One More Goal for the New Year

I really have it all pulled together these days. It's completely astounding. Can't you just tell from my 2008 goals?

1) Wash hair on a regular basis.
2) Apply makeup every day.

But I suppose there still might be room for improvement. So here's one more:

3) Don't go grocery shopping wearing your clothes inside out. (Especially when disregarding goals 1 and 2.)

Terrorism on the Home Front

There was an episode of terrorism at our house the other night. Around 11:00 p.m. a poop bomber, armed with several homemade liquid explosives, climbed into her parents' bed and blew herself up. (Because who wants to poop in their own bed when you can poop in someone else's?) She then hightailed it out of there, leaving a trail of crapnel behind her....sheets, carpet, bathroom floor, toilet, pajamas, towels, more carpet, a Beauty and the Beast movie....you name it.

When the bombing took place, I was cleaning up the kitchen, having just gotten home from a girls' night out. I assumed everyone was asleep until I heard movement upstairs. But I had no reason to think there was any cause for alarm. That was, until Michael came downstairs and said quite calmly, "Kasey, we have a problem."

For me, the most striking part of this whole incident is how well Michael handled being woken from sleep by explosive diarrhea. I was quite amazed. He had entirely stabilized the situation by the time he came downstairs. The bomber was in a shower lockdown; soiled items were being washed out. There really wasn't much left for me to do. When I asked him why he hadn't gotten me immediately, he explained that when he first saw it all he had thrown up. So he thought there was no reason to have two people throwing up. Love that logical brain!

Sadly I must admit that if the roles had been reversed, I would not have handled it so well. This would be me in my most awful shrieking voice: "Michael! Michael! Get up here right now! There's poop everywhere!"

It made me think a little bit about actual war and how much of a basketcase I would be if I were in the thick of things. Michael would be so much better suited for it with that male logic that we always make fun of: the whole "there's a problem, fix it" reasoning. Don't talk about it, just get 'er done.

Not to say that women shouldn't or couldn't go to war. Just that for me personally, there's a lot of crap that happens in the world and I am sooo glad someone else is brave enough and willing enough to clean it up.

What Women Want

I'd like to express my heartfelt thanks to Masterpiece Theatre and PBS for their service to womankind in bringing us six weeks of Jane Austen. If you haven't heard yet, every Sunday night they are showing a movie based on one of her books. There are four brand-new adaptations of Persuasion, Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, and Sense and Sensibility, along with the Kate Beckinsale version of Emma....and of course, the one and only Pride and Prejudice. Is that not the best way to slog through January and February?

Here is my pictorial tribute:

Ah, our new Captain Wentworth. Very nice choice.

Is there anyone who has done a better job as Mr. Knightley than Jeremy Northam? No way. Ok, ok so they are not airing this version of Emma but I couldn't resist.

And Mr. Darcy. What else can I say? Thank you Colin Firth for making the world a much happier place to live in.

Side note to Masterpiece Theatre: Not that I'm nitpicky or anything Masterpiece Theatre, but I would like to tell you that I'm available for consulting on editing, hairstyle, makeup, wardrobe, and casting decisions. As is my friend Kristi. I realize that there's so much that goes into the making of these classics that some things might get overlooked or may not be done just right. For example, I suggest we give Anne Elliot a makeover--give her hair a good wash and maybe a new hairstyle. Oh and could we please try the kiss between Captain Wentworth and Anne again? Like get him to move in to kiss her, not just vice versa? Just a few things to fix, you know. Otherwise you're doing great. So if you're thinking about "touching up" some of your films...say for a 5-year anniversary DVD or something, I'm here for you. In Austin, TX. Thanks.

Hooray for Donuts

When I was growing up in California and my grandparents would visit, my grandpa would always get up early and go down to Judy's Donuts for a box of donuts. We were always so excited to wake up Saturday morning and see that pink box on top of the fridge.

I've found one place here that I really like and that kind of comes close. I thought I should share the enjoyment. It's called KC Donuts. Naturally with a name like that I had to try it out. It's over on Brodie south of William Cannon in the same center as Austin Regional Clinic. The kids and I just stopped in on Saturday. I usually like to get the glazed or the custard-filled maple bars. It's a family-run place so it's not very big and they are only open in the mornings. You have to get there early before everything is gone. Oh and it's cash only.

One Thing Leads to Another

There are always consequences to everything we do. Kind of like the proverbial pebble that is thrown in the pond. This little life lesson was brought home to me today in the story I will now relate: The Saga of Navy Shirt.

A few weeks ago I bought a navy blue shirt. We'll call it Navy Shirt for short. As with all new clothes, I loved Navy Shirt so much that I had to wear it a few days in a row (as long as I wouldn't be seeing the same people more than once, of course, and as long as it didn't get too smelly).

So I was wearing Navy Shirt one Saturday when suddenly, out of nowhere, the motivation to clean the kids' bathroom just came to me. Probably from the sanitation gods, who can only take so much you know.

All was good. I was feeling quite pleased with myself until I looked down at my shirt and found a bleach stain on Navy Shirt! Is there anything worse than a bleach stain? Bleach does not forgive. There is no going back or getting it out. Not very smart, Kasey. So Navy Shirt sat on top of my dryer for a week or so while I mourned.

Then I thought, well it's solid navy blue. I could just buy some dye and voila! Brilliant.

The shirt spent a Saturday in a bucket of dye and I rinsed and rinsed and rinsed and wrung all the dye out of it until my hands were raw. I threw it in the wash with some colored clothes and everything seemed to come out ok except for a pair of Evan's pants that now have a slightly different hue.

I pulled Navy Shirt out but what did I see? That dumb bleach stain! Still there! If someone had taken a picture, this is how my face would have looked:

Navy Shirt sat on top of my dryer for another few weeks while I fumed about it.

Then today I was doing another load of colored laundry and just threw everything dark and colored into the washing machine and--unbeknownst to me--Navy Shirt. I had forgotten it was there under all the mess of clothes.

As the kids and I were folding laundry, I found Navy Shirt. And then I found Emma's purple top...... "But wait, that doesn't look like her purple top. What shirt is that? Is that her cute little pink shirt? The one that is not pink any longer?"

To my shame, I must admit, I started laughing. I don't know why. It just seemed awful and funny at the same time. Emma saw her shirt and burst into tears. Suddenly the pink shirt was her favorite shirt in the entire world and it was ruined forever. No other shirt would ever be the same as the pink shirt with the bunny on it. I started to realize that perhaps I should stop laughing. Immediately.

So now we have two ruined shirts and the bathroom is dirty once again. You can find your own moral to this story. But here's mine: save your shirts and your daughter's mental health and just don't clean the bathroom. Because, hey, it's just going to get dirty again.