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?

Parenting Advice

Let me tell you about my lovely afternoon at the post office today. While Emma was at gymnastics, I ran to the post office to mail something and pick up an express for Michael (which by the way was not very express as it had been sent over a week ago--thank you efficient United States Postal Service).

It was just me and the two boys. Evan was behaving remarkably well but Isaiah was in complete meltdown mode. No amount of bouncing or switching positions was working. I tried not to make eye contact with too many annoyed customers and blow it off by saying that he just didn't like waiting in line. This might be true. After all, it makes me want to howl when I have to wait in those excruciatingly slow postal lines.

So as I was waiting, some lady came up to me and handed me a piece of paper on which she had written: Quantum Touch, Richard Gordon. "You should check this out," she said, indicating my screaming infant.

I'm sure she is a very kind woman. I'm sure she meant well. But this sort of rubbed me the wrong way today.

Now if I were a humble, teachable gal, one who was slow to anger and willing to receive instruction, I would probably be thinking now, "Oh, thank you so much kind lady. You are right. I need the wisdom that quantum touch offers. My baby is howling not because I had to wake him up to take my daughter to gymnastics or because he needs a diaper change or because he's coming up on a feeding soon but because I am inept as a mother. If only I knew how to create a high vibrational field of life-force energy and direct that healing energy on him, he would be calm. Thank you for showing me the way to Richard Gordon."

And I would be telling all of you pathetic, negligent mothers whose children also scream and misbehave in public to get it together and learn how to amplify your chi so you can shut those kids up because they're driving everyone crazy.

But I am not humble or teachable so I am not thinking or saying any of this with anything but sarcasm. I know, I know it's not very Sunday School of me to be that way but at least I'm honest about it.

I am also by nature a skeptic, so these types of approaches to healing usually leave me doubting. However, because I think she did mean well and because some of you may have a little more faith than me, here's the link: http://www.quantumtouch.com/.

Get back to me if it works. But please, not when my baby is screaming.

To My Unsympathetic Husband

Dear Michael,

I think you are a very kindhearted individual. I know you value life and don't like to hurt most living creatures (with the exception of mosquitoes, cockroaches and cats). And I know that when you say you will take care of the creepy crawlies that come into my house, you are really setting them free in the greenbelt behind the house.

However, tonight your sympathy was misplaced. I was the victim, not Sammy. I was the one who was so scared and startled she screamed and nearly dropped the garbage on the lawn, not Sammy. I was the one in danger of being bitten, not Sammy. Sammy is not the innocent party here, so stop defending him. Is he like your new BFF or what?

The first time I told you that Sammy had come around, you said not to worry. Sammy was just passing through. But when I swung the gate open at dusk today to throw away the garbage, Sammy was back. And he was very very very rude to me. This is what he did when I opened the door on him:

Exactly like that. In fact, that is actually his very own picture. Yep, say hi to your BFF Sammy. And how did I manage to get his picture? Well, you will never believe this but there happened to be a National Geographic photographer who was hiding in the bushes snapping pictures of cardinals and as soon as he heard the hissing he ran over and shot off a roll for me.

There it is. Now what do you have to say?

So it's obvious that Sammy has taken residence at our house and is behaving very badly, hissing, staring me down, making alarming sounds as he slithers away.

As I see it you have two choices, Mr. Snake Lover. It's me or Sammy. Take your pick.

Love,

Kasey

P.S. If it makes you feel better, perhaps you can keep him with you at all times...on a nice pair of boots. ASAP!!!

Now Scheduling House Tours

An appraiser came to look at our house today. By golly, you would not have believed how quickly I hauled my gargantuan frame around in a whirlwind of cleaning and picking up. I was amazing. It was like someone lit a fire under my bottom. In two and a half hours, I managed to vacuum, clean the bathrooms, playroom, laundry room, master bedroom, office and front porch and throw a load of laundry in and fold a load of laundry plus several other miscellaneous tasks that I will not enumerate.

