My Theatre Dates

As I've posted about before, the kids are huge fans of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  So when I found out it was at the Majestic Theatre in San Antonio, I jumped at the chance to take them. It was a fun evening.  We had dinner along the Riverwalk and then went to the theatre.  The kids loved it.  I need to be more diligent about planning special events with these guys

Why Didn't I Think of That?

I love the resourcefulness of kids. Who would have thought that these handy dandy gel pads I've been keeping around in the hall closet in case I ever have to nurse a new baby could be used on your hands to make them stick to walls like Spiderman? Duh, why didn't I think of that? 

At least I know now that there is lots of brain activity going on in that little Evan head. I was beginning to wonder. How many million billion times can you ask one little boy to get dressed, put his shoes on, make his bed, etc., etc.?

A Long Indulgent Stroll Down Memory Lane Involving Love Letters, Enchiladas and Wesson Oil

Back in the day when I was in college, I used to do a lot of crazy and silly pranks. I know you would never believe this of me, being the very straight-laced and serious individual that I am now in my maturity. One particular thing I did was write psycho-chick love letters for one of my favorite roomies Shelley to this guy named Dale. Shelley worked with Dale at BYU Independent Study. Dale also happened to be in the same ward and apartment complex.

Shelley didn't have a crush on Dale. In fact, Shelley didn't even ask me to write love letters for her. I did it all out of the goodness of my heart because that's just the kind of person I am. I even helped her lock Dale in his apartment with a rope made out of nylons known as the lasso of love.

(Thankfully Shelley still loves me, as evidenced by the fact that she is still willing to be my friend some ten years later. See, here we are this summer in Park City with our other roomies Angela and Becky.)

As you may surmise, it was all a big joke really. And Dale was a good sport about receiving crazy letters. One of my favorite lines from a love letter we sent him went something like this:

I'm going to stand outside your apartment,

Pour Wesson oil in my hair

And light it on fire

Because I want to be your torch burning bright.



Brilliant stuff, eh?

So I had reason to remember this memorable line recently when I was making chicken enchiladas for my sister-in-law Melinda. Melinda was celebrating her birthday and had requested this dish for her birthday dinner. The enchilada recipe calls for frying each tortilla in oil for a few seconds. It's a pain and it's fattening, but hey it was for a good cause.

I finished frying the tortillas, laid out my enchilada assembly line and got to work. I had finished one 9x13 pan when all of sudden I smelled something really stinky. Something that smelled like burning oil. Yes, I had forgotten to turn the stove off. As I turned around, clouds of Wesson oil smoke started billowing up around me. Heroically, I managed to turn off the stove and take the offending pan outside. The CIA training comes in handy in emergency situations.

That, of course, was not the end of it. No, that hideous odor of cooking oil hung around in the kitchen like an unwelcome house guest. The kitchen stunk of it. My clothes, my hair all smelled like Mr. Wesson. Then Mr. Wesson went upstairs and got into all the bedrooms and bathrooms and nooks and crannies. Mr. Wesson even had the nerve to stick around all week long.

Mr. Wesson's constant presence in my life made me remember that old love letter I wrote so long ago. I started thinking about the whole image of Wesson oil burning in one's hair. Now with the practical knowledge of what Wesson oil on fire really smells like, I realize that it would not be at all romantic to have burning Wesson oil in your hair. No. It would be really stinky.

But maybe if it were lavender oil, it would be quite nice. What do you think?

Just a little stroll down memory lane for me this week. Yes, I do all of this for my own amusement. It's cheaper than therapy.

This Is How Addiction Begins

I was digitizing my old photos today and couldn't pass this one up. 

Yes, this would be me when I was 4 years old.  The chubby-faced, straggly-haired little girl on the left holding a triple-scoop ice cream cone. Did I say three scoops?! Holy cow! What 4-year-old can eat that much ice cream? Me, I guess. 

Look at my sis Jen. She's much more moderate in her ice cream indulgence with just one scoop. Of course, she was only 2 then and couldn't talk. I bet if she could have talked, she would have said something like, "Hey, give me more ice cream! Why does Chubby get 3 scoops and I only get a lousy one scoop? Cheapskates."

