DOUBT

Doubt is a very powerful thing. It can be good: I firmly believe that no harm can come from a willingness to question things. On the contrary; one of the greatest dangers in life is just going along; refusing to let yourself challenge what you know.

But doubt can also be harmful. Especially when you make a habit of doubting yourself.

I have always been a glass-half-empty kind of person. Whenever I do things that are difficult, there are these voices in my head whispering: "you're not good enough", "you cannot possibly go that far -- do that much"...

Since Evie, that's changed. I mean, since Evie everything has changed: but THIS, this I never thought would change. I have been battling self doubt my whole life. There is only one possible explanation for this. Evie is my Horcrux. When I had her, my soul split... and now there is nothing I cannot do.

Something more powerful than doubt: being a mother.

And the leaves are changing which means that I get to drive to school through fiery tunnels and it is beautiful and all is right in the world.

Here is little Miss playing airplane on Mommy's legs during a picnic on Friday.

I know what you are all thinking: "That is not Evie. That is GRAHAM. It has to be Graham." and although I have this very same thought at least seventeen times in any given day: no, it is not Graham, it is my baby daughter. I know this because Graham is much too big to play airplane on my legs.

Pending Further Investigation

Graham and I have decided to re-sub our World of Warcraft account (I'll pause to allow those of you who didn't know I play WOW to regain your composure.... are you done laughing at me? Ok... I'll continue). When we lived in California we played WOW every Wednesday night with a group of friends from all over. Seeeeeeee, it's social, and therefore completely acceptable.

So I am typing in my user name and password to recover my account info and it's all "invalid information" and I'm all "noooo it isn't, idiot computer". And it went on like this for some time until I decided to call the service help-line (mostly because, since I tried logging on so many times with "invalid information" it locked me out of the site. Computer, 1. Me, 0.)

Then, forty-five minutes later: FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, PEOPLE... this just proves how many people play MMO's. Seeeeeeee, it's pervasive, and therefore completely acceptable. Forty-five minutes later a woman is explaining to me that my account has been hacked in to and, pending further investigation, may or may not be reopened.

All of this to say that, for the first time in my life, I am a part of an INVESTIGATION. It's like a murder mystery... only ONLINE. There has been a scandal in Outland, folks... someone has killed my Druid. YOUR CHILDREN ARE NOT SAFE!

Long Overdue

In August we went to Atlanta and, besides the part where I had to milk myself, it was an awesome trip. Evie got to meet all of the amazing Southern Folks who love her so very much. And suffice it to say that there are a LOT of them. So we did what any good Georgian Family (albeit a transplanted one) would do: ate a lot of food and traveled around handing out free hugs everywhere we went.

I'm just gonna say it: Southerners do it better. And I don't just mean cooking, decorating, and partying. I mean they are better at being humans. (Oh, wait, what's that sound I just heard? The tapping noise of my non-southern readers clicking UN-FOLLOW). But really, once you dip below the Mason Dixon Line it's hard not to compare everywhere else you go to That Place where the people are just soooo naice (that's "nice" in Georgia-speak)... and I'm not gonna lie: there is a piece of me that dies every time I think about the little, twangy accent that Evie could have had.

And the love. Ohhhh the looooove. There were people who we saw on this visit who have loved us our entire lives, so to see them snuggling on Evie just made my heart look like a scene straight out of Disney's Fantasia.

Three cheers for Grandpa. Hip-Hip, Horray!

Snuggling with the Meemers...who drove all the way from Mississippi to hold Ms. Evie.

And the man who has, on more than one occasion, been single-handedly responsible for helping me maintain my sanity.

And the man who has, on more than one occasion, been single-handedly responsible for keeping Graham's mother from murdering him.

As you can see, the trip was a success...and we cannot wait to take Evie back to the ATL in November so that she can meet her new cousin, Sophi.

I will leave you with some sweet, sweet second cousin love.

**PHOTOS TAKEN BY THE UBER-TALENTED GRAHAM SCOBEY, DUH**

This is What Happens...

...when you throw a string of spaghetti on the ceiling to check if it is cooked...

and then you look up SIX HOURS LATER and realize that you forgot to get it down...

Five Years

I'm just checking my e-mail... like any other day when, imagine my surprise (slash dread slash disbelief) when I find an invitation to my 5 (really it's more like 6, but who's counting) year High School reunion.

Seriously?! Weird. Super freakin' weird with strange sauce on top and a cherry, too.

Now, I didn't hate high-school. There were parts I loved and parts that I didn't love... but I was definitely not one of those people who loathed every day of the four-year-experience. "So what's the issue?" you ask? The issue is that i am SO not the same person who I was five years ago. Not even close. If I was North America she would be Nepal. And if I passed that over-made-up, under-secure girl on the street, she would not even recognize me. And I'm glad. I wouldn't like her, anyways.

So why go back? Why even think about going back? Aren't we alllll about moving forward here? But then I am hit HEAD ON by the mack truck of curiosity...

We meet again, GACS class of 2004...

I am the one smack dab in the middle with an orange shirt on. Wareagle!

Boogie Nights (and mornings... and days...)

