The Literal Child

Tonight, this happened:

But not after a full-on freak out session earlier in the week.  

She absolutely lost it - tears, snot, and screaming - at the thought of losing a tooth.  Freaked out and lost all control.  I could not figure it out for the life of me.  She had to have two teeth pulled by the dentist earlier this year - no big deal.  She's seen her friends and big sister lose teeth - no sweat.  But when it came to her own mouth, she freaked out.

Come to find out, she was scared of the tooth fairy.  Scared that some tiny creature was going to sneak into her room in the middle of the night.  Oh.  Given the fact that we had a similar incident over Santa a few years ago, I should have seen it coming.  

Once my extremely literal child was reassured that the tooth fairy was, in fact, Mom, all was well in the world.  She was perfectly happy to lose her tooth, even asked us to pull it out tonight.  And now my sweet, seven, gap-mouthed kid is sleeping peacefully.  Waiting for her "tooth fairy" to come.  

20

What's a birthday like in Heaven, sis?

Does Jesus throw the party?  I bet the food is fantastic.  

Your Father knows exactly the right gift.  He has always known.

~ ~ ~

Or do you even know it's your birthday in heaven? 

 In a place of perfection, beauty, and worship, in a place where time doesn't exist, is there even the celebration of the passing of a year?

~ ~ ~ 

On earth, today is bittersweet.  You would have been 20.  We would have been texting happy birthday wishes, writing on your FB wall, hugging you fiercely at church.  Probably doing something fun and slightly crazy to celebrate.  Today would have been a day to celebrate the amazing creation God made in you.  

~ ~ ~ 

Today will still be a day to celebrate you.  It always will.  I'm sure there will be tears - I can't even write this sentence without welling up.  But today will also be a day to celebrate.  To celebrate you.  Because you are loved.  You are cherished.  And you will always be remembered.  

Food, family, and fun in the sun

This Thanksgiving we made our annual trek to the land of sun and cactus to cram as much fun into 6 days as possible.  And 8 hours in the car is made a little more enjoyable when you have a brand new DVD player for the car.

Yes, this is pretty much what they looked like for the entire 8 hours.  

Thanksgiving was spent enjoying our precious 1-year old cousin,

Enjoying our furry 8 year-old cousin,

And discovered new ways to carry a ball

We also got to take family pics with our amazing sis-in-love and photographer extraordinaire

Took all the monkeys to the zoo

And had a close encounter with a very sweet baboon

Saturday night we got to go out with Adam and Kristin, our bro and sis-in-love to our first pro basketball game.  It was amazing to watch the spectacle

And managed to snag a rare photo of the four of us

Sunday evening we went out to dinner with Grandma, Grandpa, and Great Grandma.  It was precious for the girls to be able to spend quality time with two grandmas at the same time.  And teaching Grandma the dot game was an added bonus!

We are so blessed, every year, to spend precious time with family.

An unschooling kind of day

LI woke up this morning still battling a migraine that decided to make an appearance yesterday.  The girls graciously let me sleep in, trying to kick the darn thing.  But this mama knew that we probably could do with a change of pace for the day.

And I am so grateful that this view:

is just 30 minutes away from our house.

We loaded up a few snacks and the dog and headed up to enjoy the last of the fall colors.  We found a beautiful little park at the top of the ridge overlooking the valley.  

And so, for art class, we drew the view:

For science, we read the signs along the trail, discussing forest fires and wildlife along the way.

The littles got in a little extra PE:

 

While a certain someone held an impromptu dance class:

We look leaf rubbings, drew pine cones in our nature journals, learned about explorers who blazed trails through our backyard.

Ty thoroughly enjoyed being outside, and did a little investigating of his own:

But mostly we reveled in the majesty of God's creation that He allows us to live in:

My brain is mush

This was my last 24 hours:

10:15 PM - Bid the last of our beautiful home group friends good night.  Load up the car and kids.

10:45 PM - Arrive at my parents' house, get the kids tucked into their beds, set out hunting stuff, go to bed and pretend to sleep.

5:30 AM - Alarm goes off.  Get up, get dressed, pack lunch.

6:15 AM - Leave for hunting spot.

6:45 AM - Unload four-wheelers and head into hunting area.

7:00 AM - Dad gets a flat on his four-wheeler.  Spend 20 minutes trying to fix said flat, to no avail.