So this is how it all began. For those of you who know me, you know that I am constantly trying to go "off-sugar."  Moderation does not exist for me. One cookie leads to a dozen cookies. There are simply no brakes in my car.  It is all or nothing for me.  And sadly, I do much better at all than nothing. 

Not that I'm blaming this on the wonderful parental unit that got me hooked in the first place. Nope. I'm just saying, "Wow, look how early it began in my life." Nice, 70's outfit too, huh? Groovy, man.

Static Power

My kids have discovered static electricity.  And being the smart kids that they are, they soon realized they could use it as a weapon.  

The funniest thing is to watch them gather up their electrons.  They lie on the trampoline, waving theirs arms and legs back and forth like they're doing snow angels.  How they giggle when they sneak up behind you and give you a first-rate shock.  Michael took this shot of Emma above, charged up and ready to attack.

Multi-tasking

As a mom, I think multi-tasking is my middle name. So here's my new favorite way to get two jobs done at once:

I get the dishes done and Isaiah gets a bath.  I'm happy.  He's happy. And we conserve water. What's not to like?

A Little Inappropriate Humor

I picked up some new bibs for Isaiah at Walmart the other day.  They have a bunch of funny sayings on them.  One of them says "Ladies Man."   

Now my kids do not know what a ladies' man is.  But they think it sounds so funny.

So this morning at breakfast, Michael picked up that bib and said, "Ladies' man!  Who's the ladies' man?" 

Evan grabbed the bib and put it on and said, "I'm the ladies' man."

Then he noticed that it was dirty.  Isaiah must have gotten bananas or pears on it. Evan then very astutely put two facts together.  The bib was dirty.  The bib said Ladies Man.

He started chanting, "I'm the dirty ladies' man.  I'm the dirty ladies' man."

Michael and I just lost it. It was so innocent and yet so hilarious.  

Dumb Happens

Yes, it does. And it happens to me more frequently than the average person. I'm not quite sure what is happening to my brain. I used to consider myself a reasonably intelligent person. No matter. It all helps me stay grounded and not get all stuck-up smarty pants on you.

Here's tonight's random list of decisions I have made without consulting my brain:

1. Buying expensive consumer electronics.

From now on, I'd much rather just buy crappy stuff. Because when it breaks down, you don't care. I bought a VCR from Goodwill and although, it doesn't rewind very well, I don't mind. I paid $5 for it and am very satisfied with my purchase.

2. Buying white couches.

Ok, I did buy these before I had kids. But really, did I think I would never have kids? The problem with white couches is that I don't want anybody to sit on them. Seriously, get off those couches. Don't get food anywhere in a 10-foot perimeter of them. Don't jump on them. Don't touch them. They are not for sitting--just for looking at. Move on people.

3. Thinking I could lose the last ten pounds by only consuming water with lemon juice.

This was in high school and I only tried it for maybe an hour.

4. Thinking I could paper mache a Greek statue using a vacuum cleaner and an empty milk container.

In college. With no paper mache experience. See, the great thing about going to BYU is that we don't have to be drunk to do silly stupid things.

5. Buying a house next to a train.

Because if you want to sell it one day, no one will ever want to buy it. People looking for homes are so picky these days. I mean, there are a million things that are far worse to live near than a train...such as....um, a dump, a nuclear testing facility, a minefield, a gun range, a strip joint, a chicken processing plant. I could just go on and on, you know.

So there you have it: decision-making without using one single brainwave (I'll call it part 2 of my soon-to-be patented pride-sucker method.)

What Are Those Little Minds Thinking?

I love this picture. My mother-in-law took it at Thanksgiving. My nephew Peter is on the left and Isaiah is on the right.  These two little boys are the closest cousins in age yet at about three months apart. They look so serious as they study each other.  What are these precious little guys thinking as they take each other in? If only we knew.

