And the children were nestled all snug in their...carseats

This would be us on Christmas Eve. Yes, the evening of Eve...driving home from Santa Barbara. We should've been cozy in our jammies, sitting by the fireplace, sipping homemade egg nog. However, an unfortunate turn of events dashed all of our holiday hopes and dreams...

We were supposed to spend two fun filled weeks in beautiful, sunny Santa Barbara, but shortly after arriving Benson appeared to be having some sort of allergy--was it something he ate? was there an unusually high pollen count? No, as it turns out, Benson is pretty severely allergic to pets--it just so happens that Ryan's parents have 2 cats and a dog. We didn't figure it out until it had been about 24 hours and Benson had a bright red rash covering his face, bloodshot and slightly puffy eyes, a runny nose, and a cough! So, we tried to remedy the situation by first giving Benson a hefty dose of Benadryl and removing him from the house for the day, and then cleaning the house and keeping the pets contained...just hours after returning to Ryan's parents' house he broke out all over again. So, we had no choice--I called my friend Sarah and asked if we could stay at her parents' house for the night (Sarah calls it "the compound", we assumed they would have room for us). Benson cleared up again. We decided that we couldn't go back to my in-laws house obviously, so we got a hotel room.

Saturday before Christmas we checked into the stately Sandpiper Inn--no, really it wasn't stately...it was a handicapped room, therefore there was no division between the shower and the rest of the bathroom, the sheets were like sandpaper, and the cable didn't even work. Oh, and it smelled like pee. Kayla nicknamed it the "Happiness Hotel" (for those of you who haven't seen the Great Muppet Caper, that's what they call the local dirty hostile). We stayed one night and decided to call it quits as Benson broke out into hives even in the presence of Ryan's parents and little brother as their clothes were covered in pet dander, and Kayla would cry everytime we had to return and say "But I don't like this house". So alas, Christmas Eve morning we took Benson to the Urgent Care clinic to get his bark-like cough checked out, we opened all of our presents in the Happiness Hotel, packed up the Westy and headed home.

Next morning, back in San Jose, Ryan went surfing...Christmas morning, not another soul in the water...apparently it was "epic" and he said he got "tubed". The kids and I stayed home, did laundry, just another day in paradise as they say. Now Benson has developed croup as a result of the allergic reaction--poor guy can't get a break. Merry Christmas Young family!

Japanese Fun

One thing you should know about me: I LOVE Japanese humor. It is just pure entertainment--so freakishly delightful. One of my favorite pasttimes is to look up funny Japanese things...here is one of my favorites straight off of kawaiigifts.com (you should check it out)...

"Relax Bear loves pancakes, cookies and tissues. He makes a mess sometimes, and he's not very good at cleaning up after himself. And sometimes his little feathered friend nags him and gives him a hard time, like biting his tail. He's not selfish, he's just not very good at sharing his cookies. Relax Bear like to wear bear suits with a zipper on the back, and he has many of them. Altho he still is a bear underneath the bear suit, sometimes you see his blue polka dot garment when the zipper is down. Relax Bear also owns a graber for times when he doesn't feel like getting up. But he's not lazy, he is just Relax Bear.
Relax bear now has a Little Bear buddy! The Little Bear is kinda mischevious, likes music, dancing, pancakes (of course!) and drawing. Sometimes, the Little Bear draws on Relax Bear's face (and his butt too) when Relax Bear is taking a nap."

Now tell me you're not smiling! So, whenever you're down, just do me a little favor, think about our lazy friend, Relax Bear, and you are sure to forget all your troubles...

Blaallet

Today was the day, the long awaited performance of The Nutcracker Ballet...for those of you who don't know, some weeks ago my 3 year old daughter saw a commercial on PBS for none other than the timeless holiday classic, The Nutcracker. She immediately told me she wanted to go to the ballet...I tried to talk her out of it, but there was no negotiating. So, I bought her a movie of the ballet thinking she might find it as boring as I did in order to dissuade her from wanting to attend. Foiled again. She LOVED it. So, like a good mom, I got a group of her little friends together and asked if they wanted to attend--a mommy daughter type event--if I had to suffer through it, so should other moms I knew. All agreed and we purchased some tickets. These are photos taken in the lobby at intermission...dancing with her BFF Alexis and hugging NC. Believe it or not, I did not put her up to hugging that frightening life-size nutcracker--I want to know what kind of nuts he's crackin'? She loved the ballet, and loves the ballet. I am glimpsing a future filled with tutus, bruised toes and eating disorders...But ah, she is cute when she gets all dressed up and wants to dance with 'the prince' (aka: daddy). There's nothing I wouldn't do for her--I'll even sit through every single one of her boring ballets.

I just threw up in my mouth...

This is Benson eating his birthday cake--or should I say, eating his birthday frosting. He probably would have polished the whole thing, except that upon swallowing a particularly large chunk of frosting I heard him gurgle it back up into his mouth and then yes, swallow it back down. That's when I knew it was time to take it away--despite Lisa and Josie's pleas to let him finish, "it's his birthday", it would've been a little too disturbing for me to watch him consume the equivalent of 2 cups of powdered sugar and 1/4 cup of butter.
My baby boy...I can't believe it has been one year! Last year at this time I was still on a strict regimen of Vicaden (sp?) and 600mg of Ibuprofen--feelin good. Man, am I glad that's over--HAPPY BIRTHDAY BENNY!

Burned

Lastnight after Ryan got home from work I went over to Nordstrom's for a little "me time". After a long night of jeans shopping (which we all know can be quite exhausting), I returned home fully expecting to find my little home in perfect order. But not so, as I opened the door I got a waft of something totally unnatural. Everyone was already asleep--something had gone terribly wrong. Ryan woke up just long enough to explain that he had burned some popcorn. Apparently, he did not notice either the button that says "Popcorn" on the microwave, OR the instructions that say "4 minutes OR UNTIL YOU NO LONGER HEAR POPPING".
I was not aware of the extent of the incident until this morning when I began to uncover telling clues to the atrocity that had occurred. The witness: The first words out of Kayla's mouth this morning were "Daddy burnt the popcorn". She seemed rather disturbed by the whole event. The Scene of the Crime: Upon opening the microwave door to heat some milk for the baby it was clear that it probably needs to be fumigated. While preparing some cereal for Kayla I found a small blackened kernal that had strayed under the stove top--poor little guy. My light blue melamine bowl was sitting sadly in the sink marred with char. As I went to wash the breakfast dishes I noted some suspicious brown stains on my kitchen sponge--had he even attempted to cover up the scene of the crime? It has now been 12 hours and we are STILL battling the aroma or "aftermath", if you will. I can't wait to see what little bits of evidence turn up next!

The Love of My Life

"Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." -Pres. Gordon B. Hinckley
Among many other things, I have our dear prophet to thank for this, my husband's motto. This is Ryan's sock...I know, gross. Had I not intercepted it between his foot and the laundry basket he would have given it another 3 or 4 rides before he finally added it to the rag pile--which is even more gross--it's not like we don't have old towels that we use for rags. He is extreme in his need to recycle, reduce and reuse. Some may call him "cheap", but no no, I like to call him "conscious", albeit "intentional". I suppose that makes this sock quite noble really. Tragically, this is one of the reasons I love this man--does that mean that this disgusting sock is a symbol of our love?