Christmas Morning

Emma woke us up bright and early at 6:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. She was ready to open presents but we told her that she'd have to wait until the sun and her brother both woke up.

Little did we imagine, her brother would not wake up for another three hours. Evan has his own unique personality. That kid slept until almost 9:00. Emma was going bananas. And when he did finally open his eyes for the first time, Emma pounced on him and asked if he wanted to open presents. To this he replied, "No!! and buried himself under his covers. Have you ever heard of such a child?

Eventually, he did get up and realize it was Christmas and act accordingly. Here are a few shots from our morning:


Michael insisted on buying Evan's Christmas presents. You can guess what Evan got:



Emma got a Loving Family dollhouse complete with all the furniture (I found it all for cheap on Craig's list-sweet!). She's not so happy here about Superman flying in for a visit.

Who's The Boss?

Tonight I feel particularly triumphant. I finally showed English Toffee who's boss. You see, English Toffee and I go back many Christmases. My mother-in-law makes it every year and it is always delicious. So each Christmas, I think, "Hey, I'm going to try to make English toffee for my friends and neighbors. How hard can it be?" Ha!

As you guessed, each year English Toffee kicks my butt. Anything and everything goes wrong. The butter separates out at the end and it's one big greasy mess. Or it's too soft. Or I burn it. And then I throw it away and feel mad that I spent so much time and all that butter just to dump it in my garbage.

But this year I really showed English Toffee who's the cook and who's the toffee. Michael will claim that he was the determining factor since he held the candy thermometer for me on my first batch. However, I think the secret might have been using an iron skillet (yes, Dad, the one you picked up at the thrift store for me) and adding two tablespoons of water to the recipe. So English Toffee, move over baby. You're not the boss anymore.

We must use the "boss" concept quite often around here. Even the kids have picked it up. I heard Emma telling Evan the other day, "You're not the boss of me."

Next we're always trying to employ new and creative ways to get Evan to eat his dinner. Most of the time Evan's food tells him there is a party in his tummy and please won't he open up so the food can join his friends at the party. Well, that one has been declining in its effectiveness. So lately, the new spin is this: Evan's food trash talks him and then we encourage him to show the food who's boss by chomping it to little bits. He really likes that one.

No Christmas Cards for You!

Sorry long-distance friends, but you may not receive a Christmas card from us this year. I'm just feeling like Mr. Grinch these days whenever I contemplate the whole ordeal of the Christmas card process....taking the family picture, retaking the family picture, racking my brain for something interesting to say that sums up a year of same-ol, same-ol life, printing labels, folding letters, licking envelopes......can I just hit myself over the head with a hammer now please?
No hard feelings or anything. I still love y'all, which is why I feel a slight twinge of guilt over my grinch-iness this year. How about you just think of me as a very lazy winter bear in hibernation. Here's the thought process most evenings: "Hmmm, it's 9:00 p.m. Should I work on our Christmas card/newsletter or go to bed?" Not a tough choice.

But it's not just about laziness. I mean, when you're seven months pregnant who wants to take a picture of themselves anyway?

Still, there is that slight twinge of guilt at the thought of slacking off this year. So I've been trying to come up with ideas. For some reason though, Michael keeps poo-pooing all of my best ones. Here are my top 3:

Idea #1: A photo card with Michael and the kids. That's it. No letter. Love it, love it, love it!

Idea #2 (No picture, text only): I'm older. I'm fatter. Do you really want to see a picture? Merry Christmas! P.S. Still doing the same stuff as last year.

Idea #3 (My personal favorite): A photo card saying "Happy Holidays" with the following picture:

Honestly, what is not to love about this picture? Evan may be looking down but at least he's not pulling a funny face. And look at the rest of us. Eyes wide open, great smiles on our faces. Snazzy church attire. Sheesh. Some people can be soooo picky.

Is This Fair?

I heard on the radio that Michael Buble is coming to the Frank Erwin Center on February 27th.

So I ask you. Is this fair?

My due date: February 25th

Michael Buble Concert: February 27th

And am I crazy for still considering buying a ticket? Well, this baby really has poor timing. That's all I can say. So if any of you go, I don't even want to hear about it.