Texas Pride

Whenever Emma visits Utah, the very first place she wants to go is the Peppermint Place, a small candy store down in Alpine.  My dad lets her have free run of the store to pick out whatever she wants.  So today we bundled up the kids in heavy coats,  loaded them in the car and sent them off with Grandpa.

After the Peppemint Place, my dad treated them to lunch at McDonalds and then took them along while he ran an errand up at the University of Utah.  My dad is a professor there and is friendly with a lot of the football players.  Many of them are or have been students in his class. Today he had to pick up some signed footballs from one of the players.

When he and the kids walked into the Utes' athletic training facility, most of the players were eating lunch.  The first person they talked to was Brian Johnson, Utah's quarterback. He was super nice to the kids. 

Next they chatted with Morgan Scalley, one of the Utah coaches. He started joking around with the kids and being really friendly with them. At this point, Emma who had been a little intimidated at first by these very large guys, started warming up. 

Boy, did she ever.

By the time Louie Sakoda, Terrel Cole and Mike Wright came over, Emma was feeling pretty confident. Confident enough to unzip her coat and rile up some Utes:

Yep, that's my little Texan. She walks into a Ute den and shows off her Texas pride. 

Seriously though, I did not tell her to wear her Colt McCoy jersey.  I didn't even know she was going to be hanging out with the Utah football team when I sent her off with my dad this morning.

But if I had known, burnt orange isn't the color I would have suggested she wear. Nope. I think I would have picked out something more in the neighborhood of royal blue. With a big beautiful Y in the middle. 

Of course she might not have made it out alive with that on. So I guess burnt orange was the better choice after all.

P.S. As much as it pains me, I must give credit where credit is due. The Utah players were all very nice and friendly.  Ouch.

Star Wars Sports Allegiances

There are two things that my kids are crazy about these days. The first is Star Wars. We showed them the original episodes this year and boy, are they hooked. They now ask to watch them all the time. And with at least three light sabers at our house, constant battles between the good and dark side of the force are inevitable. Additionally, the color green is now considered good (that's the color of Luke's light saber) and red is bad (Darth Vader's light saber color).

The second thing that my kids love is University of Texas football. Since we've been in Austin, Michael has become a Longhorns fan. Emma especially has followed suit and is a fiercely loyal and rabid fan. And as befits a Texas fan, anything Oklahoma is verboten.

My dad loves to tease the kids and has found that calling them up and singing, "Oklahoma is ok" gets a reaction real quick.

These kids work themselves up into a frenzy shouting into the phone, "Oklahoma is not ok! Oklahoma is not ok!"

I think the whole Texas loyalty thing is fun, but I did start to become concerned when the kids were completely clueless about my alma mater, BYU.

BYU who? Hook 'em Horns man!

So I mentioned to my dad that we were going to have to do an indoctrination trip down to Provo this year and get them some BYU gear. He and my sister Becky concocted up some more fun to greet the kids upon their arrival to Utah for Christmas.

Here are the Star Wars pictures Becky "found" to show the kids. I just had to share.

This one is my personal favorite:

This next picture was a nod to my parents, who are both Utes. I love them anyway.

Michael told me I must tell La Nan that this next one is copyrighted. :>

And here's the final classic. The kids were foaming at the mouth when they saw this one.

Emma was pretty quick though on the comeback for the Darth Vader picture. After protesting up and down that this picture was NEVER in the movie, she finally said, "Well, that was when he turned back to the good side."

Musings on Men in Tights

I took Emma to the Austin Children's Nutcracker tonight.  It's performed at the Dougherty Arts Center, which is a really small venue.  Most of the show is put on by kids in high school or younger with a couple of adult guest artists. It was perfect for taking a 6-year-old.  She was so excited to go and it was really nice to spend some time together, just the two of us.

That girl is a talker though.  She kept whispering comments and questions throughout the performance. Her funniest question, which she asked again while we were driving home, was, "Mommy, why was that guy wearing tights?" 

Obviously, this was Emma's first exposure to men in tights. In her mind, only girls wear tights, just like only girls wear nail polish and makeup.  What was this man who was older than her daddy for goodness sake doing dancing around on the stage in white tights? Why didn't he put some pants on?

