or baby in sight, so I tiptoed upstairs and saw this:

You and your daddy were both sound asleep. He had been helping me at work. We were exhausted. You weren't sleeping through the night yet.

Christmas hit, and a snowstorm. Kiddo, actually, it was a blizzard. Your Uncle Toothpick and cousin Bames barely made it to our house. We all holed up together, laughing and playing Uno Attack until three in the morning. There is video footage of that night--we'll let you see it when you are older. Your Uncle Toothpick brought you a giant Curious George. You just sat there, looking at that monkey, wondering why he was bigger than you were.

Your Nana and Poppa didn't make it to town that night, and so the next day, Christmas Day, we headed to your Mimi's house. You spent Christmas morning with your cousins, and your Mimi. You weren't sure what to make of the chaos, and didn't want to nap that afternoon. We finally rocked you to sleep and you agreed to crash at Mimi's house, sleeping in the crib in the guest room. Meanwhile, Daddy and I had dug out our snow gear and went sledding like two kids on the hills at Mimi and Carpa's house.

We officially celebrated Christmas on the 26th in 2009. It was a Saturday, which made the Christmas holiday seem like a four day weekend. We put off having the feast until after your Nana and Poppa finally made it to town. There is also some video footage of that as well, complete with a full critique of the menu by your Aunt Dianna.

Later that night, we gathered around for some family photos. Notice the contrast of your glamorous Aunt B, versus your rather granola-y-looking-but-not-really-Momma:

Aunt B:

Your cousin, Pardner, held you patiently while we took photos, none of which turned out to be halfway decent. Cruiser sat by, rather disenchanted with the whole picture taking process. They were extremely tired cousins, on their best behavior.

It snowed again in January. There was a Thursday when we left work, knowing that a storm would hit, and we would not be in on Friday. I was relishing the thought of staying home with you. Your daddy was out of town--I don't remember why or where. We woke up that Friday morning to at least six inches of thick snow on the ground. I opened the curtains (after you woke me up) and we worked together that day. I laid blankets on the ground in the floor of my room, and took these photos of you.

We've had a couple of days like that, you and I. They are long and slow days. Your sitter isn't here, and the world is quiet. Sundays are like that when your daddy is out of town. The phone doesn't ring, we don't turn the television on...it's just you and me. I already regret that I have not savored more moments with you, that I have not turned the computer off more often, that I have not been here for your every waking moment.

I'm so glad I pulled the camera out on that snowy day. We took pictures for all of ten minutes, but I'll always remember those moments, frozen in time, with you watching me, watching Francie, watching the thick flakes fall outside. The world isn't always such a beautiful place, you will someday learn. Wars, greed, corruption and pain can encompass you if you let it.

Kiddo, I'm learning that you don't have to let those things encompass you. You don't have to identify with that pain, you don't have to become a part of the pain. You can become a part of the healing. And those quiet days--that snowy day--have been healing for me, in so many ways as well.

This morning, I talked to your Aunt B. We talked about how we can let the past define who we are, or we can let our choices define who we become.

Yesterday, one of those quiet Sundays, I turned off the computer at noon. You were fussy, were having none of your Bouncy Monkey, or your bottle, or your crib, or a schedule. So, we laid on the floor together, and talked to an octopus, and a hungry caterpillar, and a rather annoying vibrating and musical elephant. Francie curled up in a ball on her bed on the other side of the room, and you rolled over. And over. And over. On your back, you smiled up at me. On your stomach, you looked around, up, and wiggled on your legs, pushing to see if they would take you somewhere.

All too soon, Kiddo, you will be gone. Those legs will take you so many places in life. Never forget that the choices you make about where you go, what you do, who you associate with, will affect you for the rest of your life. Don't let yourself become mired down in the past, or in negative people. Always move up and onward.

So far, you're doing an incredible job of it.

Love always,
Momma

'Cause I Know We Can

2010-03-07T04:25:59Z

Tonight, I'm going to bed with so many questions in my head, and thoughts in my heart, most of which can be summarized by asking: how can a little ol' stationery company change the world?

Twilight Zone

2010-02-02T04:54:28Z

Remember Alexander? The boy of the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day?

Today, I felt like him.

I don't mean to be entitled. I don't mean to be selfish. I don't mean to be ungrateful. But I'd just HAD IT. Frustration built up over the past week was really getting to me.

If I was a crier, I would have cried. I'm more of a snapper than a crier, though, and I honestly didn't have it in me to snap either.

It was a rather out-of-person experience.