7:30 AM - Continue into hunting area with Dad driving on a flat tire.

8:00 AM - 2 PM - Hunting.  Discover that my blasted thermos has developed a leak and lost approximately 3/4 of my coffee on the way in.  Lots of laughs, lots of does, but no bucks to shoot.  This is, however, the view from our blind.  We really suffer for Jesus out there, you know...

                       

2 PM - Head back to truck, praying the entire time for Daddy as he drives his broken four-wheeler.  Sometimes I wonder if my daddy's guardian angels just look at each other, shake their heads, and say, "Here we go again!"

4 PM - Arrive back at parents' ranch, change clothes and pack bags.

4:30 PM - Leave ranch and drive 1 1/2 hours to town in neighboring state for 4th grade playoff football game.

6 PM - Drop Jerome off at the field for warm-ups, take the girls to find coffee for Mommy and dinner for them.

7 PM - Arrive back at game field to eat dinner and cheer on our boys.  And yes, all 21 of them are my boys.

8:30 PM - Hug and comfort our sweet guys after a heartbreaking 6-0 loss, eliminating them from the playoffs.  Find a drive-thru to get dinner for Jerome and a post-game snack for our 3 bottomless pits.

9 PM - Leave Farmington for the hour drive home.

10 PM - Finally get home, get the girls in bed, and find a few minutes to breathe.

I'm actually impressed I got all this down coherently.  But my brain is now shutting down, so it's time for bed for this mommy. 

Preserving Memories

I'm not sure why, but I've been on a canning kick lately.  It's something my grandma taught me when I was a little girl.  The last month of summer always meant jars and hot water baths and that satisfying little "pop".  It also meant peeling and chopping the never-ending supply of fruit and vegetables they grew.  My grandma's gardens were ENORMOUS!!!  Or, at least they seemed to reach into forever to my little eyes.

Perhaps, part of my canning kick has been due to a desire for those simpler days.  Days when my biggest concern was how many peaches I could eat before Grandma shooed me out of the orchard, or how many hummingbirds I could catch.  Oh yes, I was quite the hummer catcher. Built cages for them and everything.  

Perhaps the another cause for my kick are my winter memories - opening one of those jars I worked so hard on, smelling and tasting a bit of summer during the dreary cold months.  

No matter the cause, my family has certainly not been complaining about my latest craze.  I've put up more jars of jam than I care to count at the moment - apricot, apricot berry, peach, peach berry, and pear berry.  Almost all of the fruit came from either friends' trees or local orchards.  Their over abundance became my blessing.  

I looked online for recipes, then quickly realized that I was just going to do what Grandma did - throw it all in a pot, then add ingredients until it tasted good.

Each jar that "pops" reminds me of those treasured days with my grandma - days that seemed so ordinary then but are precious now.  I pray my girls have lots of those days to treasure when they're my age.

When your heart stops

We all have those moments.

Moments when your heart leaps into your throat and your breathing stops.

Moments where nothing else matters.

Moments that give you tunnel vision.

Mine was yesterday morning, when I heard her scream.

The scream that isn't caused by a pestering sister, but rather a sudden and terrifying pain.

Those are the moments in which your mama heart stops.

I ran into the room to find my Madi girl on the ground, a huge tv on the floor next to her.  I had asked her to put something away in the closet, not remembering that the tv on the rolling cart was in the front of the closet.  She grabbed the cart to move it out of the way, the tv lost its balance on the cart and fell over.  It hit her forehead, chest, and shoulder on its way to the ground.  

There is nothing like the fear and adrenaline that rushes through a mother's body when her baby is hurt.  

The what-ifs, I-should-haves, and whys course through your mind.  And all you can think about is making sure your baby is ok.

This is one of those moments you are so grateful for all the hours your husband has spent in coaching clinics.  A call to him and a call to our pediatrician's nurse confirmed that we were, yet again, going to get to visit our favorite ER nurses.  

An hour later, we left the ER with a mild concussion and chest and shoulder bruises.  She's got a raging headache, sore body, and yucky tummy.  She's mellower than she's EVER been in her life.  But she'll be ok.  

And my heart rate is slowly returning to normal.  

Although I'm not sure the tv will ever be the same. 

Summer is...