I tried explaining that that's just how it works in the ballet world and that tights probably help with freedom of movement. Emma wasn't having any of it.

Really though, she has a point. It's kind of like one of those moments when you're talking to someone who has parsley in their teeth or a zit on their chin and you're trying your best to look at them without looking at the offending item but you feel really awkward and uncomfortable because you're trying so hard to pretend you don't notice. 

And honestly, white tights? Is that necessary?

I'm sure somebody somewhere finds white tighties attractive, right? Like the costume director, perhaps?  Anyone else? Bueller?  Bueller?

As for myself, if I could call in the costume choices,  I think I'd go with more of the three-piece look:

Oh yeah. You knew I'd find a way to work a picture of James Bond back onto my blog. Now I know you're thinking that tights are necessary for all of the pirouettes and grand jetes and that a suit just wouldn't translate to the stage. However, have you seen all of the butt Bond kicks while wearing these duds? There's some serious athleticism going on to rival any fancy ballet moves. And he gets it all done without any rips in his seams and while looking fabulous the whole time. 

Just a suggestion. It might improve ticket sales.

Anniversary!

Happy anniversary to my sweetie! Eight years ago I lucked out on getting this great guy to marry me.  We've had a wonderful adventure and now here we are three children later. 

And still living in our dream home next to the train. We just love that train so much.

So while today marks 8 years of wedded bliss for us, we've actually known each other for 16 years.  We met our freshman year at BYU and it took poor Michael 8 years to finally get me to commit. It's a looong story.  Actually two long stories depending on who you ask.  Two very different long stories.  Mine is, of course, the more accurate of the two in case you should ever ask.

So happy 8th MJ! Love ya. 

P.S. Maybe we should take a few more pictures together during the next 8 years. This is seriously about all I could find:

Also on December 8th...

December 8th is also my friend Kathy's birthday. Happy Birthday Kath!  So Kathy and I go way way way back.  So far back I'm not sure when exactly we started hanging out.  Were we 11, 12, 13? My memory is sharp as a tack, as you can tell.

So I'm taking a risk here posting her picture. She used to be very anti-pictures-of-herself. I hope she likes this one. Because unlike me, Kathy has a very good memory.  And if there's anyone who has the goods on me, this girl is one of them. I mean, not that there would be any stories to reveal because I was, of course, always quiet, angelic and perfectly behaved. 

I would never have pranked anyone.  I would never have had food cart races through the Church building halls. I would never have toilet papered or ding dong ditched or crank called anyone. I would never have been a saboteur at girls' camp or youth conference.  I would never have treated any boys rather badly.  I would never have snuck out of ______  or _______ on more than one occasion to go to _________ or ___________. (Hey, my parents occasionally read this.) 

So Happy Birthday Wong Tong!

Goodbye old friend

Michael's eel jumped out of the tank the other day.  No one was around to rescue him.  He was at least five years old or so in human years.  Most people thought he was gross and creepy and slimy. But underneath all that, I think he had a beautiful soul.  

Farewell, old friend. I'm sorry I wasn't there to rescue with the salad tongs this time. 

Posh!

The kids have been seeing a lot of Star Wars these days with Michael. They have become little Star Wars junkies to say the least. I don't mind since I'm a fan myself.  However, I do want to round out their film education with some of the old classic family films and musicals. So this week we watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. They loved it. Now they keep wanting to listen to the soundtrack that we got from the library.

I hadn't seen this show since I was a kid. It was quite silly but fun. And there was one classic scene that I feel compelled to share. It was right up my alley of absurd humor. 

To get you up to speed: The evil Vulgarians are traveling around in a flying ship, trying to kidnap Dick Van Dyke. However, they make a mistake and kidnap his father, Grandpa Potts, instead. Here's the kidnapped Grandpa Potts singing about the posh traveling life from his outhouse:

 

Family Photos

I decided to save myself some stress this year and have someone else take our family picture. What a novel idea, eh? I mean, not that I don't love the whole wonderful experience of setting the camera up on the tripod, hitting the timer and jumping into the picture, yelling at the kids to smile and look at the camera dang it, fighting with my spouse over choice of setting, choice of lighting, and anything else that especially aggravates us about each other that day, etc., etc. It's just so much fun every year. 