What Is That Smell??

This has been me lately:



Sniffing around my house on all fours. (I thought I'd opt for cute poodle over big ole pregnant woman on hands and knees.) You're welcome.

So there is this strange smell in my house. You first catch wind of it as you are going up the stairs. The smell reaches its peak at the very top of the stairs and then kind of goes away as you head down the hallway.

I hate this smell!

And I hate it even more because I don't know where it is coming from or what is causing it or how to stop it from smelling. I have sniffed my stairs. I have sniffed my walls. I have sniffed the air vent. Yet I still have not found its source. I'm running out of things to sniff.

Did I say I hate this smell?

This smell and I have met before. It was at someone else's house. I remember thinking, "Man, that is one bad smell." Sadly, I did not know that this smell would come back to find me years later.

And how do you research a smell on the Internet? How do you even describe a smell?

It looks like this smell and I will have to settle in for a couple more months of mutual loathing. Hopefully when Baby J is born, my supernatural sense of smell will go away and I can live in blissful smell ignorance.

Thank Heavens For Little...

Since I'm expecting Baby #3 and already have a girl and a boy, I was contemplating the idea of not finding out the baby's sex. And then I was contemplating the idea of finding out but telling everyone that, "It's a surprise......(for you! ha, ha!). However, since I happen to be one very curious cat with zero self-restraint and an oversharing problem, you can guess what I decided.

We are having another BOY!
And happily, Emma is cool with it. (It kind of helped that I prepped her for this outcome by mentioning that if it was a boy, she'd get her own room.) The girl was sold. So much for baby sisters--baby brothers are much better!

Halloween Costumes

This year at our house we had Peter Pan and Miss Cowgirl.

As you can see, my kids are into costumes that require a weapon. They must get that from their dad.

Now the only thing I can say is: "How am I going to keep myself from eating all their Halloween candy?!"

Way Too Molly Today

The Molly projects have been out of control this week. So here's my new shirt:

It can be yours too at http://www.ldsstock.com/ for $15.

So this is what happens to you when (a) your visiting teaching appointments and "feed the missionaries" night fall in the same week; (b) your husband reminds you that "yes, we are still on a budget"....i.e., be frugal; and (c) you are semi-quarantined to your house with a runny-nose, coughing kid. No lazing around, no shopping, no gym for you. Break out the Kitchen-Aid and the VT message.

There was no time for green Jello salad, however. I guess there's still room for improvement.

So tonight I definitely topped off the Molly week by baking bread, making jam and organizing all my gospel art pictures. Michael really looked at me strange when I unveiled the new Johnson Family Gospel Art Kit. As if I'd been set loose from somewhere that requires armed security guards and wristbands and bed restraints. That's when I knew I had achieved serious Molly status.

But getting back to the purpose of this post.....

I finally figured out a simple solution for organizing and using all of our church pictures. Besides the infamous blue box of gospel art pictures, we also had a stack of pictures we've torn out from the Ensign and all sorts of miscellaneous pictures that I think have come from Primary manual packets. It was such a mess and would take forever to find a certain picture for FHE lessons. Basically it sat in the closet and no one ever looked at them.

So I put all the pictures in sheet protectors in a binder and stuck a small label at the bottom of the sheet protector with a number on it. Then I made an Excel file with each picture's number, title and various church subjects that it could cover. Now when I want to find a picture for a lesson, I can just do a search for a particular word in my Excel file or I can sort all the pictures by subject. I'm also hoping it will do double duty as a quiet book during sacrament meeting. It's so much more accessible for the kids to look at than the blue box of pictures.

Just thought I'd pass it on in case it works for someone else too.

Happy Birthday Baby!

Ok, so he's not really a baby anymore. I guess being three years old now means he's a big boy. So here's my big boy with his sword cake. Don't look too closely at the cake. I really was planning on ordering from Costco, but Michael nostalgically insisted on letting Evan choose his favorite shape. And swords are it. So as with most of my crafting attempts, it always looks better in my mind than how it comes out in real life. Oh well. (Monique, if you read this think of our attempt to make the Aphrodite statue in college out of a vacuum cleaner and milk jug.) Side note: It really is quite funny and absurd that I am the "craft group" leader in our ward. Oh the irony of it all.

