another I ♥ faces entry

So this week's contest for I ♥ faces contest is a "tooshies" contest.
I do happen to have several naked hind ends in my photography files, however, this is a clothed hind-end contest only.
I like this one, a picture from an engagement session I did. I love hand holding, jeans wearing engaged people. It's still "new" love, even though it's an old enough love to commit to marriage.
It always makes me think back to when I was newly engaged- just a young 20 years old, and I was so in love. A love that only grows more as time progresses... aww. Young love....

To see all the clothed bottoms you'd ever want to see, click on over to I Heart Faces website.


I ♥ faces

This is my entry for the I ♥ Faces "sun flare" contest this week.
To see all the entries, click here to be taken to the I ♥ faces website.
I took this picture of Madigan while she was playing in the park and I was trying to get a good picture for our Christmas card... it's an honest sun flare, unedited in any way. I love the look on her face!



I am a cheater.

Before you go questioning my faithfulness to my husband, please know that the sanctity of our marriage is very much intact.
However, recently I was asked to be the subject of an undergrad interview for a social work major, and I agreed, with reservations. The subject: infertility. Immediately after agreeing, I felt like a giant fraud. A cheater, a liar, a poser.
Who am I to talk about infertility?
First, my journey was a relatively short- 20 months. (In infertility terms, that's nothing!)
Second, I won the crazy lottery and ended up with a child. How did that happen?
My first impression is to feel like I have somehow cheated the system. How can I call myself an "infertile"? My time on the roller coaster of infertility was short, albeit wild enough for me. With minimal medical intervention, we succeeded and wound up with not only a pregnancy, (which is a type of success unto itself) but an actual live birth. When I refer to my infertility-days, or talk of *gasp* another child most of my friends and family are quick to dismiss my belief that secondary infertility is not only a possibility for me, but indeed a probability. How would I possibly begin to explain to a college student what infertility does to a woman?

Then again, I've never felt comfortable when planted in the "mommy group" either. I absolutely, positively love my role as mother. I have relied on my mom-friends for countless amounts of advice, encouragement and reinforcement. But it's impossible for me to join in the lighthearted conversations about birth control, and when to "plan" the next child. I feel like the band geek, hanging out with the cheerleaders- waiting for that moment when they find out I somehow "cheated" to get into the club of motherhood, and kicking me back out again. This exclusive club of motherhood is fantastic, but trust me, you'll never find me saying to someone "you'll understand when you have children". Because in all truthfulness, you may not understand until you have faced not having children.

Right now, a person who offered me true support during my struggle is in a battle of her own. Her story began long before mine did, and has continued on after my infertility journey ended. I'm broken hearted for her, that her fifth cycle of IVF has failed, that science and medicine have left two very deserving people with empty arms and broken hearts. There is no fairness to that, no explaination and I feel like a fraud because I cheated to get here when she's worked her butt off and is still stuck there. Nothing I can do will help her become a mother, and I hate that.

In the end, I did the interview. I spoke about what I do know about infertility and what it does to a woman. I told the student that I believe that the infertile population is grossly underserved, and I hope she can change that. I know that often my posts are light-hearted and full of pictures, but if you need to know anything about me, it's that infertility is never far from my mind. Whether I'm worrying and praying for a friend, or thinking about my own impending struggle with secondary infertility, it's something that never gets put out of my mind.

So, yeah... I'm a cheater.
And if there was any way I could help a friend to cheat, I'd be there in a heart beat.



I am thankful.
Full of thanks.
Chalk-full of it.
I am thankful for tiny, chubby hands that grab everything and leave smeary little fingerprints behind. I am thankful for a curiosity that is insatiable. I'm thankful for a tiny little mind that needs to know.

I'm thankful for long eyelashes, tiny ponytails, and a girly-girl that picks a boat to match her outfit. I'm thankful for a husband that is as involved in our marriage as he is in parenting.
I'm thankful for little brown dresses, for a daughter that loves water so much she'll play with it anywhere, and for an adventuresome child. I'm thankful for a healthy child.

I'm thankful for blue, blue eyes, black mary-janes, chipped paint merry-go-rounds, and a girl who circles counter-clockwise.

I'm thankful for my husband, whom I truly believe was sent to me by God. I'm thankful for our family. I'm thankful for my friends, both those I know in real life and those who I've only met through blogging. I am so thankful, for my life and for the things I have to count as blessing.

What are you thankful for?


Did you notice?