But instead, I had my friend Emily take our pictures last week over at Mayfield Preserve. She's a pro photographer and is starting up her business. What a peaceful and harmonious experience it turned out to be! These are a few of my favorites:

I think the pics turned out really cute. Almost as cute, of course, as our family photo from last year that we never sent out. Come on, I know you've been wanting to see it again--especially since yours truly looks so fabulous in it.  So here it is again, back by popular demand:

P.S. This is how I look when my kids get out of bed for the 500th time. 

You Might Be a Redneck If....

To my complete and utter astonishment delight, Michael announced on Saturday that he was going to clean out the garage. This was without any nagging or pleading on my part. In short, this has never happened before.  

After my daughter waved smelling salts over my nose to revive me from my swoon, I picked myself up off the floor. I said to Michael, “Wow, the aliens really did a number on you this time. And I must say, it’s all good.”

Or not.

 

Instead, I praised him for his decision and wished him luck. Then I made a run for it. But I was too late.

As I was leaping up the stairs, two at a time, I heard his sweet little voice, “Kasey, could you help me?”

Well, that dampened the excitement SLIGHTLY. I mean, the whole point of the “Honey-Do List” is for your honey to do them--and to do them while you are surfing the Web or taking a nap.

So we spent a few hours working together and talking. It wasn't too bad. And now our garage looks great. The front yard, however, is a different story.

Here's the Goodwill giveaway pile that's been sitting on the front porch for five days now: old gas cans, broken bike frame with useable components, leaky air mattress, window screens... Yep, real classy.

Michael also went through his fish tank equipment on Saturday. So of course where do you think all that stuff is now? 
Exactly. Right on the front lawn. But it gets better, believe me. Take a look at the next picture and see if you can guess what Michael used to clean his fish tank bins with. 

No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is in fact a toilet bowl brush that has been lying in my front yard all week. The front yard of the home that is currently on the market.  Here it is up close:

I don't make these things up people. I'm sure the HOA will be sending me a letter any day now. 

So here's my submission to Jeff Foxworthy:

If  you've got a toilet bowl brush in your front yard, you might be a redneck. 

Halloween Costumes

Here's what Halloween looked like at our house this year:

Emma wanted to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid. Evan looked through the pattern books and chose the musketeer costume, basing his choice on how cool of a weapon he'd get to brandish. Naturally. 

But as I was working on the costumes, I decided I couldn't do just one musketeer costume. No one would get that.  And I needed a costume for Isaiah. And Michael had been complaining that I never sew anything for him. You can see where this type of thinking led me. Yes, it got a little out of control... three musketeer costumes. Am I crazy? Yes!

I did have to cheat a little bit, and all I can say is, "Hallelujah for cheating!" I found old white shirts for the boys and cut off the collars and sleeves so I wouldn't have to make the shirts from scratch. I just added on the new silky sleeves and collars and voila! (Well, not exactly voila. Those things still took forever and I did have to rip out a sleeve after sewing it on upside down.)

For Michael, I picked out what I thought was one of his old golf shirts. Michael has dozens of golf shirts. He gets them at conferences.  He has hand-me-downs from his dad. He gets them as Christmas and work gifts. Like he's going to miss one golf shirt. Ok, so how was I to know this was his favorite golf shirt? Or that Pecan Valley Golf Club is so swanky?

I like to think I just made it better. Check it out below. I love the lace on the cuff, don't you?

I mean, you could totally still wear it golfing. It's just a little fancier, that's all. I think Michael should save it for those very special golf games with clients he's trying to impress. I'm sure they would be that much more likely to do business with him, right?

Maybe not.

Happy Birthday to the World's Best MIL!

A special birthday post goes out to the world's greatest mother-in-law! Especially since I forgot to call her today. Oops. And when I called Michael in San Antonio at 10:30 tonight, hoping that at least he'd remembered to call her, he had forgotten too. Double oops.

