we're so off...

these fevers are getting to us. i feel it in our words.



esmé's screaming about no more gasoline in my nose! and i'm trying to correct her in between huge giggles. it's saline, sweets. saline.

lillie's asking about cremation, and i'm trying to explain about ashes without using the term setting on fire by highlighting how my dad's ashes are here and my sister's are there and how beautiful the moments were when my mom and brother-in-law let them go...




and esmé clarifies so their ashes are flying around in the winds? and she's running one finger over her lashes with a concerned look on her face, like she's one wish away from an urn.

a consonant can make all the difference in the world, can't it?

so grae tells us a story about lillie talking about a belly button piercing, calling it a nasal ring. informing a not-falling-for-it grae that anything to do with the belly is nasal. anything near the nose is navel.




you two have the cutest little memories together, i said. seriously, their babyhood and toddlering together was a thing of beauty.

lillie looked sheepish and more than a little embarrassed.

yeah. that was today, mom.

all images found via her pins. collections are good things. i haven't figured out what i want to collect yet. in the meantime, i'm gathering up memories. as for focus, it's also grand. i should start collecting some of that.

in no particular order...

i think straws make a house happier. i for sure know they make water more festive.

note: we've been silly sick with fevers and dizzy ideas for a few days, my esmé and me, so please forgive this post if it makes less sense than usual. i know you'll smile and assure me no no no! your posts always make sense. in some parts. and when you think about it. really think hard about it. you're funny like that.




everyone should have the chance to spend the night with an ailing esmé; the higher her fever, the more she tells you how much she loves you. but it's funny...she says it clear out of the blue when you're feeding her ice chips or putting a cold washcloth on her forehead or tickling her back.

she says i love you, too.

and you wonder for a second if you said it first and just don't remember saying it. and then you realize nope. she just must've heard your heart.




i'm reading st. lucy's home for girls raised by wolves, and each story makes me want to write better. simpler, but grander. i don't know how to explain it.

the most recent line that kind of gutted me is this one: The worst part is, I know that no matter what crimes we do to Petey, he'll always come back the following night. Being with Petey is like being with a dog, or a mother. There is nothing you can do to make him stop loving you.

in between short stories, i'm telling my own to the girlies three before bed. they beg me to tell stories from i was a sick kid. which is basically my entire childhood.

so i tell them how my mom would put fresh white sheets on my bed every night and light a romantic little lamp, and they say you do that for us, too! and i tell them how my brothers and sisters but mostly my sisters would sing me songs and act out plays and tell me stories until my eyes closed and listen to my nightmares that were devastating in my fevered head but somehow always sounded silly out loud.

and they say we do that for each other, too!




how many were you? esmé asks and instantly covers her eyes with her hands. she hates this story, but she always asks for it.

five. i answer. i hate this story, but i always tell it.

and how many are you now? esmé asks, moving her little hands to her ears.

four. i tell her. and it sounds silly in my head. but somehow sounds devastating out loud.

kira holgate's pins are delicious. i love bejeweled hands.

doorknobs...

our hall closet's doorknob has been sticking for seventy-eleventy million years.

and then today it just plain wouldn't open. so i removed the doorknob. and then the inside little doorknob fell off. i could hear it thump to the bottom of the closet. and it still wouldn't open.

so i rested the doorknob almost perfectly back where it once lived and hoped like hell it wouldn't fall off until uncle sugar came home and tried to open it.




whereupon, i'm going to assume it will pull smack off in his hand. whereupon, i'm going to assume he'll throw out a swear or three and ask who the hell did this?

whereupon, i will throw him a look like i do not know what you are saying, sister. he will say i am not your sister and forget all about the doorknob. and then i will go back to whatever i am doing at the moment. which is most likely pretending that i had nothing to do with the screwing off of that doorknob.

i didn't factor esmé into this equation. i still can't find that doorknob. she is a good hider.




so i bet i'd call uncle sugar at work and say something interesting like so the doorknob...

and then he would say something about wd40. and then i would spill my beans and tell him about the screwing off. and then someone would call that decision asinine. and then someone else would decide to wait until he comes home to tell him about the missing bit.




