I've got to get at least one post in for July

A crafty friend of mine decided our today would be much better spent channeling the urban, uber-hip spirit we both have in our souls, the spirit we sometimes feel trying to claw her way up from underneath the pile of crushed Cheerios and dried-out markers. It takes a huge incentive for me to warrant skipping Asher's nap (I paid dearly for it tonight), but escaping the suburban storefronts in lieu of eclectically painted exteriors was incentive enough. Regardless of the fact that our quasi adventure took place in a minivan (my zippy red don'teverwanttotradeitinforaminvan civic would have aided in our guise, but alas, with four children between the both of us, it was a necessary evil, if evil is considered having rear air conditioning and plenty of leg room), I think we played it off well. Our first stop was Smeeks candy shop located in downtown Phoenix.


(Photo not courtesy of me. I hope that's all the copyright lingo necessary)

It's a super-duper cute little store filled with all the vintage inspired goodies your heart could wish for. Before entering the store, my uber-hip friend (we gave ourselves new personalities for the day and uber-hip sounded better than craftily-hippy) listed the rules to her children (no touching, no begging, basically don't act you age), and I lazily said "Draney children, ditto", and if all the rules were met, we would reward them with a trip to Urban Cookies. It's sometimes all about what gets you through the experience, and rewarding good behavior at a candy shop with the candy that you bought from the candy shop didn't occur to us. Or, we just really wanted some cookies that were urban. The rules were broken (they acted their age, the little heathens), but not visiting Urban Cookies would have nixed all our urbanitedness that we'd been so carefully nurturing all day. While we hip moms dined on gourmet cupcakes, our little ones quickly ate their ice cream sandwiches before they melted. When asked if they were happy with the day's events, one of the little ones responded, as ice cream was running down their arms, that "this was not a good idea". Oh well. At least we adults felt like our urber-hip spirits were smiling, and I think mine was enjoying the rear air in the minivan as well. And hey, it turns out that the necessary evil of taking the minivan was kismet, because what urban mom experience doesn't include a drive by browsing of the furniture located in the parking lot of an antique store? Browsing quickly turned to buying, and my totally cute vintage bookshelf would not have fit in my waytoosmallbutstillnotgettingaminivan civic's trunk. We ended our uber-hip, SOCIETY'S RULES SUCK! AND WE WILL NOT CONFORM TO YOUR STEREOTYPES! day by sitting on the floor of my crafty friend's sewing room, making yo yos for a pillow. For now, suburban spirit is grateful she's back, and smiling at me as I made two different dinners tonight out of leftovers. She also gave me a high five when I graciously let me husband leave me home alone on a Friday night, with an overly tired, screaming 3 year old, so that he could shop for power tools. See you tomorrow at Target. (oh, she just patted my bum)

What we do

Oh sure, while camping, I could fill my time with nature hikes, bug collecting, star gazing, etc., but have you met me? This is what I do.







And sure, you can bring different activities for the kids to occupy themselves with, things to keep their little hands busy, but have you met our kids? This is what they did. With a brand new croquet set.







Emma was dedicated to having a picnic of tree sap.





And, since we don't drink, we try to find other recreational activities to fill our time with.






















Okay, okay, you can call off PETA. It's not like I swatted a fly or something. Geez people, what kind of a monster do you think I am? We were aiming for the tree on the left. And if not, so what? It's not like we were sling-shotting water balloons towards them. It was, uh, big balls of grass and other stuff, you know, like some leftover alfalfa and corn from our lunch. The woods aren't really known for having much vegetation, so, you know, we thought we'd help the poor guys out. Come on, they wouldn't stop staring at us. It was starting to bug.


*Disclaimer: NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED DURING THE MAKING OF THIS POST! *






I know. You can't get over the shock. But I promise the cows are alive and well and continuing to produce more cow pies for other unsuspecting campers to pitch their tents on, so chilax.



Our only crime was that we saved these beauties for ourselves.






Where's the flood, Clint?

Emma's Dance Recital

A few stumbles occurred, but overall it was a success. Yet again, I'm waffling as to whether she should continue taking classes. The lazy mom in me wants to keep her home, reading all afternoon.



Emma's Recital from Jaylee Draney on Vimeo.

Our 2nd Harvest

Our Armenian Cucumber

You know what they say about Armenians.....

.... they have big salads.

yes, I know you can see my underoos

Asher Jack

HAPPY

It's no secret that Asher was not a planned-for child. Nor is it a secret that I wasn't, shall we say, thrilled that he was going to be of the "male variety". It was a difficult pregnancy to endure, but only because I choose to make it difficult. I was a grumpy, wretched person to be around. While pregnant with Asher, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I would be the parent to a boy. In the last 3 or 4 generations of my family, the only men around were there by marriage, not by birth. And because I didn't grow up with an available father, I didn't learn whatever that characteristic is that encourages you to enjoy boys and all their idiosyncrasies. I couldn't get past the fact that most boys seemed to be rough, gun-loving, smelly creatures who didn't wipe their noses and had icky boy parts. But none of that mattered. Following Asher's birth, I fell in love with him, and I immediately mourned for those last/lost 9 months; 9 months that I choose to live in that miserable state. I've since learned how to parent a boy, a boy who is the epitome of boy-ness, a boy so completely opposite of his sister. When Asher was young, I fooled myself into thinking that I could replace those male tendencies with cupcake making and bird watching, but he didn't fall for it. Asher inherently seems to be able to manipulate any toy into some sort of weapon, he's loud, he's rough, he's aggressive, but he's as sweet and loving as they come. Whereas before I shunned any type of male paraphernalia i.e. shirts that said "Mommy's Little Monster", I find myself naturally adding dump trucks and tool sets to my Amazon shopping cart. Now, I can't imagine life any other way.

They sure are pretty though

Our 1st harvest.






Too bad radishes taste like crap and dirt.

He looks a little tall, don't you think?

Ahhh, how sweet. Clint and Asher are husking corn together.  It's amazing how tall Asher's gotten, isn't it?






I love it when the both of them bond over woman's work.



It's nice to see my husband partake in learning activities with the kids. If I were not around, say, on account of my brain tumor reoccurring, I'm confident that Clint would provide the kids with a loving, nurturing, and most importantly, safe environment.













Or maybe just an environment...







...where grilled corn is the only thing for dinner.






I guess I can never die.