I remembered yesterday. And the day before. The intentions were good but the follow-through was lacking. So Happy Happy Birthday Mom from Michael and I! Sorry we're such losers.

Seriously though, I have the world's greatest mother-in-law. First of all, she raised a pretty awesome son which I am very grateful for. And she has been the nicest, most fun, best to chat with, best to make you feel welcome over and over again, best to shop with, best to help decorate your house, best to make delicious pies to eat and best at lots of other things I could list but I won't because it's 2 a.m. and I really need to get to bed mother-in-law EVER. And the grandkids are pretty crazy about her too. 

Happy Birthday! We love you.

And yes, I think this will be my new Halloween costume:

Evan's 4th Birthday

Happy Birthday Evan! I can't believe he's 4 already. He seems like such a big boy now. What happened to my little baby? Ah, the parental lament about time passing so quickly.

Evan wanted a shark-themed birthday this year.  It's become tradition to do a cake in the shape of whatever image strikes the kids' fancy that year. Believe me, I tried to get out of this tradition in the beginning. A few years back I mentioned I was going to get a birthday cake from Costco when Michael went on and on about how he can still remember the birthday cakes his mom made and how much he loved them and how special they made him feel. Oh darn. It's just that cakes are not really my bag of skills. (At least the making-them part. I'm pretty darn good at eating them, you know!) 

So here's Evan's shark cake. I love the 3D effect. I found the idea from Grab Your Fork.

I had a small pizza party for Evan at the park. We played feed the shark and pin the fin on the shark. Emma got a kick out of pretending she was being eaten alive.

Is it Wrong That I Find This Funny?

Last week Michael and Evan went boating with some of our friends. Sadly, I did not get to go. I was home playing nursemaid to Emma. 

Evan was in the captain's chair feeling pretty calm and confident. Watch as he starts to get a little bit nervous in the hot seat.

Is it bad that I laugh every time I see this? By the way,  I am told neither the boat nor Evan were ever in any danger.

Are They Trying to Sell Clothes with Mirrors Like Those?!

I snuck out tonight to do some shopping at Tar Zhay without the kiddos. I tried on some clothes and while doing so caught a glance of my backside in their lovely mirrors.

At first I wondered if somebody else had gotten into the dressing room with me.  When I verified that it was indeed only me in the dressing room, I was shocked, dismayed, depressed, etc. Since my backside is always walking behind me, it's not often that I get to see it up close and personal. It wasn't a pleasant meeting.

I decided not to get the clothes until I could come back having logged 100 hours on a stairmaster.

So here's my unsolicited advice to Target:

First off, Target dude, are you really trying to sell clothes with mirrors like those? Because the only things that you might have a chance at selling with such mirrors are some diet books, bottled water and exercise gear. In fact maybe you should set up a stand right outside the dressing room with fresh vegetables and protein bars for easy grabbing. 

Actually, the more I think about it....you also might add another stand with mint Oreo cookies and chick flicks and big comfy jammy pants. You know on those days when the mirrors are so depressing we think, hey who's gonna notice one more cookie on this caboose?

But if you're not so into these ideas and really do want to sell clothes, here's the deal: take your mirrors back to the funhouse. Ask them for the ones that subtract fifteen pounds and erase stretch marks and cellulite. And while you're at it, could you dim the lights a little for me too?

Into the Closet

Isaiah is about six months old now and has been sleeping in our room since he was born. He still likes to check in with me every few hours to tell me how he's doing and ask for some warm milk. As much fun as these late-night to early-morning chats are, I started thinking I'd like to try sleeping through the night, or something close to that. 

When we talked about moving Isaiah out of the room, I couldn't think of anywhere to put him. The playroom and the kids' room wouldn't work because Isaiah naps during the day.  Our guest bedroom, or MDJ Development World Headquarters, was an obvious no-go.

Then Michael suggested putting him in my closet. To which I said, "Are you out of your mind?! What kind of person puts their baby in the closet?" Yeah, right! Absurd Michael.

