blast from the past | Page 4 | Minivans Are Hot

Re-Post: Literal Art and the Worst Toy Ever Created

August 3, 2009 by Kelli

I’m exhausted today and I have mountains of laundry chasing me through the house like a really, really bad horror film. So I’m not going to even try to be original this morning. I’m just going to repost one of my favorites. The reason I pulled this one out is because my kids are marching through the house with that d*@# bird right now intent on driving their poor mama crazy.

Good times. Do enjoy, for a second time…

So Sloan came home from school with this masterpiece the other day. He was very proud of it. I placed it in the window in our kitchen. When Lee came home he looked at it told Sloan how cool it was. “What is it? What does it represent?” he asked.

“It’s just bread and goldfish,” Sloan responded, looking up at Lee as if he had just sprouted a second head.

Riiiight. So, it’s clearly not abstract art.

In other Lee stories (I post these with his permission), the other night Sloan and Tia were running around the house after their bath. They like to run “in their nakeds” as Sloan says. Apparently Sloan tripped and twisted his foot. He cried pretty hard and it was his “I’m really hurt” cry as opposed to the “I’m just making noise” cry. So Lee spent some time putting pressure on the foot and turning it to make sure there wasn’t any real damage.

Then, in what was an apparent attempt to be funny gone terribly awry, Lee told Sloan to stand on his feet, then reach down and touch his toes. When Sloan reached down, Lee pushed him. He was hoping to make Sloan laugh and forget about his pain. Instead, Sloan fell on his face and twisted his wrist underneath him. So now the concern was not whether he had broken his foot, but his wrist.

Sheesh. Boys (eyeroll).

Then, yesterday Lee came home for work all bright eyed and excited.

“Where are the kids?” he asked. “I’ve got a surprise for them.”

I was in the nursery trying to clean out the closets and drawers of all the clothes that no longer fit. I heard Lee tell the kids to sit down on the couch and close their eyes.

“Now, this is something for you guys to share.”
At this point, my heart fell slightly because my kids and sharing do not mix well. Then, I heard a bag crinkling and Lee told the kids to open their eyes. This is what I hear.

“Oh boy! Thanks dad! It’s a talking parrot!”

At this point I almost cried and let me tell you why. When we go to my parents condo, there is a man that lives down there that is precious and he loves kids. Every time we come, he brings this fake, talking parrot that repeats everything you say to Sloan to play with. After about ten minutes of Sloan screaming at the parrot and it screaming back at him, I generally feel a migraine coming on. That bird always mysteriously ends up on the very highest shelf, where he stays until we leave and have to give it back to Mr. Neal. This is the exact bird toy that Lee bought for the kids. It’s like a cruel joke. When he came in the bedroom he was all smiles. “They love it!” he said.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked. “Have I done something to offend you in any way?”

It was at this point that he realized what he had done. He started laughing, and God love me, I tried to laugh with him, I really did. Then he offered a mild apology. “It’s just so fun to shop at Cracker Barrell,” he said.

So now, as I post this, Sloan and Tia are in the basement screaming at the top of their lungs at the parrot and laughing hysterically as it screams back at them. And I am secretly plotting revenge on my husband.

Filed Under: blast from the past, Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Random

Then and Now

July 20, 2009 by Kelli

Exactly one year ago, I took Landon to a small, relatively quiet section of beach and took pictures. On Friday, I did it again. In one year’s time, my baby has grown into a toddler brimming with personality and joy. He is sweetness personified. And he is growing up much too fast…

THEN - He was 7 months old and enjoyed immensely the taste of sand.

NOW - He's not too fond of the sand, particularly when it lands in his mouth.

NOW - He's 19 months and he's not too fond of the sand, particularly when it lands in his mouth.

THEN - He was still immobile. He hadn't even begun crawling.

NOW - He can walk...

Run...

And wave hi to the passing tractor.

THEN - He enjoyed showing a little crack at the beach.

NOW - Well, thankfully not everything has changed!

THEN - He was funny, sweet and brimming with personality.

NOW - That personality is (loudly) showing up in a thousand different expressions.

Whether THEN or NOW, the fact remains…

: He is one handsome little boy.

Filed Under: blast from the past, Family, Kids, Landon, Life, Motherhood

Six Years

July 10, 2009 by Kelli

Six years ago at this very moment, I became a mommy.