I don't normally get through half of that in two and a half weeks. Nope, not even for company such as Michael's live-in family or Michael's lawyer or Michael's civil engineer. Sadly, no. Usually, I'm like, "Hey, do you mind stepping around all the toys on the stairs?" Or "Don't mind the piles of laundry and pieces of cut-up paper and stale bread crusts and plastic bags and Superman figurines and cups of water and pieces of scotch tape and children's underwear scattered randomly across the house. Oh, and if you'd like a sanitary bathroom experience, I'd recommend peeing outside. Thanks, it's nice to see you too."

These days I usually settle for one space in my house looking cleanish and call it good. But it felt so nice today to have a straightened-up house once again. It is a sad commentary on my slothful nature that the only thing that bestirs me out of my lazy chair is someone taking a tour of every nook and cranny in my house. If only someone would take a tour of my house every week, I might be able to avoid falling back into the pit of squalor from whence I came.

So to keep this clean thing going, I am now scheduling free house tours. Yes, that's right. Hurry and act now. Just email me back with your preferred day and time. And please make sure to ask to see all closets and drawers. Don't miss out on this exciting opportunity!

She Flies Through the Air With the Greatest of Ease

I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog. How about "My Other Job Is With the Circus"? Yep, I've decided to travel down a whole new avenue....trapeze artist.

Here's what I did on Saturday night:



So Michael got this great idea for us to learn how to fly on the trapeze. The Crossings Hotel had a trapeze group there for a few weeks that was offering trapeze classes. Michael, of course, was peeing his pants he was so excited. I, however, am a little--shall we say "uncomfortable"--with heights and wasn't quite so enthused. I kept trying to get out of it. No such luck.

We arrived at the class and they started us off on the low bar. You have to grab the bar, wrap your legs around, drop your arms, etc. Just the basic playground stuff. We all got one shot to do that and then they explained how we were going to do this at 50 feet in the air.

Before I knew it, I was climbing up a very narrow ladder to a very small platform and trying not to look down. Granted, there's a net below and once you reach the top, they hook the safety wires onto your harness. Still, we're talking 50 feet in the air leaning forward with your toes over the edge. That was definitely the scariest part. Once I hopped over the edge and started flying, it was fun.

We got to do two runs on the trapeze and then they let us try the catch, which is where another person catches you in midair.



Ooops. How embarrassing. Somebody was supposed to spin around in midair and catch the return trapeze. Maybe I'd better stick with the CIA. I guess it's not bad for my first time though.

So now that my feet are firmly planted on the ground, I can say I'm glad that I tried it. I did something that scares me and am now a little less scared...hopefully.

By the way, for all you ladies out there, the best part is that it's the closest thing you'll get to having a "rescued-by-Superman" moment. You're flying in the air, feeling a little nervous and vulnerable, when suddenly a buff, handsome man rescues you and says, "Come with me." I was like, "Ok, whatever you say."

Roast Goose Anyone?

When you see this picture, you may think to yourself, "Oh, what a nice little goose. How peaceful he looks just swimming along by himself."

Well, in the words of Monty Python (a personal favorite of mine): "That's no ordinary goose. That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered fowl you ever set eyes on. That goose's got a vicious streak a mile wide; it's a killer!" (Yeah, yeah, I know Tim the enchanter was really talking about a rabbit--BUT if he had met this goose he would have said the same thing about this goose.)

Last Thursday night when we were renting the house on Lake LBJ, Melinda and I were dying of heat stroke so we decided it would be fun to go jump in the lake. There was a boat dock at the house and some big rocks in the middle of the lake that we wanted to swim out to. We walked down to the dock and stuck our feet in. The water was a little bit cold so we sat a while on the dock. I finally jumped in and started swimming over to the rocks.

Then, out of nowhere, this goose flew over my head and landed in the water about ten feet away, facing me. Normally, this would be no big deal, right? After all, ducks and geese are cute and nice and always so appreciative of the bread crumbs that they are fed. But this was no nice goose. This goose started swimming towards me, its neck and head low to the water, hissing. I started screaming, laughing and swimming like mad to get to the rocks and away from this goose. I really felt quite vulnerable and scared but at the same time it seemed utterly absurd that I was being chased by a goose.