and no one...i repeat, no one...would decide to remove the door from its hinges. because that decision would be asinine.

everything cool is from pinterest. one two and three.

because it's a snow day...

and i always buy summer shoes and or bathers on snow days.

let's pretend this is not a desperate, painful, passive-aggro whinge. let's pretend i need summer shoes. say yes.

so these...




or these...




or neither, for that matter.

i would very much appreciate your opinion. and i kind of hope you tell me to buy the first pair. also, what do you know about wooden wedges? i have the same shoes from yoox with a corkier wedge and they are amazingly comfy and they make my legs look skinny. always a bonus when shoes double as magicians.

my apologies for mucking up your day with silly issues. you know how i am when i'm chilled. xoxo.

nothing to see here...

i'm just thinking about this.

it may solve my switchy-bag issues, but i also feel like ombré is over. i'm also feeling like ombré being over might not apply to this bag.

told you. nothing to see here. xoxo.

too much...

too much to tell you right now...

i always get silent when the sun's shining. you know this by now. but soon enough, i'll be chilled again and chatty.

so. remind me to tell you about sidra forman and my lacrosse thugs and a little bully that i just nipped in the butt.

{whenever i say nipped in the bud, esmé repeats it to her dolls or her sisters as nipped in the butt. i am a fan of her version. it sounds more aggro. she also pronounces freckles as fruckles, which sounds kind of swearish to me. big fan of swearish these days, too.}




and remind me to tell you about peck peck. it has replaced tazing at our house. do you remember how uncle sugar hates tazing? he thinks that's what killed harry houdini, but we think he's being a small baby. anyway. peck peck is exactly the same as tazing except you get to say peck peck and taze the person twice. and by person, i mean uncle sugar.

hmmm. there is no longer a need for you to remind me to tell you about peck peck. i think i just covered it all.

these legs remind me of summer. i like that reminder. have a sweet weekend, you! xoxo. me.

overheard...

one of the girlies' teachers was away from school for months and ages and far too long, really.

everyone in the know was supra hush-hush about it all, and since i'm not too terribly invested in this place for some reason...i just started making up stories in my head.




and you know my stories. they. are. good. plus he's creepy. creative, but a really creepy dude. like, can't talk to adults creepy, too-many shady and ambiguous stickers on his car creepy, and bald mullet creepy.

{that's what we writers like to call foreshadowing.}

so last night, lill and grae were reading and studying, and i overheard this exchange. please read it not in what you'd assume to be lill and grae's giggly, over-excited at all times voices. instead, read it in monotone.

grae: mr. creepy's back at school.

lill: what'd he say?

grae: nothing. he's bald.

lill: they shave your head in prison.

and then silence. back to reading and studying.




they're going to be friends when they grow up, aren't they? i'm so hoping...

oh. his name is not really mr. creepy, either. i've changed the names to protect the shaved ex-inmates. photos from here.

lips...

i bought the girlies two the perfect shade of pink for their lips.

it is called o-gloss by smashbox. i love it because it's intuitive, and colors them with that usually unattainable little girl sweetness.

my girl at nordstrom giggled when i bought two, and said something like "are these for lillie and grae?" and then kept giggling.

so i said yes and then she stopped giggling and packaged them up prettily just the way i like.




i think the o stands for something that i had not thought about when i was choosing the perfect shade of pink for their lips.

so i may need to borrow an o-word from you. one that makes sense. because all i've got this morning is octopus and onomatopoeia.

lips from a delightful little tumblr with the sweet name of black nazi. what is wrong with me today?!

i've got to...

remind me to tell you a story about this weekend. it's a good one.

for now, just a quick smooch in honor of the day. i'm celebrating with the girlies three, an uncle sugar, a new pair of ray bans because old-school makes me happy, and a little more tom ford so i smell like myself again.




for a while, i was smelling guilty. that is a very good smell, but i was not a fan of the name. sometimes i think the name has more to do with it than the actual aroma, don't you?

maybe that's why i love naming babies so much. and why i've never named one whoops-a-daisy or how-the-heck-did-this-happen.

