Henry is One.

Henry, you are one now.


What can I say about my sweet surprise baby?  A baby I didn’t know I needed, but has heaped blessing on each of us, every one.



Henry arrived as a giant.  9 pounds.  22 inches.  With robust cheeks and the strength of 10 babies.  He spent some time in the hospital after his birth and so we managed to bond for 7 days before going to join the goon squad.

The goon squad took to you very kindly and never even tried to kill you.  Sure, Maisy Jo has tried to feed you some rocks and push pins, but I caught her eating a bar of Old Spice soap in the bathtub, so she probably meant it to be nice.  Owen tried to lay on top of you in your crib too, so maybe they did try, but only a couple of times.  Now you are stronger than the two of them, Lord help us all.

IMG_8222Henry- from the moment you came out you locked eyes with me and smiled.  My heart rejoiced, for here was the extrovert I craved.  Smiles, laughs, and occasional lusty cries were par for the course.  You have a low voice and barely cry.  You prefer to moan your disappointments.  Or scream them.  But crying is never your first option.

I don’t want to toot your horn too hard, but you were the best baby that ever was or could be.  You make me look like a really great mom, which is nice, because I hardly deserve any credit for the wonder baby that you are.  Good natured, smiley, and ever so deft and crawly.

You love balls.  You, like, really love them.  You bounce them and chase them and chew on them.  You like your snuggle linen blanket in your bed and you voluntarily gave up your paci- unlike your siblings before you.  You also love slapping.  Sometimes moms in the nursery would tell me you would be patting the other babies affectionately, but the truth is I’m sure you were slapping them.  Hard.  My favorite word to use with you is “gentle.”  Because seriously Henry, Ouch.  You have big ole baby hands.

You love crawling and finding scraps of plastic to eat off of the floor.  You love to eat your siblings food and you love making them laugh.  Oh, how can I forget your love of apples?  It’s not complicated.  You’ve never met an apple you didn’t like.


You have met outfits you don’t like, as in, every single one.  Getting dressed just isn’t in the agenda for you.  You are really laid back, but you can get your mind set on something and not give up.  As in spilling coffee or throwing a plate of food.  It’s a tenacity that will serve you well later in life, but that is currently ruining the carpet.


You’ve got eyelashes for days.  A goofy grin.  And sweet little ears.  I just can’t even with you Henry Bens.  We call you Hens, Henry Benry, Hank, “The Baby”, and that weird way MJ says Henry- Heh-ree.

I am so glad you came.  You bring light to every single person who meets you.  You made us a gang, a crew, and a posse.  I’ve kind of laid it on real thick, so don’t blow it.





meme monday.


Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?

“Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?  Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?”

If you are feeling this way it is quite possible that you have just endured a family quarantine.  No one likes to quarantine themselves.  That’s why the zombie apocalypse happens so rapidly.

Ted “I feel fine, I don’t think it’s contagious.  I’ll just run out for milk!”

And just like that everybody’s dead. (I interned with the CDA so I know a lot about epidemiology.)

When you have many children, contagious barf diseases can last many moons.  And just when you think everyone is fine- the next one barfs.  Our latest encounter with the norovirus took our entire family off the grid for 7 days.

So?  Why does the flu make you feel so sad like a Harris Teeter bag in an empty parking lot?  It’s because no one can come over or they will die too.  You’re sick.  You’re a martyr for the greater good.  And you are lonely.  And you watched a Janette Oke mini series on Netflix in between trips to the washing machine.  Your eyes are sunken in, their twinkle gone.  The trash didn’t get taken out and you can’t find your car keys.  You fell asleep on the couch at 1 am while watching Sofia the First and spoon feeding pedialyte ice chips to a 2 year old.  What day is it?

babies in my family go in a pack and play covered in towels, affectionately nicknamed “the barf palace”

Enduring a germ lock down is not unlike being marooned on a desert island.  If friends come by with supplies they simply slow down the car and throw saltines in your front yard while shouting “I’m so glad it’s not me!”

And alas, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Sure the tunnel was long and it’s filled with puke, but there is a way out.  If your family comes down with a pestilence, then you can call me.  Softly I will sing to you “If you only knew, what the future holds, after the hurricane, comes a rainbow.”


Baby.  You’re a firework.

late to my own funeral.


One time, a very long time ago, someone made up this sick burn that put a chronically late person in their place, and after which every one laughed uproariously and also for a long time.

“Sally will be late to her own funeral!”

Now this hilarious joke, which was so on point that it has become a cliche, is a dad joke.  “A dad joke?  What’s that Kaley?”  A dad joke is something that your dad says, over and over again, which was never funny, but becomes funny to your dad simply because you do not find it funny. An example of a dad joke is:  Will Christmas be on the 25th this year?

I was ruminating on this funeral joke for several reasons.  Mostly because it is an accurate depiction of my life.  I’m not ever trying to be late.  In fact, I am always trying to be on time.  I just can’t.  Sometimes I swear the minute hand has miraculously jumped forward!!  I’m never usually too late.  People who are 30-60 minutes late are pretty comfortable with their lateness.  They rock lateness.  My 5-15 minute lateness is hard.  I just want to be on time.  I haven’t been late to my own funeral, but I have been late to my own baby shower.  Also, my job, preschool pick up, preschool drop off, church, my wedding, assorted playdates, a few movies, and a baptism.  While I don’t think I’ve been late to anyone else’s funeral… nope, I’m remembering.  I definitely was late to a funeral.  (100 emoji)

My lateness is a two prong problem.  The first is I don’t have an accurate gauge of when to leave.  Will it take 2 minutes to get across town?  No really will it?  I’m not sure- I’m asking.  The second is poor time management.