Meanwhile on the dock, the crowd was going crazy. Melinda and Emma were yelling at the goose and throwing acorns, pebbles and small sticks at it to get it to leave me alone. Evan was jumping up and down, crying and screaming hysterically. Autumn was taking pictures; because whether I am murdered by a goose or not, it would make an interesting clip to watch on YouTube. Ah, the American way.

So here I am now. I finally got to the rocks. The goose was closing in. I was terrified he was going to land on top of me and start attacking. Frantically, I pulled myself up onto the rocks, cutting up my knees and arms in the process. I stood up on the rocks--now bleeding all over the place--and tore off a tree branch for protection. He finally backed off, obviously cowed by my larger size and the scary-looking bit of twig and leaves I was shaking at him.

I discovered later that there was a female goose sitting on a nest between the rocks. So I guess I should be forgiving and not hold a grudge towards this goose because, after all, he was just trying to protect his family. But you know, he could have been a little nicer. Why didn't he simply ask me to swim in a different direction? Really, he was quite rude about the whole thing. And so territorial. Like the whole lake belonged to him.

And so every time I saw the goose that weekend it was all I could do not to run and give him a good kick in the rump. If anyone has a hunting license and a hankering for some roast goose, I've got the place for you.

Family Vacation at Lake LBJ

This past weekend was quite the memorable one. We rented a lakehouse on Lake LBJ and had an extended family vacation (Michael's side). It was the first time in quite a while that all of Michael's siblings and families were able to get together. We sure had a good time boating, playing games, fishing, eating, and hanging out (all this despite a rocky start and getting chased by a rabid goose).

Here are a few fun pictures and my top ten:

10. Beautiful weather, beautiful views and great family company.

9. Emma catching a fish.

8. Mom making us cookies every day!

7. Playing cards in character. Ok, am I a dork or what? Can someone show me some real gangsta signs?

6. Yours truly impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger losing at Cash Cab during family skits: "I am the governor of California and I know these things." Embarrasingly enough, I think this was caught on film.

5. Nathan's impression of George W. Bush on American Idol.

4. Cousins playing together, running wild and enjoying every minute of it.


3. Joel's impression of an NRA member.

2. Joel doing karaoke to "I'm Too Sexy." Too funny by far! (Since I gave him 2 of the top 10, we'll see if he'll stop over from chatting it up on Cougar Board to leave a comment. )

And the #1 slot goes to......:

1. No contest here--Melinda and her character Maria who wants to dance like John Travolta if she can only get rid of her J-Lo booty. Oh my goodness, this girl is hilarious! I had no idea. I was giggling like a school girl.

Thanks for the memories everyone!

I Believe In Miracles

So let me tell you, miracles have definitely not ceased in these last days. Not at my house. You've heard of the widow who fed Elijah and whose faith was rewarded with a barrel of meal and cruse of oil that never failed? Well, here at my house we have what's called the miracle of the laundry hamper. Seriously. This is not a joke people. This laundry hamper never fails either. Every time it is emptied, it fills right back up--almost immediately! It seems that no matter how many loads of laundry I do, I never have to worry about running out of dirty clothes.

I just don't know what I've done to deserve such a miracle. It must be on account of my super amazing faith or something.

Deja Vu

Emma cracks me up. She is such a little mother to her brothers. Today she put Isaiah in Evan's bed and started reading to him. It was so cute. I had to grab my camera and snap a picture.


Then I started thinking, I've seen this before. Sure enough, here's her reading to Evan and her baby doll.

This Would Make My Life Easier

Getting dressed these days would be a lot easier if I had a lovely little number like this, don't you agree?

