Graduation Photo Dump

All this rain made my irises start to bloom.

A little frozen yogurt date with my love.

Graduation breakfast, Nick was stoked.

The family (sans Evan, he was photographer) at grad breakfast.

Lovelovelove this picture. Sums us up perfectly.

And this one, too.

Evan was super proud of his outfit, and yes he looked gooooood.

My new dress and my mom's vintage belt I stole out of her closet. Thanks, mom!

AHHH last moment as a high school senior!

And graduated!!!

The hat toss. Also if you look closely you can see green latex gloves, a tribute to their Euro teacher. Now everyone thinks Central is even more weird. It's okay.

Love my brother!

He loved his outfit.

And that was our Sunday. We had a (greasy) graduation breakfast, we took a nap, we went to a friend's grad party, and we watched my baby brother enter the real world......of college. It was a great day and I don't think I've ever been that exhausted in my whole life. Poor Evan who had to put up with my toddler self all day long.

PS. Blogger is being a real tool right now, agree? I couldn't even comment on my own blog for the past three days. I wasn't ignoring all my lovely comments, I just couldn't respond! I changed the way comments work and it seemed to fix the problem. BUT there are still a ton of blogs that have the same problem, but somehow blogger lets other people comment, just not me. Frustrating! I know a ton of people are having similar problems so let's all revolt and send blogger nasty messages!

PPS. Tonsils come out in TWO days!

Dear Nick,

Today you are a graduating high school senior.  I never thought about this day because you've always been a baby. You've always been my baby brother, then my little brother. Never my brother who is 18-years-old and a senior in high school preparing to move to Wyoming and start his college career and take the next step in his adult life. I may or may not be ready for my baby brother to grow up just yet.

Please note the hand in the bottom left corner rocking the horse to keep the kid from crying.

You were the baby boy I did not want (good thing I wasn't your parent, huh?!). You should have been a girl. You quickly commanded all the attention from my humans, and even humans who I did not possess (IE: park humans, grocery store humans, random everyday humans). You were a whiney, poopy, stinky, hungry, crying baby who stole my four-year-old heart, no matter how slow to admit that I was.

You grew into a young boy who was completely enamored by his friends. No matter where you were, there were your friends. Do you remember that one time my mother was picking you up from day care at the Rocky aviation building? I told your friends my name was Stacey. You told your friends to be nice to you or your sister would beat them up. We were the coolest kids. But sometimes we didn't like each other very much. Those were the times that mom made us sit face to face and hold hands until we made up.

You became "Nicky," the little boy with the rat tail slash mullet. With the black holey jeans that probably were never washed a single time. You were country when we went to Grandma and Grandpa's; you were dad's little helper always.

Tyler, me, Dani, Kayla, Grandma, Nick (I cannot stop laughing at this picture!)

You became my little shadow. Remember the time you let me dress you up in that horrendous pink, purple and black velvet long sleeved dress? (I AM SO SORRY THAT I DIDN'T PICK SOMETHING MORE FASHIONABLE!!!) Then you even tried on a pair of mom's heels and some 80's jewelry. I'm sure you don't remember, but I have proof to help your little memory along. You also shadowed my music choices and love love loved 98 Degrees like every man should. Way to be!

At the same time we were building homes out of cardboard boxes that were rained on and starting to rot. They were still usable by our standards. We were stealing lava rocks and minute pieces of chalk and throwing them in the street to be hit by cars (first rock to get run over wins!). We were racing through the house to go to "Mema's and back" on our Kettle car, our bicycles, our scooters, our roller blades. We were fighting over who was going to ask permission to watch TV and who would thus be controller of all things remote controlled. We were taking rides in that blasted wooden sliver infested cart through our backyard, through Mema's, over that treacherous bump, and to our front yard. We were aching over the day when we'd be old enough and big enough to finally mow the lawn. YOU were running into tracters and slicing your face open. We were pretending that long rectangle box that the cedar wood came in was a canoe and then we were stuffing it with a sleeping bag and having sleep overs in each others' rooms. We were shooting bottle rockets at each in garages and you started my very favorite Packer's sweatshirt on fire. And then my hair.

Note the holy jeans.

Then you became Nicholas, the annoying brother who most likely had a crush on all my friends. You punched me in the mouth and gave me a fat lip. I had to drive you to school and I tried to beat you up. I tried to drop you off blocks early because you made me SO mad. Then I had to pick you up, but sometimes I wouldn't. You got me a lot grounded.