Baseball

Hammocks

Sidewalk chalk

Memories

Snuggles

Friends

Creativity

Giggles

Smiles

The chance to be a kid

Her Tree

We came to see you today, the girls and I.  We hadn't been back since we planted your tree.   Maybe a part of me kept hoping that if I stayed away, you'd come back.  I'd wake up and find the last two months to have just been a horrible dream.

I miss you, more and more each day.  Each day the reality sets in a little more.  Some days, I can think of you and smile, sweet moments dancing across my mind.  Others are harder.  Much harder.  Like today.  Today, I miss you deeply.  I can't think of you without crying.  Or wishing for one more hug.

And so, we came to see your tree.

It's still small, like you.  Young, full of life, full of potential.  And beautiful.  Just like you.

It will grow quickly, we were told.   It will provide shade, protection for the thousands of children that will play in your favorite park through the years.  

There is beauty and new life beginning at your tree.  A tiny lady bug, just like the hundreds you found as a child.

A swarm of honey bees have discovered the tender, yellow-white blooms that cover your branches.  You would have loved the smell.

Your oldest niece stood with your tree for a long time, rubbing the bark, touching the leaves.  I think she feels closer to you here, as if you're still watching over her.

She misses you, deeply.

As do I.

I stood underneath your branches much longer than I expected to.  I didn't expect it to hurt like it did.  

I'm glad we came to see you today.  I have missed you.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

The girls are bathed and in bed. Tomorrow, they will put on their pretty dresses. At least one will ask for "fancy hair". Jerome will put on his suit and tie, I will wear a bright blue dress and the necklace I gave her last Christmas.

We will pick up the gorgeous floral arrangements that have been delivered in the last 8 days, and head to the church.

Has it really been 8 days?

I will arrange flowers, check with the tech guys, the musicians, our pastor.

I will try to keep myself busy right up to the last minute. I struggle to comprehend what we are truly doing tomorrow, and the tasks are so much easier to deal with than the emotions. The emotions bring tears, and heartache, and loss. And they hurt.

Because how do you say goodbye?

When there are no words

This post just won't come.  I've been trying to type it out, anything out, for two days.  Tonight, I told myself that I just had to do it.  Sit down and make myself.  So I did.  And then, just as I was finishing it up, the %$##@!*&* website decided to not save the post.  So I convinced myself that I didn't really need to write this, that it could wait another day or two.  Or a lifetime.

Sunday, April 28, 2013, at 9:52 AM, my world changed forever.  My 19 year old sister-in-love was gone.  A traumatic accident.  My sister-in-love is dead.  The hardest words I have ever written.  Or said.  Or thought.  But the more I put off writing this, the easier it is to pretend this isn't real.  That I'm not really trying to help coordinate a memorial service or meals.  That I'm not watching my in-laws age instantaneously.  That my husband isn't walking around in a daze.

Daytime is easier.  There are things that need to be done, arrangements that need to be made.  Phone calls.  Emails.  Texts.  If I focus on my list, I don't focus on the pain.

The night is different.  The night, after everyone else is sleeping, is my time to grieve.  To cry, to be mad, to mourn.  The night is when the pain becomes so very, very real.

I have known Celine since she was 2.  I asked her once - she did not remember life before me.  We have butted heads, argued, pestered, cried together, and loved.  She was the best little sister anyone could have ever prayed for.  And my heart aches for her.

I know she is whole now.  No more seizures.  No more pain.  No more tears.  No more heartache.  She is in the arms of Jesus, dancing and laughing, watching all the movies she never got to see and learning just how much her Heavenly Father treasures and adores her.

Tomorrow, there will be more decisions to be made, more papers, more phone calls.  But tonight, I can be by myself and struggle to comprehend this hole in my heart.

I love you, my sweet sister.

Recoup

We've been home since Saturday evening.  Nina is tired and sore, I am exhausted.  I catch myself yawning and wonder why I'm so tired.  And then I remember.  This wasn't just a one-week, or two-week, or even a two month ordeal.  We've been dealing with this for three years.  Three years of wondering when the next episode would hit.  Three years of trying diets, medications, anything to see any type of change.  Three years of wondering, praying, pleading.  Three years of walking on eggshells.

And now it's done.  And I'm not quite sure what to think or do now.


Our first answers came through the use of the hida scan - a super cool high-tech machine that tests how well her gallbladder functions.  Yeah.  Hers didn't.  The valve at the bottom of the gallbladder that is supposed to allow the bile to drain - didn't work.  At all.  And thus, we have the answer to three years of constant pain.