Heart

2010-01-29T15:08:26Z

Kiddo has some pretty bad eczema on his skin. My mom and sister are convinced that it is some type of allergic reaction--and they both suffer from the itchy stuff. My sister's boys, especially, itch so badly that they'll scratch until they bleed, poor things. Our pediatrician advised us that one way to deal with the eczema is to wait until we "just can't stand it anymore, and give him a bath."

I have to say, it's helped his skin. The horrid rough patches aren't as bad as have been. But this morning, I got to the "just can't stand it anymore" point, and gave him a bath.

It's been a while--almost four weeks. I know that sounds gross, but that's what our doctor told us to do. I wondered if he'd even remember what a bath was--he was loving them for a while, but I was curious if it would be a new experience all over again. We walked into the bathroom, turned on the heater and the light.

Our shower curtain hangs on those little rings that have the roller-balls on them. It's a weird sound, to be sure. I reached up to move the shower curtain back, and Kiddo practically jumped out of his skin. I stopped mid pull-back, and held him close. He relaxed, and I started moving the curtain the remainder of the way back.

This time instead of just jerking, startled, he SHRIEKED! It wasn't a cry--it was a call out! It was the most awful sound to ever hit a mother's ears. He was so scared. At only not even five months old. I held him so close. The tears were on their way--his lower lip puckered out, corners down-turned.

He was going to be fine, though.

But it reminded me that some children aren't fine. And once again, as it has so many times in the past week and a half, my heart went out to the orphans in Haiti, and really all over the world, who don't have someone to hold them when they are scared. I know the Lord has His eye on them, but in my own human insecurities and weaknesses, I'll admit that that almost doesn't seem like enough. I KNOW it is enough. I know that those of us who have been born into SO much more than orphaned children in third world countries should consider ourselves IMMENSELY blessed.

And I know, to whom much is given, much is required. I'm not sure what the Lord requires of me--if it's an open checkbook, or a willingness to go, or something else. But I know, if I follow where He leads us, that it will be an adventure beyond my wildest dreams, and far more blessing than I ever could have been born into.

Good Morning

2010-01-25T12:46:50Z

One of my favorite sayings is, "When the grass is greener, water your yard."

What that means is, when you're not happy:

Count your blessings.
Quit comparing yourself to others.
Realize that happiness takes work.
And it's a state of mind.
And a journey, not a destination.
Don't live by the seat of your emotions.
Go help someone who has less than you.
If, for one second, you think you don't know anyone with less than you, turn on the news and watch this stuff going on in Haiti.
Or, read this blog.
Quit being selfish.
JOY = Jesus, Others, You.
And, ironic, think "glass half empty". If you prepare yourself for the worst possible scenario, you'll probably never half to deal with it. It really does add perspective.
Realize that it could all be much, much, much worse.

I'm not sure if that's a morning pep talk for myself, or frustration at lackadaisical attitudes, or the Haiti stuff making me un-Grinch-ish, or if the Tin Man found a heart.

I'm off to find some coffee.

Perspective

2010-01-22T03:54:12Z

Tomorrow, I have to read and edit six contracts.
I'm grateful for the opportunities.

Tomorrow, we have to process orders.
I'm grateful for the business.

Tomorrow, food and fresh water are plentiful.
I'm grateful, and remember those who are less fortunate.

There is a lot that I'd rather not deal with, but at the end of the day, there is so much more to be grateful for.

We Can Debate Later

2010-01-20T15:03:04Z

In the hustle and bustle of what has been my life lately, mostly a solid combination of career and motherhood, I have discovered the glories of a bedtime no later than 9:30 p.m. CST.

In a day and age when riding the fence, politically and spiritually, seems like the safest thing to do in order to keep from being ostracized by society, I find myself speaking out less and less on these topics, despite the knot in my stomach.

But last night, after drifting to sleep with the TV on, and after a day of Brown vs. Coakley, Hubs was flipping channels, and I caught a whif of what was happening, and mumbled, "He won?" Hubs said yes, and I think I slept a tad better last night.

After a discouraging blow two Novembers ago, and a disheartening year of wanting to say "I told you so" to the American public, all I feel like saying this morning is:

GO, REPUBLICANS, GO!!

Update on Life

2010-01-14T13:39:42Z

I haven't written my Kiddo letter for the four months mark. At this point in time, I'll probably just save it for five months, since that will be here in a couple of weeks. I need to download pics off my camera, too. His growing seems to have slowed down a tad in the past weeks--he's not longer flying through the sizes of clothing.