I updated my blog!
It's so much fun- like getting new clothes for my own personal webspace. Except I can't get too fat for this makeover! Win-Win!!
I also re-arranged my blog roll on the side of the page. I separated the list into "family" "friends" and "businesses". I expect I'll change it a little bit more as I start to expand on my new blog roll. I've found some great blogs recently and might be adding them as well.
Maybe I'll just do a quick bullet post update, in case you've wondered what's going on in "Sillyhille" land....
  • I have done NO Christmas shopping. Boo.
  • Madigan has 3 teeth, and is apparently very angry that the others would like to come through as well. I'd love to hear ANY advice on teething (except for rubbing booze on her gums, I'm not that kind of mom).
  • I will be traveling to Kansas for the next three weekends. Once for a photo shoot of a newborn (yay!), once for T-giving, once for Pie & Pipes celebration at our home church.
  • Um, I've been eating butter cake and wondering how I can become Paula Deen. I like one suggestion that I don't necessarily want to BE her, as much as I'd like her to be my surrogate grandmother.
  • I'm working on two new posts that I'm just don't feel are "finished" yet. I usually just sign on, type some stuff, and post it... (like this entry!) but I have 2 that are a bit more deep-thinking for me and I'm debating on even posting them at all... Don't know if the majority of people who read this (all three of you...) would just prefer light updates on the Littlest SillyHille, or if, you know, reading actual thoughts from me is also amusing. Did you know that if you leave a comment (hint hint) I would know that my aimless typing is not in vain? :)
  • In reviewing my bullet points, I realize that I use italics (and parenthesis) a bit too much. Forgive me.
So, that's my nut, in a shell. And since I didn't participate in the usual "not-me! monday" post that I occasionally do, I have just ONE "not me" to impart...
I most certainly did not eat pot-roast for breakfast. Because it smelled so delicious. And protein is filling, right?


I ♥ Paula Deen

When I grow up, I want to be Paula Deen.
No, seriously, I do. I really really do.

I decided I can over look her almost indecipherable Southern accent because she introduced me to butter cake. Take a second to soak that up.... butter. cake. 6 ingredients, the majority of which is actual butter and cake.
Here's the recipe:
1 pkg yellow cake mix
1 egg
8 tablespoons butter, melted
Mix together and pat into lightly greased 9x13.
8 oz soft cream cheese
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
8 ounces butter, melted
16 ounces powdered sugar
Mix together and spread over the cake mixture.
Bake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees. The center should still be soft/gooey when you remove it from the oven. Cool it completely as this cake is best served at room temp.
True Paula-fans know that you can NOT sub margarine for butter. But just in case it's your first foray into Paula-ness, take note. NO Margarine. Mmmk?

My husband and I enjoyed this cake one night after tucking the lil sillyhille into bed. We snuggled up in front of the CMA's and brewed some decaf chocolate truffle coffee. It was delightful. If you have at home date nights, I highly suggest this. You won't be dissapointed.
Let me know if you try it...

Wordless Wednesday


Nursery Rhymes, SillyHille Style:

Humpty Grump-ty sat on a wall.
Humpty Grump-ty did not want to fall.

A pile of pine cones

and the freedom to roam...

Revealed a smile
before we headed back home.


Under Where?!

This post is about underwear.

MY underwear, to be precise, so you may want to stop reading if we're related or you ever feel like looking me in the eyes again. Ok, that might be a bit dramatic....
Carrying on....
The thought of folding my underwear has never crossed my mind. I was not raised by folders. I did not marry a folder. So I think, genetically speaking, we have two non-folders and those are dominant genes. We're bound, by nature, to be non-folders. It's not that I'm anti-underwear folding. Quite honestly, it never occured to me to fold it. So, imagine my surprise when at work, not one but two co-workers had to explain to me the nuances of underwear folding. It perplexed me, that people take the time to fold something that is not seen by anyone other than their spouse.
Who are these underoo folders, and what motivates them?
Several theories ran through my mind regarding why a person might want to fold their briefs.
Do they fold them because they're too Type A? Is it that much more organized? I admit, mine is basically crammed full then slammed shut. Could they possibly be oragmi freak shows and love to fold things? (I believe the latter, when bred back with other "origami" genes, produce humans who grow up to fold the swan-towels at resorts hotels, and boat-napkins at fancy restaurants).
It led me to conduct my own research into the field of underwear folding. To understand a folder, meant I needed to become a folder...
I spent a recent evening by dumping my underwear drawer, and putting it back together again. This, my dear friends, is what I've learned about myself:
1. I own many pairs of underwear I refuse to wear. Too big, too small, too loose, not enough fabric, and weird elastic accounted for probably 25% of my total underwear collection, all that I refuse to put on. For good measure, I threw them all away.
2. I own one pair of underwear that involves fur, or at least faux-fur, that I'm almost certain I've never worn. It was quite possibly given to me as a joke, for my bachelorette party, but I honestly cannot remember. I kept it. Not with any intention of wearing it, mind you. But just in case I die and a total stranger must clean out my underwear drawer, I want them to think that maybe I was a bit wild. Ha.
3. I own a pair of candy-necklace style underwear. It was given to me by my brother-in-law. At Christmas. In front of the whole family. I'm not going to explain that one any further. Just suffice it to say that more than one person was embarassed that day.
4. A large portion, probably upwards of 80%, of my underwear was purchased before my daughter was born. Actually, I can safely say it was before she was conceived. It was back about three styles of victoria's secret waitstbands ago.
5. All my underwear, with the exception of the fur and food pairs listed above, is 100% cotton. Most of them are victoria's secret low rise briefs. Not because I'm that girl that has to have brand name underwear. But because it lasts longer than any other underwear I've ever had. Obviously, since I buy it about once every 5 years. Apparently new underwear isn't a high priority to me. In the spirit of full disclosure, spending $50 on panties when I feel like it should be spent on diapers, groceries, and other "necessities" is what really stops me.
So there you have it. Once I whittled away my stash, I folded them as Trisha so kindly showed me how (on pretend underwear, at work. I don't make my co-workers fold actual underwear for me.)
I must say... it DOES look so much nicer in my drawers...
Maybe a non-folder can indeed become a folder after all....