But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. My closet is a decent- size little room that's very quiet and dark.  My closet is close enough for me to hear Isaiah at night, but far enough away so that I can get some sleep. And my closet is less likely to attract the notice of aspiring track stars (i.e., big brother) who like to hurdle cribs and land on top of sleeping infants. 

It turned out Michael's absurd idea wasn't quite so absurd after all. I just had to step back from all the cultural norm jazz. After all, just because he doesn't have his own beautiful nursery room doesn't mean I love him any less.

But I must admit, it does make me laugh whenever I see him in there. 

I'm hoping the clothes hanging over his head like a colorful, multi-textured mobile will get his creative juices flowing. Perhaps C.S. Lewis also spent his infant years in a closet too. Or did they call it a wardrobe?

You Know You Need a Style Overhaul When

On Saturday, we took the kids to Hamilton Pool. Michael swam out with Emma and Evan while I waded waist-deep into the water with Isaiah. Isaiah started smiling and being flirty with a lady and her daughter who were standing nearby.  So I started chatting with this lady. Eventually she asked me what my baby's name was. I said it was Isaiah.

To this she replied, "I thought you were going to say that." 

Really? Um, why? With thousands of boy names in this world, why would she think my baby's name was Isaiah?

I mean, was it because I was wearing something like this?

Yep, that was me, the religious fundamentalist lady just kicking it with my sister wives at Hamilton. So of course it would be natural for one to guess that my baby was named something biblical, because after all wasn't I in the dead giveaway outfit? The lovely wrist to ankle 1800s dress with my hair french-braided down to my bum. 

No, not even. Granted, I wasn't skimping around in hang-it-all-out there bikini fashion. But I didn't think I was so completely off the fashion radar as to instantly convey to people that I would name my children Ezekiel or Jeremiah or Isaiah. 

And here's me with Evan in my church lady swim outfit. Dude, the rash guard was for sun protection! But now that I think about it, I bet that's what did me in on the style meter. Oh and having three kids, one of them a baby on my hip probably helped things along.  

So now you see how my sad little mind works.  Someone assumes I'm a good Christian woman and all I can think is, "Man, I really need a style overhaul."

Ask a Ninjormon

Michael found this the other night on YouTube. All I can say is I started crying from laughing so hard. Enjoy.

Hip Hip Hooray

How did I not know this was coming out? Holy crap. I saw this on a magazine at the grocery store today and was so excited I almost peed my pants. (That's a line I use when I think Emma's going to be super excited about something. Of course she always responds so calmly, "Mom, I'm not going to pee my pants. )

I used to love love X-files, and Agent Mulder naturally, despite being a big chicken when it comes to scary stuff. Who knew what a good year 2008 would be for movies! The release date is July 25th I believe.

Emma's Fancy Party

Emma was born on the 4th of July, so as you can imagine, it is one big party at our house come July. This year I did a "Fancy Nancy" fashion show and luncheon party for her. The girls decorated purses and hats and modeled their fancy attire. Then they ate heart-shaped sandwiches with frilly toothpicks and drank punch with little umbrellas floating in them.

If there is one book that has pegged Emma and me, it is that one. Emma is such a little Nancy who loves to fancy everything up and I am unashamedly the simple white T-shirt and jeans mom. But for this birthday, I tried to change my unfancy ways.

Here are the girls all dressed up:


I must say though that next year I will be doing an anti-fancy party. No decorations, no goody bags, no activities, no special foods, no costumes. Just a cheapskate bring-your-own-sack-lunch to the park and play on the playground kind of party. It's a lot of work being fancy.

Quantum of Solace

Hooray, they finally released the trailer for the new James Bond movie Quantum of Solace. It's due out in November. Can I just say Daniel Craig as the new James Bond rocks my world!

This upcoming movie looks good, but it will probably not come close to Casino Royale, one of the best Bond movies ever....in my humble opinion. This time around there will be no more sensitivity from Mr. Bond, James Bond. Alas. But console yourself: there will still be his amazing physique, kick-butt prowess, expensive suits and fast cars. And he does have the British accent. The end. We're pretty deep over here tonight, huh?