My mind: “Leave now.  It is time to go.”

My heart: “You should try on at least 3 more shirts.  It’ll take 3 seconds”

20 minutes later…

You see, intending to leave on time and actually leaving on time are two entirely different things.


Tantrum Tuesday.  

I have strict standards for tantrum Tuesday and they are as follows.  

  1. Have a picture of tantrum. 
  2. Picture must match actual tantrum because I’m not a liar. 
  3. Tantrum must be ridiculous.
  4. Tantrum cannot be so intense that it becomes insensitive to child’s feelings to post.  
  5. Helps if it’s about bananas.  
  6. No repeats! 

And that is why there is not Tantrum Tuesday today.  


I want to talk about my sugar addiction.  I want to talk about it in a way that doesn’t make fit people uncomfortable, but I can’t make any promises.  

My sugar addiction is just south, and we’re talking barely, of snorting it and rubbing on my gums.  (You know, like cocaine). I might start a hard candy meth lab in my garage.  I. Love. Sugar.  

When I die it will say “Kaley’s gravestone, sponsored by Coca-Cola.”

Sugar is so tasty.  I love it in tea, in coffee, in candy, in fruit, in baked goods, in sauces, in my veins and on my butt.  Recently I was chatting with a fellow female.  She’s “always cold.” Gross.  I am never cold.  I conjecture this is has to do with my inevitable pre diabetes diagnosis.  (Kaley, you can’t just make diabetes jokes.  I can.  And I did.)  My body is simply working too hard to burn the sugar off,  so I sweat. 

I realize that as a 30 year old person I should maybe be monitoring my sugar intake a lil more.  A scotch.  A tad.  This month I decided to stop getting candy anytime I see candy.  This didn’t stop me from eating four donuts yesterday.  Eventually I will weed out all delicious foods from my life and wonder how I used to stomach eating so much junk food.  

I know it’s bad for me, I really do.  But here’s me trying to cut sugar out: 

I will start using agave nectar in my green tea- or worse- drink it with no sweetener! 😱. I’ll eat one cookie a day. 😭I will not be on a first name basis with the dunkin donuts drive thru lady.  Happy Birthday Linda!  I’ll just, like, eat vegetables. Hey guy!  This celery is delicious!  And no I do not work for The Celery Farmers of America.  

I’m done with you sugar!  Next time you see a selfie of me it’ll be way less Squishy and WAY more boney.  If you don’t see a selfie of me for the next five years you’ll know.  She didn’t beat it.  Sugar won.  

Ster wers. 

Nick made this meme of our friend and then we unwittingly published it on the internet. And now I’m publishing it again. Because Ster Wers Dermmit.
One thing you may or may not know about me is that hate space.  As in outer space.  And thereby universally dislike TV shows or movies that take place in space- or worse– getting marooned in space.  Notable exemptions include the movie “Home” and more recently Star Wars.

Maybe those among you who like thinking about black holes and hydroponic gardening on a space station will be shocked to hear of my less than interstellar attitude.   Quite simply I can’t imagine a scenario, even like WALL-e, where I would take my chances in space over Earth.  I like Earth.  It’s pretty.  It has land and cars and gravity and cats. Would I want to be left forever in the middle of an ocean on a cruise ship?  Nope. So why be left forever on a space cruise ship?  Taking my chances on land.  Sorry. I like the feeling that I might not lose my access to oxygen at any given moment.

Whoa.  My apologies. I get really wound up about space.  Don’t get me wrong- I love seeing stars.  I just don’t want to be all up in their Milky Way.

The reason I like Star Wars is because they treat space not as the next frontier, but merely as a highway to other planets.  Planets you can taxi to in less time than it would take to get to Target.

My favorite character name in the new Star Wars is Po Dameron because his name sounds like a hearty curse word.  And I like him because he has a sass mouth. I love a good sass mouth.

*Owen colors on walls*

“Po. Dameron!!”

Star Wars passes my “not completely horrible space movie” because it lacks what some would call “accurate scientific information” and more notably, black holes.  Maybe I wasn’t listening hard enough but no one is ever sucked into a black hole. People fall down very deep holes, but they never fall victim to black holes.  No dark matter here- just dark sides.

I also find it completely fascinating that a large number of people speak robot.

BB8- “beep BOOP beep beeEEEeep”

Rey- “Yes.  I agree that the rousing rendition of Aragon’s speech at the gates of Mordor is also my favorite moment in Lord of the Rings.”

I guess robots are the new pets.  No one seemed to have a pet really, though Jabba the Hut did have that irritating rat thing.  Like, why aren’t there cows or dogs on other planets?  There are people?  Do the bizarre dinosaur things they ride in these other solar systems taste better than beef?  I have so many questions, but that is a post for another time.

I don’t care who you are, where you’ve been, what you’ve done, see the new Star Wars.  But borrow a digitally remastered Star Wars DVD set before you do.  Because you’ll want to.  You will really want to see Anakin Skywalker’s ghost have a dance party with the Ewoks.  This is really getting me pumped to go on a “why do jedi’s love rat tails” tangent but I will not.  What I will do is post this gif of kittens having a light saber fight.