Well, I'm digressing. Back to Evan....this little guy had a great day with a homemade rubber band gun from Daddy and presents galore from Mom and Dad and Aunts and Uncle and Grandma and Grandpa. Is it bad that as a mom these are my thoughts as my son opens his presents: "50 pieces in this box? Guess who's going to have to be picking up all those pieces!" or "Where are we going to have room for all these new toys?" and "What toys can I get rid of without the kids noticing?"

Here's a rare shot: a family picture! Thanks to my awesome sis-in-law Melinda.



And one last shot of the birthday boy. Hey, guess who's potty trained now? And guess who has to go potty right now? Alas, this might have been a truly good picture if I had used the flash and if Evan had decided not to hold his birthday package. Still there is something insanely cute about little boys in white shirts and ties.

Calling All You British Drama Fans

I just watched North and South this week and I must simply say, "Thank you, BBC!" I never thought anything could come close to Pride and Prejudice, but this film certainly does. Richard Armitage is just amazing. I think the final scene in this movie has to be one of the best romantic scenes in film ever.

It's definitely more serious/gritty than P&P but don't let that dissuade you. The book is worth reading too. It's by Elizabeth Gaskell who also wrote Wives and Daughters (which has been turned into a movie as well--very very good with a great ending too, though I must say I am much more obsessed with North and South.)

Well, maybe now that I've blogged about this, I can get on with my life and stop watching it for a day or two. Unless, y'all want to do a marathon movie night and watch it together???

Desk Duty

Michael and I just watched Breach the other night. It's based on a true story about how they caught a former FBI agent who had been spying for the Russians for 15 years. We liked it but of course Michael had to go off about how spying is dishonest and how the CIA always just gets us into trouble with their secret tortures and assassinations and failed wars, etc., etc.

Normally this would cut quite close to my heart. After all, I work for the CIA.......you know, in my free time. But I must admit that I have been having some job frustrations lately after I was recently reassigned to desk duty. No more Syndey Bristow stuff for me.

Nope. Here's me now. Hey, don't touch my stapler!

If you've never seen Office Space, it's hilarious. And this guy is my favorite character.

But anyway, watching Breach made me question how good of a spy I would really be. I think I'd get all nervous and queasy about killing and torturing people. And I don't know if I could stay very calm under the gun when getting caught would mean very scary business. Maybe I'll just have to make peace with my new analyst position.

Hi, I'm the Choir Pianist Today

Since it's Sunday, I thought I'd better blog about something religious so I can count this blogging time as an appropriate Sunday activity. Here you go. Today I'm going to talk about pride. Now pride is something that the prophets are always talking about--mainly, about us needing to get rid of it. Yeah, yeah, easier said than done. But I have come upon a method that will completely strip you of all pride. 100% guaranteed. I call it "The Pride-Sucker Method."

So this is it: Volunteer to do anything that you do not have the skills for. Then show up, perform agreed-upon duties and leave 100% pride-free. Here's my particular favorite: If the choir assistant is short a pianist for that evening's choir practice, agree to do it. But I don't play the piano, you say. Well, that does not matter. Even if you play the piano this method will still work.

Testimonial: I, Kasey, used The Pride-Sucker Method today and I can definitely bear testimony that this method works! I was pulled out of Sunday School today and asked if I could play for choir tonight. Of course I said yes because I knew about The Pride-Sucker Method and thought it would be a fantastic opportunity to rid myself of some of that pride baggage.

I showed up and looked at the music for the first time. Love that no preparation stuff! Then I met the choir director who happened to be perhaps the most qualified choir director I've ever met, working on a master's degree in some sort of music specialty. Oh goody. I knew I was going to get lots of pride sucked out today. And I did. The Pride-Sucker Method really came through for me. I did my duties with my usual Kasey excellence of forgetting how to count and mixing up my pages and playing the men's notes on the treble clef and struggling through music note dsylexia because of those extra lines of music and playing wrong notes and all sorts of heinous errors that are too numerous to mention. Oh and that was all just without even attempting the accompaniment. I was really on a roll tonight.

