love.

Is there anything sweeter than a old couple still in love? Perhaps it's their delicate care for each other or their symbiotic mannerisms that show years of togetherness that make old love so beautiful. Either way, the act of growing old together pulls at my deepest heart strings. My Grandparents have molded this vision by proving that although their love story wasn't always perfect it only fueled the passion that love can triumph. High five, Grandparents!  

I remember in college a brief moment of clarity about joyful love that happened while visiting my grandparents. My Grandpa had just gotten back from golfing or playing in the garage (the details are fuzzy) and my Grandma was meandering around in the kitchen preparing dinner. Meanwhile, my sisters and I had made ourselves permanent fixtures on the couch while watching Friends. Ross and Rachel were talking about wearing silky pajamas, an innuendo about sex I suppose was the brunt of the joke.  Then out of the blue my Grandma nonchalantly remarked, "When I wear silky pajamas your Grandpa chases me around the house too."  

ew. (but cute, only because it came straight from the mouth of my sweet little Grammy). 

Shocked and a bit taken back by her remarks we scoffed as they both laughed at their inside joke. Though not out of the ordinary for them to throw out such remarks because if you knew them then you'd know that inappropriate jokes, flirtatious kisses, love letters written on post-it notes, and the occasional butt pinch were commonplace in their house. This playful banter was part of them until the day my Grandpa died. I look at their story and find solace that their love was bigger then themselves, they had to trudge through the rough times to only come out stronger on top. They found perfection in the other's faults and maybe just maybe found the meaning of endearing love. 

I hope someday that John and I can find that same rhythm to life and if that doesn't happen there's to always hoping that he will chase me around the house when I'm 75 years old... 

:)

Wherever you may be today, I hope you find a little love in your life as well. Happy Happy Valentine's Day.

xoxo, Halsey

VinylKrazy Giveaway

 //CLOSED// Winner Jess Brooks, you lucky lady!

If you know me then you know that I have a nasty habit of hammering holes into the walls of our home. I don't have the patience for measuring or using a level so I end up making six holes (or more...yikes) for every one hole, basically I hammer away until the picture is perfectly placed on the wall. This little habit drives John crazy when it comes to repairing the wall damage. When I found out about vinyl lettering both our worlds changed--no more hammering, hole making, wall dinging, or patchwork was required--vinyl lettering has become a win/win for all (and in this house that's a miracle)! 

Today the VinylKrazy store is generous offering a $50 gift certificate to one lucky reader. 

Here are a few ways to win:

//Follow the VinylKrazy facebook page (1 entry)

//Follow the VinylKrazy Pinterest boards (1 entry)

//Leave a comment telling me what you would love to do with your new vinyl lettering (1 entry)

Also, make sure to checkout the VinylKrazy facebook page for a giveaway worth $100 in FREE products (entry for this giveaway ends March 1st).

And if VinylKrazy wasn't generous enough they are currently offering 15% off your entire purchase with coupon code:  13HLWS213   and free shipping on orders over $50. 

Good luck! Giveaway will end Thursday 2/21

pity party.

Last week I threw myself a pity party in the wee hours of morning after a week of sleepless nights. I chalked up Addison erratic sleeplessness to being out of her element and away from her bed. My sister was there to pick up the scattered pieces each morning, she fed Brecken, played with him, and retrieved Addy from her restless slumber all in the hope that I could relish a few moments of sleep. (Thank you, Kam). 

When I finally cracked from a weak moment of despair I sat on the floor of my sister's guest bedroom and cried. With Addy in my arms I cried and prayed from sleep. I cursed God. I asked him why he gave me a baby that wouldn't sleep? (It wasn't my prettiest moment). I cursed John for leaving me all alone. I cursed him for calling his trip work, when it seemed to more of a "man-cation" to me--all the while I was dealing with dirty diapers, a three-year-old who wouldn't stop riding his sister like a horse, and a baby girl who wouldn't sleep or give me the luxury of a peaceful shower alone. Seriously, it was an overly dramatic lapse of time for me. Please tell me I'm not crazy? 