Six years ago at this very moment suddenly my life wasn’t about me any more.

Six years ago at this very moment I was in the worst pain of my life. But it was quickly followed by the biggest surge of joy I’ve ever known.

Six years ago at this moment, I was baffled, flabbergasted, nervous and excited all at the same time.

Six years ago at this time, I knew exactly what to do even though I had no idea what I was doing.

Six years ago at this exact moment, Sloan was born.

It was 6:21 am on a Thursday morning. It was crazy and hectic as nurses scrambled to accomodate my extremely fast labor. The house doctor was coaching me since my doctor didn’t make it in time.

And out he came out, a wriggly, chubby little man with a head full of white blonde fuzz. And we fell in love immediately.

Fast forward six years. Sloan is a joy. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s friendly and he’s loving. He loves people and needs companionship as much as he needs oxygen. I can’t imagine life without Sloan. In fact, it’s hard to remember life without him.

Sloan,

You are my first born. You’re the one who made me a mommy. You make me laugh every day. You are a good, good little boy and it’s a joy to call you my son.

Today you get to become a pirate for the day. That’s your gift from us. You told me yesterday that instead of taking a pirate cruise, you wish that we could find a Star Wars ship and fly into the galaxy. I told you that maybe when you turn 12 we’ll be able to find a Star Wars ship to fly in.

I hope you grow out of your Star Wars obsession by then otherwise you will be sorely disappointed.

Since you were born, you have been the most loving, outgoing ,verbal little boy. It’s been a challenge for me as my first inclination is not to say hi to everyone I meet and ask them to come and play. But it’s a trait I love about you because wherever we are, you make a new friend.

Last night you told me that you were going to miss 5. “It was a good year,” you said very dramatically. Yes, it was a good year. You grew up a lot this year. You’re not a little kid anymore. And while I’m going to miss 5 too, I look forward to 6. It will be another good year. I just hope it goes by a little more slowly because you’re growing up way too fast.

I love you, Sloan. Have a Happy 6th Birthday.

Mom

Filed Under: blast from the past, Family, Kids, Life, Sloan Tagged With: Happy Birthday

The Day We Became Heretics

June 11, 2009 by Kelli

*This story has been edited slightly to add the facts that my friend Sveta left in the comments. Thanks Sveta!

So, I promised to tell you the story of Lee kissing the cross in a Ukrainian Orthodox church. And here it is:

When I was pregnant with Sloan I spent a month in Ukraine researching a book that I was working on. While there, I spoke with a handful of World War II veterans, but I didn’t get all the information that I wanted or needed. At this point I already had a publisher lined up for the book so I felt a lot of pressure to complete it before the baby came.

So I began contacting people here in St. Louis who might be able to connect me with more veterans that I could speak with. One of those people was a Ukrainian-American man who was a parishoner at a local Ukrainian Orthodox church. He invited Lee and I to visit the church and told us that after it was over we could speak with some of the older people in attendance.

So Lee and I scheduled a visit to the Ukrainian Orthodox church of St. Louis. At this point I was great with child. And I had reached the status of beached whale.

Whenever I mention my enormity in my first pregnancy, people so sweetly roll their eyes and say “Whatever, I bet you were adorable,” and other really nice things.

I’m here to tell you that I’m not exaggerating. Sloan was 9 lbs. 3 oz. and I carried him all out front. I was humongous. And here is a picture to prove it…

random-001 See? G-R-E-A-T with child…

So one Sunday morning, I waddled myself into a small church building with my very crazy supportive husband at my side. Determined not to make an enormous spectacle of ourselves, we sat in the little cry room in the back. It was dark in the room and there was a large window that looked into the sanctuary where we watched the service with fascination.

The entire service was conducted in Ukrainian and if you didn’t know, Ukrainian and Russian are not the same. So we had no idea what was going on and I’m pretty sure we both fought hard not to doze off. There was another woman in the room with us and she actually had a baby so we tried to look attentive so as not to offend.

It was a very surreal experience. In all my visits to Ukraine, I had only ever been to one Orthodox service and I only stayed for a few minutes, then left because I felt extremely out of place. Seeing all the pomp and circumstance that went into the service was very interesting. I really wished I understood what they were saying.