We have been SO BUSY. We finished out December at work on a combination of harsh and joyous notes: the good news is, our error rate was .005%. I don't want to get into what the bad news was, but long story short, I determined I was tired of hearing bad news.

So, one morning, I shot off an email to a business acquaintance. Looking back, it was one of those emails that set off a string of dominoes, because my head hasn't stopped spinning since I pressed send. Moments later, my phone rang, and that conversation sent me into a tizzy finding paperwork. I sent the paperwork, and was put through a grueling interview, in which I had to sell my vision for what we could become. They bought it. And then, before the end of the year, they delivered a snazzy, brand-new HP Indigo 3500.

In the story that will be my life, I think I will look back and say we were at a sink or swim point. Sinking, for me, is never an option. Swimming, while a lot of hard work, at least means we are moving forward. I HATE not moving forward. I hate stagnant feelings, and I hate not learning, and I hate it when we're not making progress.

The emotions that have accompanied this decision equivalent to those that I had after first starting the business. I'm crunching numbers again, thanks to one incredible bookkeeper, who without, this would not have been possible. I'm exhausted--crashing as soon as my head hits the pillow--and I'm not pregnant, this time. I really just jumped off the deep end, but I know how to swim. The waters of potential lured me in.

Kiddo is adorable, happy, and believe it or not, the reason we are doing all this. He's also crying right now, so I'm signing off.

xoxo,
Toots

The Goal Notebook

2010-01-01T03:53:51Z

Author's note: I've talked about this before, I'm sure, so if you've been reading this blog since 2003, you might want to skip the first few paragraphs.

Since the age of seven, I have felt the need to document things, in detail. My Gran bought me a diary, complete with lock and ever-so-secure key, for my seventh birthday. I felt like it was crucially important to tell the diary, which I named "Rose", all about my frustrations with Disney World.

At some point in time, the lock-and-key diary gave way to scraps of paper, probably because I figured out that all the diary keys were universal, and the lock didn't work anyway. The scraps of paper followed me to college, then Dallas, and finally back to my first little house in Oklahoma, where I finally found the time to sort and organize them. As I carefully compiled each writing, by date, into its own little sheet protector, and notebook of the appropriate year, I started to notice that I had made little goal lists every so often.

The astonishing thing about the lists was that they were so similar. I started setting them aside, and ended up creating a separate goal notebook. I don't use it very often, but with the new year upon us, and major changes happening in the business, I felt the need to pull it out today.

The oldest goal list is undated, but I would say it probably dates back to my junior or senior year of high school. It reads:

My Goals in Life

Own a company.

Write a book.

Live in South France for a year.

Learn French.

Obtain a "Silver Screen" figure.

Build my dream house.

Get married, have kids.

Receive a dozen pink roses.

Never settle for less than my dreams.

A gorgeous husband.

Have a maid.

Weigh 130 pounds.

Yes, you can laugh.

OK, you can quit laughing now. Some of it is ridiculous. But, own a company? Check. Married, kids, roses? Check, check, check. Gorgeous husband? CH-ECK. Have a maid? Check. Weigh 130 pounds?

OK, you can laugh again now.

But the point being, for a list I made in high school, that's some pretty good checking.

Today, I've been feeling rather introspective. Look at where I've come, determine where I'm going--all that jazz. I wasn't a big fan of 2008, and I really have detested 2009, at least from a business perspective. So, I've put all the wheels in motion for big changes in 2010. And I'm jotting down my goals.

You can call me crazy, but I really believe in the power of putting this stuff on paper. I tuck it away after I've written it down, back into the goal notebook, back into the cabinet, where it isn't hanging over my head every day. I like that these are goals, not resolutions. Resolutions are almost always broken. Goals, on the other hand, can exist indefinitely like stars waiting to be reached.

I know, I know. CORNY.

So, here is the goal list for 2010. Actually, it's probably the goal list for the next decade. And you can laugh, but remember that I like to dream big, and encourage others to do the same.

Write a book.

Live in France for a year.

Learn French/Spanish.

Weigh 130 pounds.

Build my dream house.

Get my MBA or MIT.

Go to China.

Learn to play golf.

Own a jet.

Lake house with boat.

"Cabin" in Vail. Ski-in, ski-out.

Visit Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Have our home published in a magazine.

Figure out how to get Hubs onto Augusta for a round.

Improve my photography skills.

Learn to sail.

Join YPO.

License designs to other product manufacturing companies.

Tithe.

What's yo dream?