Then you became Nick. You grew up. You became a cowboy.  You went to Washington DC for a few months. You helped me sneak out (don't tell mom!). You started high school. You had a girlfriend. You played football. You went hunting. You were forced to join Speech and Debate and you nervously practiced your speech about wolves in front of me. You wore Wranglers. And a wife beater. (Untuck your shirt, you look like a tool.) You helped me plan out my dreams of building a bed frame, a jewelry rack, a shelf. You took me to lunch, ice cream, dinner, drinks. You turned eighteen, you joined the Marines. Your broken shoulder undid that and I secretly rejoiced. You text me constantly because you secretly love that you can make me laugh so hard. You might be a titch bit racist, but you're my brother, I know you're heart, I let it go. You were in my wedding, you wrote me the sweetest note (made me cry) before hand. You made me some of the best Kahlua as a present that I'm still downing and toasting to you to this day.

Today, you'll begin a new journey in your life. You'll meet new people, make new friends, enter new relationships. You'll meet girls, some of those girls will be worth knowing. You'll skip class, you'll keep secrets, you'll get bad grades. You'll make mistakes, you'll learn from them and you will grow. You'll be glad Mom can be a little concerned, a little clingy, a little nosy. You'll be glad you got in trouble for the things you did because those things shaped who you are today.

Even though I really, and I mean realllllllly wanted a sister, you'll do. Even though I marched right up to our uncle and demanded that he hand over his new born baby girl, exactly one month and one day after you were born (true story.), you did fine. You made having a brother not such a bad thing. (Especially when I got to dress you up and pretend you were a girl.) You made my life. You're a pretty cool kid, I kind of like you.

Girl behind Nick, that's the cousin I tried to steal.

So be safe. Be spontaneous. Be friendly. Make new friends, go to class, like your professors. Don't be tied down by a major you hate, no matter how far into the game you are. Take fun generals if you can, and if you take yoga, get the teacher who lets you sleep through class as long as you show up. Make friends early on who like to go to class. Those are the ones you'll need to cheat off of. Find a professor that you love (gay crushes allowed) early on and stick with them. Don't party too much, mom and dad will murder you if you get the teeniest little alcohol charge. Don't hate your roommate, they might spit in your stuff. The "freshman fifteen" is actually a myth. Once you gain the weight it doesn't go away, also the chances that you only gain fifteen pounds is about 1 in every 150 students. Seriously.

Anyway. I am incredibly happy for you. That you made it this far, with high honors, with scholarships, with teachers who love you. With proud parents and a proud big sister. I cannot wait to hear your insane college stories and come visit you on my way to Denver. You did okay for being a boy, and by okay, I mean okay times 1509182321432. You're my little nig. Happy graduation baby brudda! I love you to pieces! And expect a million hugs and kisses from me from now on, loser.


Love,
Larissa (aka Larry)

Is he not the cutest ever?! We danced twice because he loves paying for dances with me. Haha

Week of Thanks, Week Twenty.

188. Hillsong/Hillsong United. And currently: Desert Song. Listened to this song 40 times in one day.

189. Watching Sybil become a mama.

190. Kittens. Cutest ever.

191. Days off with husbands. Even if they don't go as planned. Still good days.

192. Little kitten mews.

193. When Evan sings. Tonight he sang "Stand By Me" and I died for the millionth time this week.

194. Snaps jealousy of the new babies.

195. Living vicariously through my little brother and his last week of high school everrrr. Congrats baby brother!!!

196. Coffee dates with the best friend. Also Target dates, sketchy post office dates, and Karaoke. Love.

197. Hilarious aunts, uncles, and cousins. Best life ever.

Question:

Do I have a baby face?


Because twice today I was assumed to be in high school. Yes, high school. Yes, twice. Which would make me a baby because 18 is baby. Hello.


I spent the afternoon at my cousin's house for her graduation party and two of my aunt's coworkers who cannot be more than 2 years older than me, if that, said "I had my tonsils out when I was about your age." "About your age" huh? How old do you think I am? You cannot use that phrase for anyone in your age bracket. And really you shouldn't use that phrase under the age of 40. It's just weird.


THEN (this is the good one) this lady asked me if I already graduated. It was a high school graduation party so she apparently assumed everyone there was in high school? My aunt's sister-in-law, whom I've known since before birth, said "Oh, she's graduated from high school and college and she's married." So the lady says, "Oh you can't be older than 20." Yes, 20.