pat made a brilliant pre-valentine's day meal for us last night. blood-red filets and angel-hair with mussels and a devil's food cake. there's a theme in there somewhere.




the house still smells like seared meat. do you know that smoky, yummy smell? yes. it's actually only yummy as it's happening. the next morning, not so much.

esmé woke up and smiled, though. her daddy was long gone to work, but she thought she could still smell him.

awesome. uncle sugar smells like steak. i shall gobble him up tonight.

happy valentine's day, you! and look. no swearing and no yelling at commenters! baby steps, friends. baby steps. xoxo. pictures from here.

the running man...

so we hired this neighbor guy to work on some things around our house.

he's out of work and uncle sugar's heart breaks a little when that happens to a man, and so now we're getting all our electrical outlets spruced up.

anyway. he walked in yesterday, saw our kitchen, and told me it was hands down his dream room.

between me and you, i hate our kitchen. i mean, it's super pretty and sunshine-y and there's space for everyone to sit at the long island counter...wait. where was i? hating my kitchen? i think i just fell in love with it again.




it's like that sometimes, isn't it? someone gives you a real compliment from the heart and you find yours again.

last night, just past homework and just before showers and empty threats, we were all in that kitchen. i was telling pat that the neighbor guy had effused over it, and grae stopped what she was doing {pretending not to eavesdrop} and asked he loved our kitchen?

and i could see it happen all over again, through her eyes this time.

i could tell you about how i'm not a fan of the oven and microwave and cupboard space, but i won't. {you're thinking to yourself because you don't use any of that stuff anyway, karey! yes. you know me.} i'd rather tell you about the dance party we had last night in that kitchen.

to the romantic stylings of t-pain and three six mafia, the girlies two taught uncle sugar and esmé some of their hoochiest dance moves. that i taught them. the ones that are not allowed out of this house. and uncle sugar taught them some of his...uhhh...i don't really have a word for his moves.

but i bet if you saw them, you'd tell me they were hands down your favorites. and then i'd believe it, too.

it's like that sometimes, isn't it?

my apologies for the comment i left sweet eliza in yesterday's post. i was going to delete it after i had my espresso, but then i thought i would not. sometimes i am a crappy person who uses shite words. i just am. anyway. if i offended any friends i like and love, i'm supra sorry. xoxo. kitchen from here.

chilly...

i'm a daydreamer. you knew this already, though.

and when i'm chilled to my fingertips, i tend to buy unnecessary objects. like this bather.

plus also too much laura mercier in shy pink, deborah lippmann superstar, and this dyson.

it's apparently been a very. chilly. week.

i told uncle sugar it would be cheaper to move me to an island where i wouldn't probably need the dyson. i could leave that guy behind. i could.

it would probably be healthier, too. because when it's chilly, i tend to read laziz hamani too much and then copy his work. one of my favorite laziz hamani books is this one.

see what i'm telling you? get me to a hot island. pronto.

i could probably not leave behind tumblr, though, where are things lovely live. like this new one i just found. awesome girl with awesome style.

as of this writing...

i've got a student of the month, a spelling bee alternate, and a girlie who just came home from school proudly presenting an amazingly accurate picture of a woman caught in a bear trap. she has piggie-tails.

but here's what i like best about all that...




my student of the month was named as such with one caveat: knock off the unnecessary chatter. i'm a big fan of the side conversation, mom. she tells me. my teacher says you must be a saint. she tells me. i do make some mean jesus-y eggs.

my starry starry night. my lillie kate. waking up the moon with her shimmer.




my spelling bee alternate didn't study and didn't really want me to come because i don't want you to see me fail, mom.

when one of her favorite boys misspelled his word, his eyes teared up with embarrassment and young boy dashed hopes. in a flip second, he looked at grae and she scowled, shook her head, and i think she whispered something like who cares? this is nothing.

whatever she said, it stopped the tears from coming.

silly girl. she could've spelled every word wrong and backwards with her devil of an indian accent and i still wouldn't think fail.

my clear blue sky. my grae-rose.




this afternoon, esmé came out of school with her teacher and i could see that they were having a pretty interesting conversation. apparently, the woman had never seen such a pattern and color explosion on a little girl.