The thing to remember about this method is to completely let your pride go and just flow with it. Pride, self-respect....let them go. It's difficult, but you have to hang in there through every last humiliating moment. I confess that during a moment of weakness tonight, I started wishing I had worn a bag over my head and introduced myself as Mystery Sister on the piano. But that would have impeded The Pride-Sucker Method. I should be saying thank goodness I had no paper bag to hide my face. It made the humiliation all the more acute. So thank you Pride-Sucker Method. I feel completely stripped of pride.

Well, at least for tonight.

I'm sure next week I'm going to blame this all on my friend Katie. "No, no that wasn't me playing the piano in choir. You're thinking of Katie. She's a brunette too and since we work together in Relief Society and have names that start with K and end with an 'e' sound, people seem to mix us up from time to time. "

Oh My Aching Back!

Here's me in twenty years with my lovely hunched back and old-lady cane. Nice yellow outfit, eh? And since there are cobblestones in the picture, maybe that means I get to go back to visit Europe.

My mom of course always told me to stand up straight. Now Michael has been doing the same thing. But good posture is just such an unnatural thing for me. It's like me saying to myself, "Ok, now I'm only going to think good thoughts." Really, how long does that last? Not very. I'm not saying I don't want good posture. Of course I do. But why does it have to be so uncomfortable?

Still I must work on good posture because I really do not want to be a hunchback. And my back is so achy lately. It just feels like it needs a good stretch. So last night as I was lying in my bed around midnight wishing I could be asleep and/or could eat barbeque, I started thinking about some back exercises that might help.

I tried this one today and um, I think I need a bit of practice yet. It's not as easy as it looks. This girl is just showing off to tell you the truth.

But surely I could do this one, right? How old is that girl anyway? If she can do it, so can I?! Hmmm. This one felt a little like it was part of a torture sequence. This girl is showing off too. No fair since kids are so much more limber.

Well, maybe I just need to start with some equipment like this:

Or if I really want to get serious, how about this?

Or how about let's just forget about good posture and go eat Salt Lick this Saturday. Anyone?

Book Recommendation

I just finished reading Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. What an unbelievable life this woman has had! I'm amazed by what she's done with her life. And it's mind boggling to read her take on Islam because it is so completely not PC. There's a reason this woman has bodyguards! Ayaan became world famous after her friend Theo van Gogh, a Dutch filmmaker with whom she'd made a controversial movie about Islamic culture, was murdered by an Islamic extremist in 2004.

Perhaps I'm doubly impressed by her because I came to the book after having read some chick-lit books with wishy-washy, wimpy heroines...one of them being a certain vampire series. I'll probably alienate all of my friends and receive hate mail from teenage girls by saying this, but man, I just cannot take anymore Bella right now. I need a breather before book 3. I know, I know it's so awful and rude of me to say such things about her. It was a fun read but seriously, Bella, can you stop going on and on with, "Edward I love you I love you why would you ever love me when you're so beautiful and will you please make me a vampire, please please please, I love you so much because you're so beautiful and I don't care about anything like my soul or my life or having chilren or college or your feelings so make me a vampire please please please or else so I can worship you forever even though you may not love me once I'm a vampire because I'm so whiny and I won't smelly yummy to you anymore--oops, I guess I didn't think about that part!"

Ugh. Long live strong women!

And to save you the trouble of lecturing me, I'll write comments for you:

Kasey, how you can you say such things? Are you an enemy of true love? Have you no romantic heart?

Kasey, you are so intolerant and insensitive. We just can't be friends any longer.

Well, this sure has been random tonight. Sorry. Sometimes I just get a bit carried away.

Why I Wish I Was a Football Coach Today

I don't know about you but I'm sure having problems dealing with the heat lately. So this is my new plan for staying cool in Texas: I'm going to fill up a water cooler with ice every time I have to run errands and then dump it on myself. I think this is really the most practical way to go. It's like carrying around your own Barton Springs. Thank you football coaches of America.