At the end of the service, the priest (are they called priest’s? I’m not sure) batyushka – the guy in the robe and headdress – walked through the church with a large cross held out in front of him. He stopped at the end of each pew and let everyone offer a simple prayer, after which they leaned forward and kissed the cross. They also kissed his hand, which is a part of this story I had forgotten until Sveta reminded me.

As I watched this, I prayed silently that he would not come to the cry room because I had no intention of kissing that cross. Not only did I not understand why I would be kissing it, but there were a lot of strange lips that were landing on that cross and I really didn’t want to swap germs with all of them…

Much to my dismay, however, the batyushka made it to the cry room where my heart was now beating very quickly. What to do? The woman with the baby murmured a few words in Ukrainian, then leaned forward and kissed the wooden cross and the batyushka’s hand. Then he turned to us.

Lee, the consumate Baptist, stood up and reached his hand out to try and shake the priest’s batyushka’s hand. Instead, the small man furrowed his brow and thrust the cross in Lee’s face. Lee bobbed his head for a few seconds like a drunk hummingbird, trying to avoid the inevitable. But he finally took a deep breath, puckered up and kissed the cross.

And then I kissed it. Because I didn’t know how to avoid it and my husband had already paved the way for me. As soon as the priest batyuska left, Lee and I lost it. We could not stop laughing – the whole situation was just so comical. And as I belly laughed, my gigantic midsection bounced up and down, which made us laugh harder. The woman in the room glared at us and left abruptly.

And thus ended our experience in the Ukrainian Orthodox church. Incidentally, I ended up not really getting any good contacts out of them after all. When we attended the banquet after church, no one seemed interested in talking, so it was a wash.

Well, except for the memory, which is now one of my favorites.

And now you know the story of Lee kissing a cross.

The end.

Filed Under: blast from the past, funny stuff that happens, Marriage Tagged With: Ukrainian Orthodox church

The Lotus in a Field of Mud

June 9, 2009 by Kelli

I took a yoga/pilates class at the gym last week. Why? Hard to say…I think I’m a glutton for punishment. Actually, the yoga/pilates class wasn’t nearly as difficult as the yoga class I took on Saturday, which kicked my butt.

Seriously, my butt was sore for days…

At the end of the class, after we’d taken our short nap and aligned our breathing with our heart center (huh?) we sat up, hands clasped at our hearts and the instructor, in a vibrating alto of a voice, said, “May we all shine like the lotus in a field of mud. Namaste.” At which point she bowed low. While everyone else bowed back, I stifled a giggle because really? What does that even mean?

And I had an immediate flashback to my honeymoon when my brand new husband and I decided to try our very first yoga class together. We were at an amazing spa and resort off the coast of Seattle. It was very earthy and granola. Yoga just seemed like the thing to do there.

So we arrived promptly at 9:00am on the second day of our honeymoon and we met our instructor, whose name I don’t remember but in my imagination I call her Celeste, because it seems to fit the picture I have.

She was probably in her early fifties and had long, matted hair – very hippie. She didn’t wear a lick of makeup and looked as if she had sworn off bra’s around 1965.

To put it mildly, she was…an odd bird.

We got inside the small yoga room where she lit incense and turned on warbling music that immediately made me feel like Dorothy in the field of poppys. It suddenly dawned on Lee and I that we were the only two people in the room with Celeste. We looked at each other and giggled.

Then we began the workout. “Take in deep breaths,” Celeste stage-whispered over the drowsy music, “And align your spirit with the stars of the universe.”

At this point I opened one eye and looked over at Lee who had his hands at his side and a look of horror on his face. “What is this?” he mouthed to me. I shrugged and stifled another giggle, then went about trying to align my spirit with the stars. I’m pretty sure I never accomplished that task.

Fifteen minutes into our private yoga class, Celeste finally pushed Lee too far. Mind you, this was our first experiece with Up-Dogs and Down-Dogs. We’d never heard the words “Shatacharasana” or “Chutitutunga.”