I could simply don one of these comfy muu-muus and there would be no more hassling with trying to find something in my closet that I could fit into besides the maternity clothes. No more stacks of pants and skirts in a useless heap. No depressing realization that, yes, my hips really did get that big during pregnancy. Perhaps I might even arrive on time to places since I wouldn't have whittled away so much time in my closet. And only imagine--if I had been wearing a muu-muu today, my daughter wouldn't have said to me with such a cute, excited little grin, "Mom, are you going to have another baby?" Just love that one!

I think this muu-muu is really my best option during my current clothing crisis. But you decide. Here are the other less desirable choices:

Keep wearing maternity clothes. Ugh. Gag.

Wear too-tight old clothes anyway until body starts to go numb and lose circulation. Naah, not such a good idea.

Stop eating chocolate cake. No way man.

Spend lots of money for a "transtional" wardrobe. No thanks. I could just open the garbage can, drop the money in and save myself some time.

Hang out in the g's all day and never leave the house. Hmmm, definitely not. Besides going super cuckoo, I'd have to pay the kids' counseling bills one day for the visual trauma I inflicted on them in their tender years.

Wear the one pair of pants and shirt that do fit every single day. Um, yeah, I kind of do this already. But maybe I should do this with a really cool reason for doing this, such as rejecting consumerism like the gal who wore the same brown dress for an entire year: The Brown Dress Project. Quite an interesting story.

Now you may be wondering what the difference is between the muu-muu and maternity clothes. Good point. Not much, I grant you. But with the muu-muu, there need not be "maternity clothes" and "regular clothes." There would just be: "The Muu-muu." How easy is that?

By the way, the official spelling is mu'umu'u, according to Wikipedia.

Can I Just Eat My Cake In Peace People?

After finally getting Isaiah to sleep tonight, I sat down to eat a slice of chocolate cake that my mom had made for dessert.

Emma was in the kitchen with me. As I took my first bite, she asked, "Mom, how come Aunt Melinda eats healthy and you don't eat healthy?"

Sheesh. Can't I just eat my cake in peace, people?

Baby Love

I guess it's about time I got around to posting some pictures of my new little guy. Isaiah Matthew was born on March 4th and weighed in at 8 lb., 6 oz. and was 21 1/2 inches long. He was a week late--obviously, someone forgot to tell him that the whole in-utero thing is supposed to be a 40-week deal, not 41...or 42 as he seemed to be going for. Isaiah let us know that he wasn't too happy about being evicted by peeing on everyone as soon as he appeared.

Here's my little family. This is the only decent picture we got of all of us together and then I had to go and ruin it by flipping off the camera. Can someone photoshop this for me?

Oh baby love, why are you so sweet? Probably so your mommy will keep you alive when you insist on eating every two hours around the clock.

My two little boys. Evan is excited to have a new little brother. Can't you tell?

Here's my mom holding Isaiah. Can I just say I have the best moms in the world! I was lucky enough to have both my mother-in-law and my mom come down to help me. If only they didn't have to leave...sigh, sigh. The kids have had so much fun spending time with their grandmothers.

The Sound of Music

A few weeks ago Michael and Evan were gone for the evening and Emma and I were home alone. I decided to put on one of my favorite movies, The Sound of Music. I was excited to introduce Emma to the genre of musicals, especially one of the best musicals ever! However, I had to beg, bribe and plead with that girl. She had never seen it before and was not very enthused about watching it.

But now it gives me great satisfaction to say that all week she has been begging me to see--as she calls it--Maria. And we have to keep asking her to turn the volume down in her room as she listens to the soundtrack over and over and over again. Hooray! I knew she would love it.

I do find it funny that she really likes the Sixteen Going on Seventeen song but doesn't want to listen to Edelweiss. It reminds me exactly of how I was as a kid. I used to run out of the room or duck behind the couch during the icky, mushy scenes between Maria and Captain Von Trapp.

But, ok now I get it...why Maria likes Captain Von Trapp. Edelweiss! Holy shmoly. Yep, you can just sing that one more time, Georg.

I guess that means I'm old. Oh well.

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.

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!