Where is the Mother?

So yesterday I was looking through some pictures that our Uncle Jordy sent us a long time ago. They were taken when he and Aunt Linz came to visit us around Easter time. And seriously, they made me ashamed. Because I don't think there's a single picture where any of my kids are dressed completely or not completely homely. The shame is, I really do have cute kids. If only they had a mother who took care of them . . .

Exhibit A:
Seriously, what is with the hair? Do I not know how to do a simple ponytail? Obviously not. . .

Exhibit B:


I can't even put words to my shame here.

Exhibit C:In this one, I managed to put a shirt on, but no pants. My favorite is that he's wearing his Sunday shoes with this beautiful ensemble.

My only excuse is . . . okay there's no excuse. I also feel obligated to disclose that my kids are watching TV right now. I'm probably not going to shower today, and my bed isn't made. My kids, however, do have pants on!

Divorced Technology

My computer is seriously struggling. Or else my camera is. Whichever one is to blame, this once happy couple can no longer work together. So sadly, all photos right now are simply old, archival photos (I know old and archival are redundant, but what are you? An English teacher or something? Lighten up, okay?). So sorry about the old pictures. . .

When Veevs isn't being an alligator scientist (grrrr.) or a mermaid or a cowgirl, she would also like to be a pirate.
Is it bad that I find this career choice infinitely more acceptable than an alligator scientist?

This is our Uncle Jordy. We love him for so many reasons. Here are just a few:

He never complains when the kids jump on him.
He held my baby for like an hour at my sister's wedding while I just chatted away with old friends.
He looks like he's sixteen. (Really, don't you think?)
He's a fellow Financial Fascist (this is the reason Rhett loves him, me, not so much).




Our baby Wristy. He's such a happy little man. If it were socially acceptable for me to have this many rolls of fat, I'd be pretty happy, too. Seriously, think of all the candy you could eat. Mmmm.

Belly Up . . .

This is a picture Rhett took of my sister Linz and her husband Jordy. I think they thought he was taking a nice portrait of their faces, but Rhett's like that. I can't tell you how many pictures I have of my pregnant belly. I wish he would tell me, so I could at least drop the smiling act and look miserable, like I tend to do through all my pregnancies. I bet when Linz sees this, she'll think that too.