I’m pretty sure those aren’t actually yoga terms, but it’s what I hear when the instructors speak. It’s all very confusing…

Aaaanyhoo, Celeste was leading us in our first Cobra. A pose which requires you to keep your lower abs on the floor and push your shoulders up and back. As we scooped forward, Celeste, who up until this moment had been whispering all her instructions with great reverenece, burst out in a deep voice, “BEEEE THE COBRAAAAA.” And she thrust herself upward.

After I swallowed my heart, which had leapt into my throat, I laughed out loud. I couldn’t stifle it. But Celeste was so well aligned with the stars that she didn’t even hear me.

I looked at Lee who was standing up and rolling up his mat. “I’m leaving,” he whispered. “This is weird.”

“You can’t,” I mouthed. “We’re the only ones in here.”

He shrugged, then walked out. My husband of 48 hours abandoned me in a room with Celeste the yoga nazi.

I didn’t want to leave because I was afraid that we would bump into her somewhere on the grounds of the resort and she would know that we were the people that bailed on her class and place some kind of star-powered yoga hex on us. So I stuck it out. I did the tree with Celeste. I balanced on my elbows with Celeste. I did a shoulder stand with Celeste. I became one with the cobra with Celeste. And all the while I cursed my darling husband for leaving me to suffer alone.

That was only the start of the many, many bizarre situations that Lee and I have managed to get ourselves into in our nearly nine years of marriage. We have definately seized the day in our married lives. I’m so glad I married someone who isn’t afraid to try new things. And I’m pleased to say that he hasn’t abandoned me in an awkward situation ever again. Thankyouverymuch.

(Soon, I’ll tell you about the time we visited a Ukrainian Orthodox church here in St. Louis and Lee kissed a cross. Classic…)

And now, every once in awhile when we’re sitting quietly, one of us will burst out with “BEEEE THE COBRAAAA!”

Now if I could only figure out how on earth to be a lotus…

Filed Under: blast from the past, funny stuff that happens, Marriage Tagged With: rosario resort, yoga, yoga/pilates

Sick and Twisted or Just Plain Funny?

April 28, 2009 by Kelli

When I was thirteen, I got a babysitting job for some neighbors that lived down the street. After hanging up the phone, I checked the calendar and realized that *gasp* I had just agreed to baby-sit on Friday the 13^th.

I handled this realization with typical teenage aplomb, dramatically lamenting about how horrible and terrible it would be. I was all, “Ohmyga, like, it’s gonna be soooooooo scary to baby-sit on, like, Friday the 13^th. Like, what am I gonna do – like…?”

I think my parents responded with an eye roll and snicker. Heartless.

Finally, the big day arrived. I had asked a friend to go with me because I figured there was power in numbers and if any crazed psychopaths came knocking on our door I could sacrifice her and run for my life.

Once we finally settled the baby in his bed, we sat down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and put in a documentary on the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Why did we choose to watch that? Hard to say – that’s a part of this memory that baffles me. All I know is that just as the shot rang out on the grassy knoll, we heard it – a scratching sound on the back porch.

Both of us froze, afraid to even glance at one another. Then we heard the bang of a chair falling over. My friend yelped and jumped on top of me. I pulled a pillow over my face and the bowl of popcorn thudded to the floor. It was like a bad horror movie when everything slowed down. I could hear nothing but the rapid beating of my heart.

“What should we do?” my friend gasped.

“I’ll run upstairs and grab the baby – you call 911,” I replied, my breathing ragged.

“How about I go get the baby and you stay down here with the killer?” my friend said back. Clearly, neither one of us was feeling overly self-sacrificial.

At that moment, three short raps rang from the back door. At this point, my friend is nearly in tears, her face hidden in her hands. I poked my head out from under the pillow and could see the silhouette of a man standing on the other side of the glass. I was just about to let loose the blood curdling scream that only a girl of 13 could produce when I heard, “Kelli? Let me in – it’s cold out here.”

It was my FATHER. In a sick and twisted moment of cruelty, he thought it would be a good idea to come over and scare us, knowing how dramatic we had been about babysitting that night.

After opening the door and giving him an earful (Dad, like you are soooooo lame. We were, like, tooootally gonna call the cops on you, blah, blah, blah) I giggled a little, because, well, it was pretty funny.