Yes, I did allow her to have a bacon cheeseburger and giant pile of french fries the night before surgery day. You only live once, right?

The next morning we got all dolled up in our cute surgical outfits and posed for the camera. Our surgeon said we had to be the two most excited people she'd ever seen in pre-op. Our response? "We've waited three years for this day! We're ready!"

The surgery went perfectly. Her gallbladder was so diseased the surgeon was worried it might rupture before she got it out. No wonder she was in so much pain.

All the nurses agreed her first post-op meals were the strangest they'd ever seen - veggies and chocolate ice cream for dinner, fruit loops, donuts, a banana, and tomato juice for breakfast. That's my kid.

Her recovery has been slow. She had an allergic reaction to betadine, the wash they use to sterilize the skin before surgery. The pain meds either make her throw up, have an itchy nose, or just plain don't work. But the pain in her side is gone. The pain that has been her constant companion for three years. Gone.

In her words - "Now I can go back to being a normal kid."

One More Day

Once again I find myself in a hotel room in Denver, listening to the sweet sounds of my sleeping child.  She is so peaceful, so perfect.

Once again I am reminded of just how passionately and deeply her Heavenly Father cares for her.  While I know in my heart that the last three years of pain and frustration were not in His perfect plan for her life, I also know without a shadow of a doubt that He has used this journey for so much good.

She is stronger than she ever thought possible.

She has compassion and love beyond compare for any child in pain.

She has no fear of doctors, hospitals, nurses.  She considers them her friends.

She has learned to stand up for herself, to express herself, to speak her mind.


Today the Les Miserables soundtrack has been playing in my head, particularly the song "One Day More."  It is a song of promise, a song of hope.  A song that reminds me we can continue to fight one more day.

And one more day is all I have to ask of her.  Tomorrow she will fall asleep under anesthesia one more time.  Tomorrow will be one more surgery.  But tomorrow also holds the promise of the end.  The end of three years of pain.  The end of countless nights wondering how, and what, and why.

Tonight she is snuggling with a stuffed hippo named Sugar.  Sugar will be next to my Nina when she falls asleep tomorrow, and Sugar will be by her side when she wakes.  As will I.

When the answers don't come easy

I don't like the unknown.

I struggle with the what-ifs.

Especially when it comes to my children.

I actually started this post a month ago. I had to leave it alone. Let it sit. Let me sit.

A month ago, we were in Denver, meeting with a GI doctor. Trying to identify why my daughter has battled stomach pain for three years. Trying to rule out possibilities.

Tonight, we are in Denver. Again. My daughter is sleeping next to me. I am snuggling on the couch with 2 sweet kitties who are not my own. My roommate from college and her sweet hubby have graciously put us up for the night while we meet with yet another doc.

This afternoon, I held my daughter in a doctor's office as she sobbed. She didn't understand why they couldn't just do the surgery. Their postponement of surgery equaled "They don't believe me and they don't care" to my tender-hearted girl. She didn't understand that the doctor cares about her so much that she wants to make sure everything is looked at before surgery.

Today, I found out that the stomach pain my daughter has been dealing with for the last 10 months could actually be related to the stomach pain she had 3 years ago. The stomach pain that sent us to Denver to a doctor that didn't understand, didn't take the time to listen. The doctor that, honestly, taught my daughter that doctors cannot be trusted.

Tomorrow, we will drive back home.

Next Tuesday, we will drive back to Denver.

Next Wednesday, we will have yet another round of tests.

Next Thursday, we might actually be able to have the surgery that could make my daughter's pain go away.

But tonight, I sit on the couch with two cats who aren't mine and watch my daughter sleep. I wonder at the wisdom God gives doctors - to be able to see past the test results (or lack thereof) to the root of the problem. I wonder at the journey our family has been on for the past three years - the appointments, the prayers, the pain. I battle my own demons of anger, frustration, fear.

I wonder how this battle will be used for His glory. He promises that. And I intend to hold Him to it.

One Proud Mama

A few months ago, Kat came to me in tears. Weeping, she explained that God had begun to give her visions, images of children's faces from around the world. She said that God had told her that these children didn't have parents, and that they needed her help. She melted into my arms, crying, "What do I do Mommy? How do I help them?"