Wishing, Thankful

2009-12-28T22:33:18Z

Wishing...
...I could have eaten lunch today.
...that people who have issues with how they've been treated wouldn't become victims.
...that people would take responsibility for their actions.
...that I was a light speed programmer.
...that this house cleaned itself.
...that I could have stayed home on this snowy day and just loved on my son.
...that my email answered itself.
...that legal stuff wasn't so...legal.
...that lumber magically turned itself into sheetroc-ed walls.

Thankful...
...that tomorrow we get some major PR.
...that I have grateful, sweet, precious, hardworking employees that "get" me.
...that Piper is back!
...for my precious, wall-building, hard-working husband.
...for my wonderful, generous, brilliant, engineer dad.
...for people who communicate.

All In a Day's Work

2009-12-23T06:56:44Z

Just in case you were worried about the state of my sanity, here's an update:

Cookies are baked. And iced. Darling Christmas trees--dozens of them. Martha Stewart would be so proud. I'll cart them to the office tomorrow along with my "Hot Fruit" for holiday pot luck.

The press got delivered safe and sound. I didn't get to see the actual delivery and move-in, but I walked over to check it out right before leaving work today. I think my blood pressure spiked when I looked at it. In a weird, sentimental way, it was like looking at my future--a very amazing, very exciting future. It gets set-up/installed mid January.

Dishwasher was installed. Dishdirtier was carted off. OF COURSE, the installer guys did something to the drain/disposal/plumbing (which probably needed to be replaced anyway), so tomorrow the plumber is coming to fix that. I'm trying to decide if I should wish upon the plumbing that it would cause the oven to break. I have a hankering for a new oven.

Insurance stuff on car: done.

Note cards sent to press.

Press release started.

Christmas cards ordered. Ha! The cobbler's children...

To do tomorrow:
Finish printing new release invites on office printers.
Two sets of legal docs.
Finish buying presents for: sitter, MIL, FIL, BIL, sister and BIL. Wrap.
Decorate tree.

Long story short, WE ARE GETTING THERE.

My friend Scarlett and I are going to try to catch some shut-eye. Tomorrow is another day.

Brain Dump

2009-12-22T05:02:51Z

Pardon the spewing, but I've got to get this all out.

I have to bake more cookies for work on Wednesday. Thankful for my precious husband who made the dough today. He's awesome.

Printing press delivered tomorrow. Guy who is currently selling us printing is stopping by tomorrow (ironically, on the day a press is being delivered.)

Dishwasher delivers tomorrow (to replace the dishdirtier we currently own).

Insurance guy is coming tomorrow to give me a quote on getting my car repaired after I ran into my friend Schmitty's car in the parking lot of Mimi's a few weeks ago. It was the black ice's fault. Totally.

New release has to be to press by tomorrow at noon. We are CUTTING IT CLOSE.

Have to revise legal docs and get them to new designer.

Have to revise legal docs and get them to new company we are looking at potentially acquiring.

Need to write press releases for all that. BUZZ, baby, BUZZ!!!

Oh, need to get husband some socks and undies for his stocking. Need to get inlaws some more stocking stuffer stuff stuff. Need to wrap all gifts.

NEED TO DECORATE TREE!

Need to finish Kiddo's thank you notes. Need to send out Kiddo's birth announcements/now New Years cards.

Just finished software install on one site. Need to refine. Need to work on software install for other site--set to launch Jan 3.

Need to stop and enjoy Christmas. In celebration of His birth, I need to pause and stop and remember and be thankful and QUIT RUNNING AROUND a la headless chicken.

xoxo,
Toots

Coooookie

2009-12-17T13:24:18Z

What am I going to do today?

Bake cookies. Lots and lots and lots of cookies. I am so glad the grocery store is close.

I've always loved to bake cookies. Remember E? She and I have bonded over cookie-making in so many ways. I distinctly remember the day we compared our chocolate chip recipes, analyzing every ingredient and step in the process. Turns out we used the exact same recipe; the only think we could figure out that made the cookies different was that she washed her pans in between each baking.

I hate washing pans of any kind, so I never tried it to see if it would make my cookies turn out like hers.

Today is sugar cookie day. Complete with sprinkles, icing, and at least one run to Williams Sonoma. Even more than I love to bake cookies, I love to decorate them.

I may try to take pictures. Ha! We will see if that happens. I'm going to enlist our sitter's help in the baking process. I'm sure it will be a lovely disaster.

And last but not least, I am so excited to have so many reasons to share cookies with friends: I am hosting a dinner party this weekend (perfect party favors!), a cookie exchange on Sunday at Christi's house, a cookie swap next week at work, and then finally, Christmas!

Off to caffeinate. All this baking is going to take some energy!