By the next morning I had once again composed myself  (and showered--it's funny how a simple shower can change one's mood, right)? Anyway, I felt sort of silly for my dramatic almost laughable behavior from the previous night. Honestly, what do I know about hard times and loneliness? Nothing really I suppose. Military spouses, single parents, grandparents raising grandchildren, the foster system and a plethora of other unfortunate situations seem to make my problems look like a walk in the park. However, I realize no matter what the circumstances may be, parenthood is hard. tiring. hard. exhausting. hard. tiring. emotional. lonely. tiring (you get the point). I am truly amazed by all of those individuals, who unlike me, are doing it "alone." You really are the cream of the crop! 

And if I've learned anything from the last week (or the last three years) it's that more than ever I am truly thankful for John. He wakes early, comes home late, carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and then walks in the front door ready to wrestle Brecken, change Addy's diapers, and read "Mr. Brown can Moo" to our little ones over and over again.  I can't say this will be my last breakdown (sigh), but please tell me there is an end in sight to Brecken riding his sister?!

road. trip. again.

John left earlier this week for Minneapolis so naturally I thought it only fitting for us to leave as well. On Monday I bottled up all my energy and sanity and ventured to my sister's house for the week. Once there I became invisible as usual. Brecken has always been naturally drawn to Kambrie. What are aunts for if they can't mug on my babies? 

Recently Kambrie and Joel moved to a quiet little town in northern Wyoming. A tourist trap of sorts full of souvenir shops, mom and pop dining, and historical outposts like the Buffalo Bill Museum. Yesterday, we ventured downtown to the Rib n' Chop House for lunch. Seriously, guys I can't get enough of that place. An intervention may be in my future. Anyway, if you go there get the fried green tomatoes, it's one of those appetizers that could double as meal and every bite is worth it.  er.mer.gersh. it's good.  We then popped across the street to the cutest candy shop. You know the kind--large bins of candy and rows of homemade fudge and chocolate truffles. Cute little ladies skirting behind the glass in handmade aprons serving up samples of lavender and lemon fudge. 15 minutes later and $20 dollars less was all it took to leave with the cutest little box of chocolate-y goodness. 

Hands down my favorite was the Sea Salt and Carmel Truffle. luuurved it big time. 

Hair. Cut.

Last night we cut the curls. They had become so unmanageable that most days I just felt defeated when I looked at his mop. They were cute and red and completely lovable, but man oh' man without the help of a ponytail//pigtails//braids//or bows they became unruly by 6PM. And let's face it, John would be beside himself if Brecken wore pigtails. Seriously though, how do I go about managing a boy fro? Naturally I let his freak flag fly, but by the end of everyday it looked as though he was more hair than boy. I blame my own genetics for the string of unfortunate events he will endure over the years with naturally curly hair.

So I declared that I'd had enough. I would not be defeated by curly hair so I commissioned John on the task taming the mane. He set up shop on the bathroom floor and clipped away. Occasionally I chimed in with opinions of his handiwork which he quickly quipped were not warranted nor needed (typical man. no?) Then as if he saw himself as Michelangelo finishing the last brush strokes on the Sistine Chapel he lifted his masterpiece to the mirror to admire his work.  The immediate reaction of tears were followed by choked up words of missing hair and a now round head. I mustered up as much strength as possible to not cry as well--seeing that my own tears would only exasperate his already fickle emotions. 

For a brief moment I questioned my own judgement if cutting his hair really was really that necessary. Could I not find someway to manage the curls? How about more gel? A hat or two may help? What if I just trimmed the ends? My mind raced over what should have happened and if I was over exaggerating his need for a hair cut. Then at that exact moment his bright blue eyes full of residual tears appeared from underneath the towel and I realized how long I had gone without seeing those beautiful blue beauties. I knew then the choice to cut was not only warranted but by golly--needed! It should be a crime to hide those gems if I do say so myself.

Besides, after a few hugs and an episode of Thomas the Train all was well in his world again. Now, if it was only that easy to change my mood around on my bad days...

P.S. his cute raglan pullover can be found at one of our favorite shops