Not for the Easily Offended Today

I'll probably get busted for this, but it's too good to pass up. So Michael's driving around Austin the other day and passes a "ladies' club." You know, the equivalent of the "gentleman's club." This is the first time he's seen one and is surprised that they really exist. He tells me about it later and says something to this effect, "You know, normally I'm appalled by gentleman's clubs and always feel bad for the women who have to work there (yeah, yeah, this part was probably thrown in there for my feminist sensibilities)." He continues: "But when I passed this club, the first thing I thought was, 'Huh, I wonder if they'd hire me.'"

I swear to you I'm not making this up. A discussion then ensued about what the hiring requirements could possibly be....you know physique, looks, skills, etc. Michael's like, "Skills? What kind of skills?" And I say, "Well, you can't just stand there. You'll probably need to come up with some sort of a dance routine." I could tell he was really thinking this over.

So here's the question for y'all: Is this really a normal guy thing to want to be a male dancer? Michael was convinced that all guys would love to prance around with women hooting and hollering and sticking money in their pants. I think it's more of a sales personality thing, together with the fact that he's got good abs and has never had to feel the pain and embarrassment of belly jiggles like the rest of humanity.

This whole subject made me think of the SNL Chippendales dancer skit with Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze. Michael is much more Patrick than Chris, but Chris sure tries hard and there might be an appreciative audience for him out there. I mean, listen to the judges on this one. It is just a tough decision. Ok, so remember you were warned! I take no responsibility for all the pelvic thrusts.

In the end, it's good to know that if commercial development doesn't work out for us, there's a backup plan.

Floating Along in La-La-Land....Hairless

Hey everyone, so I thought I ought to check back into Planet Earth. Enough floating along in outer space. Or maybe not. I don't know. I still feel kind of out to lunch these days. More on that in a couple days.

Anyway, you guys are so nice to still check up on me, lazy lazy blogger that I am. Well, I had to share something that happened today because it keeps making me laugh. Emma's been a little sick with fever so I was trying to find some chewable Vitamin C tablets. I'm actually looking for the white chalky cherry tablets my mom used to give me when I was a kid. Did anyone else have those? HEB didn't stock them, so I decided to try GNC.

I go inside GNC and of course I'm the only person in their very small, you-can't-hide-from-the-salesperson-in-here store. I'm greeted by a very enthusiastic Indian/Sri Lankan/Malaysian? gentleman who is quite eager to help me. We finally get it straight that no, I'm not looking for him or for calcium but yes, Vitamin C. However, there wasn't too much in the way of choices. When I explained that they didn't have what I was looking for, he says, "Well, you're losing your hair. Would you like something for that?" I don't even know if I responded. I was so aghast. What?! Am I really losing my hair? Or worse, do I look like I'm losing my hair??! So he showed me some bottle that he says he gives to his son because his son has the same problem. It was something starting with a "b." Needless to say, I did not buy anything at GNC today.

So here could be me in a few weeks if I don't go back and buy that vitamin supplement:

Now I've never had a lot of hair in the first place but it hasn't been coming out in any extraordinary amount lately. I'm just going to feel better about this by telling myself that Mr. Salesman comes from a race of people who generally have lots and lots of hair. Next to him, of course it would look like I have a hair problem. And Mr. Salesman probably was not raised in America which means that (based on my limited experiences living abroad) he grew up in a non-American culture where it's ok to be totally honest. It's all good to point someone out as the fat one or the one with acne or the one who's losing her hair. No one's offended. That's just the way it is.

But seriously, am I really losing my hair? Friends, you can tell me. Think of it like parsley in your teeth or an undone zipper.