I had no idea what to do. Or say.


So I told her to pray. To ask God to give her ideas, ways she could help.


Fast-forward to last month. We are prayer partners with a ministry called Tender Hands, which fights human trafficking in India. One major component of their ministry is an American-style bakery where they teach the girls how to cook, how to run a business, how to survive outside of slavery. They asked their prayer partners to host a bake sale fundraiser in honor of these girls, to raise both money and awareness for their ministry.


Kat read the email and immediately said, "Yes Mommy! That's something I can do!"


What began as a simple email turned into so much more:

-An email to our church administrator asking for the use of tables in the foyer one Sunday turned into, "What if we dedicated this Sunday to Tender Hands? Took up a special offering for them along with the bake sale?"

- A question of "Would you mind if I asked a few other people if they'd like to bake something to contribute?" turned into 14 people from our church showering us with enough baked goods to fill 4 8-ft tables.

- A simple plea of a child's heart, to help children just like her, turned into $1,524 that will go directly to Tender Hands to continue working with the women and children who so desperately need the hope and help THI provides.

- And, most importantly, my daughter saw that when you have a dream, friends and family will rally around you, support you, and encourage you to chase that dream with everything you have.




*If you'd like to learn more about THI and the amazing work they do, you can check out their website at http://tenderhands.org/.

The Whirlwind Adventure

Nina and I arrived home last Thursday evening after a whirlwind week. Our schedule while in Denver consisted of:

Sunday: Drive 7 hours through the worst storm of the season, check into the hotel, praise the chain restaurant gods that a Red Lobster was across the parking lot, eat, swim, go to bed.

Monday: Go to the doctor's appointment at 9, have an impromptu ultrasound while we're there. Go to the Museum of Nature & Science (AWESOME), eat at the mall food court, walk around the mall, swim, go to bed.

Tuesday: Go to the American Girl store (an entire post in itself). Meet my college roommate for lunch. Begin the "cleanse" for the procedure the next day. Don't venture further than 5 feet away from a toilet. Clean up both puke and poop from the cleanse. Go to bed.

Wednesday: Let the very-cleansed kiddo sleep in a bit. Work out and eat breakfast on the sly so as not to tempt the kid. Brave rush-hour downtown traffic to report to the hospital by 10AM. Kiss the kid as she goes under. Knit to keep your hands busy while you wait. Meet with the doctor, watch your kid come out of anesthesia. Get a CT scheduled for the next morning since the endoscopy and colonoscopy were both clear. Learn how to flush an IV so we can keep it in overnight. Find sushi for the brave kid. Snuggle in bed. Watch her sleep.

Thursday: Get up bright and early to pack up, eat breakfast, and get back downtown to the hospital by 8:30. Find out that the kid does, in fact, have to drink contrast. Watch her swallow a piece of gum in a desperate attempt to camouflage the taste of the contrast. Hold her hand while they do the CT. Wait around for the doc to get results. Find out that he suspects what you've suspected all along. Get the IV removed. Eat lunch at the hospital cafeteria. Drive 6 hours to be able to eat dinner at home. Go to bed.


Nina's doc suspects that she has chronic appendicitis. It presents very similarly to acute appendicitis, but over a much longer time frame. He felt like, because she was not in the midst of an episode, we did not have the strongest case to present to the surgeons for immediate surgery. He sent us home with a medicine for IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) that she is to take 3 times per day for the foreseeable future. If she has no more episodes, we know it's IBS and treat it as such. However, he feels very strongly that she will have another episode, and that we will have a very strong case at that point to remove her appendix.


It was a relief for her to have a doctor take her seriously and believe her. It was a relief for me to have answers and a plan.

A road trip in pictures

So this is what day one looked like:

We literally drove right into the storm.  Started out with sun in Durango, ended with 8 inches of snow and ice covering our wheel wells in Denver.  Thankfully there was a Red Lobster across the parking lot from the hotel - I wasn't driving any more last night!  The hotel had a special bed for Nina's American Girl doll waiting for us, along with a certificate for dessert and milk.  So while she enjoyed her drink and the chocolate peanut butter cupcake, Mommy had her own dessert...

Today we met with the GI specialist.  Nina has had 3 episodes of very intense, lower right side abdominal pain since May.  These episodes come on very suddenly, are very debilitating for her, and are usually accompanied by a low fever and general unwillingness to do anything that involves movement.  We had exhausted our resources in Durango, so her docs felt it was time to call in the big guns.  