esmé was waving her little hand dismissively. i guess she told her teacher this is all really old. nothing too expensive.

the next time we see each other, ask me about anything i'm wearing. bet you a hundred bucks i wave my hand dismissively and tell you eight dollars. on sale sale sale at barneys. it's insane the traits you pass on, isn't it?

my rainbow and always sunny ten-day forecast. my esmé dahlia.

who cares? this is nothing.

today, i'm in love with my job. can you tell? all stay at home moms from this pinterest pinner.

blood and jesus...

did i tell you that lillie hacked off the tip of her thumb this weekend?

you know grae's always been uncle sugar's mini-me in the kitchen. well...lillie kate is mine. add a mandolin and some apples to the mix, and we're pretty much guaranteed a trip to the emergency.




we were sitting in the next room. pat had shown her and warned her and warned her again, but this is lillie, remember? you talk and she's nodding sweetly, all the while trying to remember all the words to without me by eminem.

{that girl, i swear, will someday enter some talent show near you. as a rapper. keep an eye out for her, will you? and clap extra hard for me, will you?}

she yelled OHMYGOSH! like she was excited or something. i assumed she'd just cut the perfect apple slice or found a worm. something...exciting. but straight-away, uncle sugar put his head in his hands for about a half-second, sighed, and then got up to run to the kitchen.




he knew. and he was so mad at himself. he kept looking at me and lill with those chocolate browns of his, saying over and over i knew it. i knew it. this is my fault. what was i thinking? you're just like your mother. you two never need to step into a kitchen. grae and i will cook for you. ugh, i knew this would happen.

blah blah blah looks like someone's got a new cook! i will accept your kind offer, young man, and raise you the laundry room. say yes?

the blood was insane. poor lill needed me to look at it and tell her it would be okay because boys aren't trustworthy when it comes to stuff like that. it's why they're all scarred up and bearded. but you know i faint when my babies break, so i tried to look at it cross-eyed and convincingly. i still had to sit down and drink some orange juice. it was not a good.

of course, esmé and grae were beside themselves. those three are so connected, it scares me to death. it just does. but love that strong always scares me to death, doesn't it.

esmé asked WHY WOULD GOD DO THIS TO LILLIE?

she is crazy about god, but still can't seem to understand that he might not be micro-managing every little bump and scrape and mandolin accident we ever have. heck, i don't even really understand it. i just stay away from mandolins.




i tried to explain as best i could, but by now you know my best usually has lots of holes in it. whatever. my intentions are paving a road somewhere.

this morning, i made esmé cheesy eggs before school. she ate them all, wiped her mouth, and told me she thought today would be a good day with no accidents. no bad things. she just knew it.

why?

god will like it that you made me jesus-y eggs.

there's so much wrong with that, i can't even deal. but i'll take it, young lady, and raise you tomorrow, too. say yes.

all photos via this pinterest pinner. all things lillie and i probably will never make without injuring ourselves. happy wednesday, friends. xoxo.

a weight on my chest...

so this thing in egypt is heavy on our souls, yes?

i can't help but think this is one of those moments that will matter. a domino of sorts. and i don't know anything about anything, but it burns me that all was well about a week ago. not to dumb it down at all - at. all. - but i would think...being a parent and all...that someone was supposed to be watching out for things like this.




{hmm. i've just deleted three vehement paragraphs. you don't need my world worries here. let me tell you another story, then.}

last night, esmé couldn't get enough of me. like, couldn't get close enough. actually said "we were made for each other, weren't we?"




she fell asleep on top of me, all long-limbed sprawl, and i must've fallen asleep, too.

around midnight, i woke with a gasp. forty-five pounds weighing down my chest. my arms were numb and i couldn't move. not. one. stitch. i honestly whimpered "halp."

but no one heard me.




{hmm. this story's going nowhere. like, speedily. and king abdullah of jordan - the one with eyes as blue as the sea and who once called me ma'am - just dismissed his government. off to cnn. maybe i'll try again tomorrow. until then. also, to my favorite sisters three over there? don't you even think i've forgotten about you. xoxo. all photos found here.}