Evie has her first cold... and its a doozie. Now, before you go feeling all sorry for me and sending me chocolate (my favorite is hazelnut flavored) and flowers (gerber daisies, please) I should admit to you that there is a bright side to the situation. Remember back when I admitted my nose picking habit? Well, turns out that the joy I get from digging for my own gold TOTALLY translates to picking my kid's nose, too.

It's like a game: the deeper they are in there, the more points you get... plus special bonus awards for size and color. Give me one of those squeezy-bulbs over a video controller any day, thank you.

Little-bit is no child of mine. I mean, she looooovves her baths. She just might be the cleanest newborn on the planet (side note: that may be the last time I get to refer to her as a "newborn" on the blog... since, as of Wednesday, my big THREE-MONTH-OLD will officially be considered a full blown infant. Just rip my heart out and put it through a meat-grinder, why don't you?! This growing-up-too-fast crap is way hard.)

There she is, that little Benedict Arnold... just lovin' that bath. I will do my best to change that. I can just see Evie and me in ten years, sitting on the couch all sweaty from a family run (we will not take a shower for at least 48 hours afterward) picking our noses and letting the dog lick our faces. Ahh... bliss.

An Inconvenient Tooth

When I was in high school my dentist told me that I did not have any wisdom teeth. His fancy x-ray machine told him so. So for the next seven years (literally... seven years) I walked around all: "I'm more evolved than you, and you, and you and especially you... sucka!"

Then, because my body was apparently on "growing-foreign-bodies" overdrive, in addition to sprouting a baby I sprouted two wisdom teeth. Since I couldn't have surgery while pregnant, I just ignored the little mouth-invaders. Now I am not pregnant anymore... but I have had enough doctor-involving predicaments to last me the next five KABAJILLION years.

What are the chances of the whole "extra-teeth-that-you-don't-need-that-can-and-probably-will-reverse-what-four-years-of-braces-corrected" situation going away on its' own? Not good? Crap... I guess I am going to have to do something about this.

This post is hyphen-happy. s-o-r-r-y. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-...

(un) Labor Day

It has been an understandably busy summer for us in the Scobey house... so it comes as no surprise that I turned around the other day and summer was gone. Like: 50-degrees-outside-in-the-morning-time-to-turn-the-heat-on-in-the-house GONE. Since we have not had much of a summer, we decided that we'd better go out in style. So when our good friends, Carl and B, invited us out to the lake for Labor Day, we jumped at the chance. Graham had shot three weddings this weekend (yes, onetwothree: one Friday, one Saturday, and one Sunday) so he really deserved a down day.

Monday morning we head over to Thompson... which is about a 45 minute car ride. Neither of us were looking forward to spending this much time with Little Bit in the car because, for some reason, every-time she has gotten in the car this month she has screamed obscenities at us for the duration of the ride. And it sucks. Because you HAVE to get in the car. There is absolutely no escaping it. So: we go to the grocery... she screams, we go to church... she screams, we go ANYWHERE UNDER THE SUN... and the child SCREAMS.

Where was I? Oh. Neither of us were looking forward to spending this much time with Little Bit in the car. So we get her all packed up and several moments into the journey... guess what?

She goes to sleep. It was awesome. This would be a good time to tell you about how she also slept the whole way home...but then I would be skipping the entire "lake" portion of the story.

On to the lake portion of the story:

I know... it's like they took Graham's head and put it on a baby's body and then, VIOLA... you get Evie!

Notice how much happier she looks to be in my lap? This is an anomaly... she is a total daddy's girl. I mean, she loves us both, but I foresee many fights in my future where I am getting ganged up on.

One manly skier

TWO manly skiers - there was a near death experience soon after this photo was taken, but I won't say whose fault it was (*cough*GRAHAM*cough*)

One dry dog

One wet (read: dejected and totally pitiful) dog

The End.

Saying "No" to Daycare

Graham and I are really blessed because we have figured out a way around the whole daycare thing. Now, before you get all angry: I am not saying that daycare is bad. I was a daycare baby, 8-5 everyday for much of my childhood, and I turned out just fine. So... now that we have that all cleared up, we are going to try and keep Evie out of daycare for the first 6 months or so of her life.

We have a neighbor with a 9-month-old... and this semester we will be trying our hand at baby sharing. Our neighbor will take Evie for several hours a week and, in return, we will take her son (Chase; who, by the way, is devastatingly handsome already and is going to be forced into an arranged marriage with my daughter) for a few hours.

In order to prep for Operation Babyshare, Beth (my neighbor... and, might I add so that you all know JUST how awesome and trustworthy she is, fellow SOUTHERNER) and I did a trial run this past week. Playing with Chase was a blast, but it made me realize that I cannot have another child. I mean, as if run-of-the-mill mommy guilt isn't bad enough... try attempting to divide your time between two (let alone three or, as if anyone is crazy enough, FOUR) children who need and want your attention.

And, sadly, in the battle for my attention the one who MOVES (like crazy-fast-crawling-lightening) always wins... because Evie may cry, but she isn't going to crawl into danger anytime soon. So I found myself apologizing to Evie over and over again.

I'm sorry I can't hold you, sweetie, but if I don't watch Chase he might eat the dog-food/stick his finger in an outlet/take the car and do doughnuts in the neighbor's lawn.

Can you imagine the kind of reputation I would get it I let that happen?!