Words cannot express how impressed I am by our doctor here.  He is patient, thorough, caring, sweet, gentle, loving... everything you hope for in a doc.  

And funny.  And slightly ADD.  Which meant he got along fabulously with us.

After our appointment we cruised up to the Museum of Nature and Science.  Seriously, if you're ever in Denver, you HAVE to visit this museum.  It's incredible.  They have a temporary mastodon and mammoth exhibit that we really wanted to see, and it did not dissapoint.  

After the mandatory mall break, we headed back to the hotel for some swim time and Face Time with the crew back home. Oh how I miss those precious faces! I know they are having fun, but it just feels weird to be apart. But I do love how technology can join this family of five together even when we are hundreds of miles apart.

Tomorrow afternoon we begin the "clean out" for her colonoscopy on Wednesday. Yes, my afternoon and evening will be poo. Lots and lots of poo. I'm really looking forward to that...

Here We Go Again

I'm sure someone will be mad I haven't talked about this trip before now.   But maybe I just didn't want to admit it was happening again.  Nina and I are in a hotel off I-70 in Denver, watching the Oscars and slowly relaxing.

Tomorrow we meet with a GI specialist.  Nina has had three episodes since May of very intense abdominal pain.  It's not her migraines.  She will tell you that this pain is very different.  And I (and her favorite ER doc) can tell that this pain is different.  We couldn't figure it out at home, so they have sent us to Denver in search of answers.

A part of me has an incredible sense of deja-vu.  Weren't we just here, trying to figure out why she was in pain?  Oh yeah, we were.  Three years ago, this month.

I wish I could take this pain away from her.  I wish I could look into her eyes and understand the cause.

I wish I had her strength.

But I do know this week will create some precious memories for my sweet girl, even if it's interspersed with yuck.

Science

This is what science looks like when you homeschool.


Madison was studying volcanoes, Katrina was learning about pH levels, acids, and bases.


A $10 kit from Wal-Mart allowed Madi to build her own volcano, complete with glow-in-the-dark lava.


A boiled and strained head of purple cabbage allowed Kat to play mad scientist for a bit, discovering which household items would turn the cabbage juice red (acid), and which would turn it blue (base).


Both of them were happy to discuss their "experiments" over dinner with Daddy, who finally figured out why I had so closely guarded the cabbage in the fridge for so long.


And Mama got to show them that science can be fun.  That learning can be fun.  And that we could do it together.

Mom's helper

I've been doing a lot of knitting with my looms lately.  It's something I can do while the hubs and I are watching TV at night, and usually the projects don't take too long.  That is a requirement for me.  I do not have the patience for the month-long, work 2 hours every day, kind of craft.


The girls all requested blankies, and picked out their own yarn for me to make them with.  I think someone is a bit jealous that he didn't get to pick a color, though.

The minions are schooling me...

Ok peoples.  I had the whole heartwarming, back to blogging post all done, then $#@&! Blogger decided to not save it.  All my sentimental verbage mysteriously removed from cyberspace.


So now you get snarky.


Congratulations.


I realized that teaching 3 girls who are using 3 different grade levels was going to be interesting this year.  I did not realize how much one-on-one time Madi would require.  Nina is fairly self-sufficient with her math, english, writing, and spelling - all the subjects she tackles while I work with the littles.  Violet is officially doing kindergarden this year, which requires lots of singing and silliness on my part.  Little did I know there would be wailing and gnashing of teeth over learning to read from Madi.  Thus, the requirement for one-on-one teaching.


Well, if Violet is left to her own devices for longer than, say, a minute, she finds something to occupy her mind.  Which usually annoys one or both big sisters.  In order to keep the sanity, I settled upon the electronic schooling method.  I downloaded a bunch of grade-level educational games for the ipad, and while I'm working with Madi, Violet gets to play school games.  When Madi is done, she gets the ipad and I work with Violet.  Brilliant, right?


Until I go to download pics from the ipad a few days later.  And I find these:

I may have a problem...

... I think I'm addicted to the humor section on Pinterest.  Because I find things like this:

And this:

And this:

...extremely hilarious. As in snorting and whacking the hubby so he'll look hilarious. As in saving the pic and texting it to a friend:

... and now you know where I've been the last few months...