My dad was notorious for scaring the ever lovin’ life out of us as kids. My brother, who was terrified of “basement monsters,” would creep down the stairs only to come tearing back up when my dad would let out a howl from behind him. My dad found an odd measure of glee in watching us scream in terror. And the funny part is that even though he genuinely scared us senseless, we always came back for more. There was something oddly comforting about being so scared, yet deep down knowing we were just fine.

And, I have to admit, now that I’m a parent – it is pretty funny. Last week, our back door, which hadn’t been closed all the way, blew open in a gust of wind.

“Maybe it’s a ghost,” I whispered to my kids and I crept slowly to the door. Gripping the knob, I yanked it all the way open and let out a piercing scream. Sloan screamed too, his eyes wide with terror. When he realized I was joking, he broke out in a peal of delighted laughter.

Tia, however, did not appreciate the twisted humor. She glared at me for half an hour and refused to sit next to me at lunch. For some reason this made me laugh even more. (And I did apologize to her later – I’m not totally heartless.)

I’m not sure what it is, but giving your kids a healthy little scare is just hilarious. Perhaps it’s a little payback for the sleepless nights? Or maybe, as in my case, it’s the perpetuating of a cycle that started long ago with my own father. Whatever it is, to hear their little screams and then listen to them break out in short little bursts of fearful laughter-those are good times. Or maybe that’s just me…

After all, I am a little sick and twisted.

Filed Under: blast from the past, Family, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Motherhood Tagged With: Friday the 13th, humor, Kids, scared

What was I thinking?

September 9, 2008 by Kelli

A few months into our marriage, I got the crazy, horrific idea that I wanted to be a brunette. This was during a time when several previously blonde movie stars had gone brunette and I thought surely I’d look as good as they did. I told Lee what I was thinking and he was all, “Cool! Great idea! Can I help pick out the color?”

So, we packed our classy selves up and headed to the local Walgreens because where else would a fabulous makeover begin but in the aisle’s of a chain pharmacy? After scouring over the different choices of hair color, we found a brilliant auburn that we both liked. The girl on the front of the box looked beautiful, breezy and very natural. I felt confident as I shelled out my 10 bucks that I was fast approaching a new, radient me.

Upon returning home, Lee had to head off to work and I decided to go ahead and get the process going. We had only one car at that time for some reason that I can’t recall, so he just dropped me off and I assured him that I would be a sexy brunette when he returned.

I quickly tore into the box and applied the hair color, then sat down and waited for the 25 minutes to pass. Finally, with much excitement, I rushed back into the bathroom and checked my hair. I knew immediately that this was not going to turn out as I’d hoped. My head had a blackish purple color to it. I quickly jumped into the shower and tried not to panic as I saw the dark, very dark color, swirling at my feet. Upon getting out and drying my hair, I began shaking and an actual panic attack set in.

My hair was not the sexy brown of the girl on the box, but was actually a dark, almost purple color. I looked like some punk goth kid out to prove to her parents and the world that reality does indeed bite.

So I called Lee and tearfully told he needed to come home now, which he did and promptly began laughing his head off. And, God help me, I tried to laugh with him, but it’s really hard to laugh when you’re bawling. So, after Lee composed himself, we headed to the mall (mistake number 2) and I walked into a Regis hair salon and shamefully asked if they’d bleach it out. Instead, they tried to just lighten the color so as not to damage my hair with bleach. An hour and a half later, I had red and orange stripes in my hair and I was sobbing…again. They finally bleached my hair.

At this point my scalp was bleeding and my hair was a very vibrant orange. Think Tony the Tiger – on crack. I paid my $220.00 and walked out with my head hanging low. I would go back the next day to try and correct the color but for the time being, they wanted me to let my head rest from all the chemicals.

Ya think?

Naturally, I had to work the next morning, and guess what? I was a gymnastics coach, which meant I couldn’t wear a hat. So I walked into the gym, my neon orange hair clashing horribly with my bright red cheeks. Of course, every kid in there stared unabashedly. And to top it off I worked with almost all russians. I love russians and their blatent honesty as every single one of them asked me what in God’s name I had done to my hair.

Humiliation in two languages! Perfect.

As soon as I got off, I raced back to the salon where they semi-fixed my hair. But I swear, it’s never been the same…
I know this is a terrible picture. The original is in a .tif format and I’m completely computer illliterate so all I could do was print this picture out and scan it in as a .jpeg. You get the idea though…