ExcusemeIam23thankyouverymuch.

And so I told her, loud enough for the tonsil-when-I-was-your-age-girl to hear, that as a matter of fact, I am twenty three.

And my mom just sat there and laughed the entire time. Thanks, mom.


But no seriously, do I have a baby face?

 I suppose I can kind of see it. Perhaps I look young.

 (Now I have a complex so I went and bought a new dress, new makeup, and lipstick. Because I neeeeeeed to look 23 and not 18.)

A Little Animal Love.

Number 1 rolled out of the bed and couldn't find his way back.

So I got all up in Number 1's grill and took its picture.

Then we left the dogs outside and teased them. We still like them but not as much as the babies. Jk, kinda.

Are you guys sick of my animals yet? No? Good because I'm not sick of taking pictures of them. They're too cute not to.

Snapshots of my life

My parents have the most beautiful dwarf apple tree in their backyard with the prettiest crepe paper flowers except the flowers are real.

Banana. Toffee. Mini. Pies. Dead.

The prettiest pink tree.

Nine dollar Target clearance dress. Love it, plus it's red.

My mom collects vintage yellow Heisey glass and a little bit of red glass. So I convinced her to use her expensive things with for my brother's party with his naturally destructive friends.

Love of my life.

I'm dying.

Here, too. (Except she's like, "get. these. things. off. my. boobies.")

It's monsooning here. Our town is flooded, surrounding towns are flooded, and we're losing bridges, streets, and golf courses.

This was my flower garden. Please note the two tennis balls in that one hole and understand that not all that damage is from the rain.

And we dug out a bunch of trees from this area and now it's flooded. Also, I planted a few new plants and those are probably watered enough for the next 30 years.

The kittens have landed! (image heavy!)

That is right! We have babies!!!

This picture was taken this past weekend. She dropped at the end of the week and her belly really just expanded. We were expecting just a few babies for several obvious reasons: Syb is not even a year old, she's about 10 months herself; it's her first litter (and only!); and she is tiny, there is no way 7 kittens could be living in her itty bitty belly.

Last week was 9 weeks gestation so they were expected at anytime. We lock her in the laundry room where we prepared a little birthing area (look at us!) but she wasn't having any outward signs of birth. No nesting, no contractions, nothing. Luckily I'm not working so I'm typically home and can keep an eye on her, we don't want any birthings going on in our bed, thanks.

So last night around 10 I heard a noise from inside our closet and checked on her. There were no kittens yet so I just left her alone. A few minutes later she climbed on our bed and started whining and kicking her legs out. I took her to the laundry room and within 20 minutes we had the first babe! Evan was completely grossed out but I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Cats will lick the sack that their baby is born in to help them breathe, to start their circulation, and to help their milk drop. Once the first baby was born she was all worried about giving herself a bath so we had to watch her and make sure she took care of the baby. (She's a selfish mom. It runs in the family.)

Within an hour and a half she had 5 more for a total of six! She got much better at cleaning them and letting them nurse as the night progressed but we still had to coax her along a few times. She also ate the placenta which was admittedly disgusting. But she's an animal so it's more normal than gross.

The babies are the cutest things I've ever seen and that was one of the coolest experiences I've ever witnessed. So here are some pictures of the night and 12-hour-old kitties!

I love its little legs!

Hugs. So sweet.

So teensy!

And this morning. Super stoked to having six hungry kittens clawing their way up her body.

 
 Did you note how she had them on the floor and not the bed we made for her? She started walking around right before the first one came (she even face planted into the wall twice...) and ended up right there. We left her because well...we didn't want to touch her. (This has been a very evident lesson that we are not prepared to have our own children. I kept saying to Evan, "is this what you're going to be like when we have kids?!" Evan tweeted and facebooked the entire process so he needs to be weened from that because there will be no such thing during our own child's birth.)

We have two black, two grey, and two orange. Oh, and I think there might be a 7th still hanging out inside. We looked it up and she can go 48 hours between births before labor starts again. We don't know if it's just milk or her shrinking tumtum or what. Everything went well so we're hoping we don't have a stillborn kitten on our hands later on. That would be the worst day ever. Slash she's really good at laying on them so we're hoping she doesn't suffocate one either. Double worst.

We've also named one of the orange ones "Tank" because he was the second born and cried more than a real baby. He takes out the other kittens when they're eating because he should always be eating and he likes to claw and crawl over everything. I love him. Boy after my own heart. Now if I could just remember which one he is.......