Painting madness

A couple people asked me to post pictures of the rooms I've been painting recently. So here's the guided tour:

This is the family room. It was light beige. Michael is posing here for you in his post-fireside attire. He actually seemed excited to go to it. What's up with that? I think aliens must have taken over his body. But seriously, it's cool that he's turning over a new religious leaf. :>

Here's the kids' bedroom. It used to be lavender, but now since Emma and Evan share a room, I wanted it to be more uni-sex. You have to think about these kinds of things when your father keeps telling you he doesn't want his grandson to be a gay caballero and did I know Austin is the San Francisco of the South? Thanks Dad. So I'm sure yellow and green will make Evan more manly than lavender would have.

Here's my master bathroom. The color you see is called "Starry Sky" but it turned out a tinge more purple than I intended. Purple enough for Michael to sing the Barney song to me. So annoying. I'm halfway done--I still need to paint one wall tan.

Here's my bedroom. It's taken me six years in this house to finally do something with my room. I did two walls the color you see. The other two walls I'm going to do a really really subtle light green. Wish me luck. I'm sick of painting!!

Dr. Seuss is My Kindred Spirit!

I don't remember my mom reading many Dr. Seuss books to me when I was young. But as I've read Dr. Seuss to my own children, I've really come to love his stuff. Not only are his books fun to read aloud but some of them teach really good lessons....take The Sneetches or Today is Your Day. Also he writes the kind of silly, goofy poetry that I find particularly funny.

Anyway, I just discovered a new favorite: What Was I Scared of? Here is an excerpt for your reading pleasure:

I yelled for help. I screamed. I shrieked.
I howled. I yowled. I cried,
"Oh, save me from these pale green pants
With nobody inside!"

But then a strange thing happened.
Why, those pants began to cry!
Those pants began to tremble.
They were just as scared as I!

I put my arm around their waist
And sat right down beside them.
I calmed them down.
Poor empty pants
With nobody inside them.

I think I may find this story about pale green pants with nobody inside them unusually funny because they remind me of something my roomie and I did when we were young and silly (in college, of course). We stuffed a pair of unclaimed pants and had them sticking out of a garbage can with their legs in the air. Just to see people's reactions as they walked through the apartment complex.

Guess you had to be there.

Ma'am, We're Gonna Have to Ask You to Step Away From the Shovel and the Paint Roller and the Sewing Machine and.....

Ma'am, while you're at it, please hand over that credit card.

So I'm pretty sure I've got some sort of mental health issue here. I looked up mental obsession on Wikipedia and here's what we've got (with my comments inserted in parenthesis):

"Mental obsession is an obsession that may cause mental, physical, or even emotional pain (no, not really other than the pain of realizing I really might be crazy). The condition can lead to insomnia (yes, definitely from staying up too late working on projects) as well as other health-related issues, and may keep you from focusing on more important tasks such as work or social activities (such as mailing a father's day card to your dad or remembering your visiting teaching appointment!!).

Well, it looks like I mostly fit that description so I guess it must be true. The latest examples of my mental obsession (we'll say MO for short) are of course, the yard. Then it got too hot so I had to focus my MO elsewhere. That led to repainting the family room, painting the kids' room, painting my room, painting my bathroom. And when I say painting, I mean rolling it up and then finishing the line where wall and ceiling meet with the size of paintbrush that comes in your kids' watercolor set. Man, I'm kind of embarrassed telling you all this. But oh well, the first step to recovery is admitting and confessing.

Next there was the case of the fancy dresses for Emma's tap number at the Primary talent show. A normal, reasonable person would have just bought something from the dress-up aisle of Wal-Mart. But not a person with MO. Nope. A person with MO would decide to sew the dresses herself. (It was actually pretty fun, but I still felt MO-ish doing it.)

Anyway, if you've got any good tranquilizers, let me know. Or maybe I should just get pregnant again. That will knock me out for a good three months--absolutely no other activity besides puking and staring at the carpet.

An Example of Coolness

The kids found my sunglasses and as you can see the glasses have not been the same since. They were cheap so it's not a biggie, though I do hate squinting at the park or the pool. So I think I'll go for a new look. I mean, how cool is that? It's so one of a kind. I'm sure I'll get some envious stares for my new happening style. Embarrasingly enough, after I took the picture I kept the glasses on, loaded the kids in the car and drove around town looking like one-eyed Willie (I just made that up. I don't know any one-eyed Willies. It might make a good pirate nickname though.) So yeah, I'm pretty styling.

By the way, I'm not usually so serious-looking. But I've found when taking pictures if I hold the camera above my head and don't smile, it's easier to avoid "fat face."

I Should Get Hazard Pay For This

So I was cleaning up this morning, putting laundry away, straightening up the kids' bathroom etc., when I picked up a pair of Evan's pants that were left on the bathroom floor. I started folding them when something dropped on my foot. I thought it was a shoe. But oh no. Life is more exciting than that. It was a lovely round brown surprise for me. How many people can say that has happened to them? And why am I not getting hazard pay? So there you have it. You know you're a mom when poo drops on your foot.

Evan when he is not leaving surprises for his mom.

Ode to the Pacific Northwest

Oh Pacific Northwest
Where I am not;
I must stay in Texas
And it is quite hot.

How I miss your rain and vivid green
Farewell farewell
Oh beautiful dream.

As you can see, poetry is not quite my thing. But this picture was so pretty that I felt the urge to write an ode about it. Oh and I'm not really sure that the picture was taken in the Pacific Northwest. It just looks like how I remember Oregon looking. But for all I know, it was taken in Bastrop.

Disclaimer: I am not dissing on Texas. I like Texas. My husband, who I love, likes Texas. And so I am very happy to be here in Texas.

Can You Teach an Old Dog New Tricks?

I really don't think you can teach an old dog new tricks. Old dog, being me. The ideal Kasey is this: wakes up every morning at 5:30 a.m. to run 5 miles, does yoga, has meaningful personal scripture study, showers, puts makeup on, does her hair, and then is ready to have family scripture reading with family while serving them a nutritious breakfast. Ideal Kasey also still weighs 115 pounds because she runs 5 miles every day and doesn't binge on carbohydrates, namely cookies and ice cream.

Yeah, right. Real Kasey sets her alarm for 6 every morning only to hit the snooze button constantly until her kids come to her bed around 8ish saying, "Mom, I'm hungry. I want to eat breakfast." Real Kasey then stumbles out of bed. She may get to the gym that morning and may shower, put some makeup on, but there are no guarantees about hair because hey, you can just pull it back in a ponytail and it will be fine. Right? Real Kasey thinks about reading her scriptures but does not always get to it. And real Kasey has never weighed 115 pounds since her junior year in high school.

Anyway, this is the recurring theme of my life. So when I suggested to Michael that I was just going to accept that I am not a morning person, he decided to become the bedtime nazi and enforce a 10 p.m.!! bedtime so I will be able to start waking up on time. Well, the first thing he said was that the Dalai Llama says to be honest with yourself...which led to some sort of suggestion that perhaps I'm just lazy. No maybe it was "we're just lazy." When that did not go over very well--as you may imagine--he then backtracked with," Well, actually I really just think you don't get any REM at night because you're such a light sleeper and always have to go to the bathroom."

Now you're probably saying, thanks, Kasey, for sharing. Please dont' share anymore. Ok, I'm wrapping it up.

We'll see how the bedtime enforcement goes but I'm just in a glass-is-half-empty mood. Maybe I will never be a morning person and maybe it's ok to have a little bit more of me to love than I would love.

Tomorrow Is Another Day

It's the end of another three-day weekend. My house looks like a tornado has come through. I haven't gotten around to washing or putting sheets back on any of our beds so we might have to sleep on the floor tonight. So what am I doing, you ask? Laundry, dishes, scripture reading? Oh no, none of that. I think I'll just eat a bowl of ice cream. Blue Bell Delta Blues to be exact because I really do need all of those extra fattening calories at 10:00 p.m.

Tomorrow is another day and I'm sure I'll be so much healthier and productive then. I love procrastination.

(The ice cream picture is not the best because, really, who only has a tiny scoop of ice cream like that? Certainly not anyone who would ever eat ice cream late at night. But I'm too lazy to search much more for a better pic. And I'm still slightly blue over the ending to Pirates which I will post about later.)