I just cannot commit to a title at this time.

Various options for this post's title are as follows:

"Gluttony at it's best"
"My sister made me do it"
"Stare-y Starer-ton"

**I'll just go ahead and put my disclaimer at the beginning of the post lest anyone related to me should read this and be crying so hard by the end that they can't finish...I love all my sister's just exactly the same (but the one that feeds my kids while I take a shower or go to the store by myself, just a smidgen more at the moment.)
(Now proceed, ignoring the fact that the rest of this paragraph is in italics, I don't know why, it just is.)
When my sister Abby is around, I laugh a lot. So much, in fact, that I get phlegmy. She has a talent for being so precisely random that you can't help yourself...and anyone that can throw out obscure movie quotes at the completely appropriate times makes me supremely happy. On our way home from the base tonight (where Abby received her VIP tour of Clark's sub) she referenced no fewer than a dozen different movies including but not limited to: (you get bonus points of validating satisfaction if you can properly identify which movies they are from)
"Where have you taken us Philipe?"
"He worked very fast...his hands were like ice..."
"Can you guarantee my safety?"
" 'Night Slot head"
"three bags of chips, one of those long knackwurst, two beers, why don't you have a beer, three beers..."
'the clicking/calculating noise that the cricket makes in An American Tale'
"Jury, write that down"
"Possible...pig."
And then I see how many times I can squeeze in a "that's what she said" comment in the course of one day.
Case in point, the other day when we were indulging in one of our many gluttonous moments at the lunch table she called me Templeton, as in the rat from Charlotte's Web because as she stated, it looked as though I was eating a heap of garbage in a trough. (In my defense, it was a loaded salad in a unsightly Tupperware container.) But this is my relationship with my little sister. Did I cry? Only from laughing so hard. Consequently, her children are just as endearingly strange as she is. For instance, Boo looks at you with quizzical eyes when you make googly baby noises and silly faces but you'll get the biggest smiles when you talk in a creepy gremlin voice. I can only say this about her innocent little baby because she is so darn cute I could die. The kind of cute that when she smiles I want to pick her up and take a bite...or at least nuzzle her neck and kiss her cheeks until she arches her back in the "get me away from her" kind of gesture. And Cubby has been quoted by us all week. Some of our favorites are his bedtime excuses: "That nightlight is too fancy" "I can't lie down, my bones are too hard" etc etc
And Abby is talented! Just look at the painfully adorable hair clip holder that she whipped up while I checked things on the computer the other day. I wish that I could take credit for her amazing creations...they were all my supplies...that's the best I can do. (those owls will one day be listed among her things for sale for Baby Rhodesbud...if she can stop being nice and giving them away.) I mean, at this very moment she is measuring my head with a ribbon for an equally adorable fabric flower headband that she is copying from J. Crew. And then spun away from me in an awkward sort of dance, reminding me that today we danced in the kitchen secretly while the piano tuner played incredible music on my neglected Kawai. I think I might miss having a sister here when she leaves.
I go to bed every night with a stomach ache. In months past I have achieved that body status that comes when one is no longer pregnant or nursing and tired enough from taking care of four children as a single parent that I forget to eat on a regular basis. And while I recognize that accidental starvation or unintentional anorexia is not healthy, it does wonders for one's figure. However, with Abby here we are reminiscing good old days of yore through food....lots and lots of food. I'm talking chocolate mint brownies for breakfast and today this little magical pile of sugar right after our veggie omelet and avocados....or maybe it was brunch, I'm not sure. (Just for the record, that is marshmallow/cream cheese fruit dip, not ice cream and Mrs. Richardson's butterscotch caramel sauce...waaayyy better and more decadent.)

I'm pretty sure that there aren't enough words for meals to cover as many as we have been eating. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, supper, dinner, snacks and so on and so forth. Oh, we have been eating healthy things too. In fact, we are so proud of ourselves for eating healthy things that we have to take pictures and eat 4 helpings worth all in one sitting.
You'll have to keep up with Abby's blog for further details of the activities committee...hers is much more interesting and better pictures..."but how can you read a book with no pictures?..."

Return. Tab.
I know you are all just dying to know how I am adjusting to the new specs. I have come to the realization that I have a horrible staring problem. You see, the feeling of the glasses on my face makes me assume that I have my sunglasses on. And when I have my sunglasses on, the direction of my eyeballs is masked see...so I can look at whatever I want for as long as I want. Fuzzy purple uggs and matching frosty lipstick? That would normally get a good 15 seconds of unabashed loving judgement. (That's the kind where I look at them and think "oh bless their heart, did they know that's what they looked like when they left the house this morning?" Or "Holy Cow, she is not really wearing that in public" while at the same time telling myself that she is probably a really nice person.) Come on, you all do it. I have spent the entire week wondering why in the world people are staring so blatantly at me when I suddenly realize that I have been blatantly staring at them out of the corner of my eye for the last 2 minutes. That's when I remember, very suddenly, that the weight on my nose is transparent two way glass...not a mask of tinted discretion.

Sorry, I've been busy...

Sorry I won't be writing for a bit. Guess who is sitting at my kitchen table? Please excuse me for a while, while we hang out and have fun.

There's a new smarty pants in town...

Last week I got glasses. It was bound to happen. I mean, I did make it to 30. The first couple of hours I was second guessing if I really needed them because it was so weird and uncomfortable...and then the distraction of the frames and the feeling that I was looking through glass ('cause I am looking through glass) subsided. Now when I take them off I realize just how much I needed them. I don't like this feeling. It is just so...permanent.
Go ahead, let me get you started.
Four eyes.
Book worm.
Loser (that was my sister's contribution.)

So here is my thought process. A bigger brain pushes on your ocular nerves and makes you go blind. And by bigger brain, I mean one brimming with intelligence. Therefore, everyone that wears glasses is smarter than everyone else. And blind people are the smartest of them all.
You'd think that I was segwaying into how smart I am. Fooled you. I am actually perplexed that this theory has some holes. Me getting glasses just doesn't line up with my next segment entitled:

"I know I am not that smart and I'm OK with that."

I could cough up a list right now a mile long of instances where I proved that I am not book smart, but I won't...OK, I couldn't but only because my poor memory forbids it...not to mention the fact that I have had 4 kids...kids that have robbed me of the ability to think or remember anything other than the fact that they simply must wear tennis shoes for PE and if I use detangler spray to do their hair then it smells like they were actually bathed in a bathtub with water and soap.
There. That's my confession. It feels so nice to have that out in the open. I have a compulsive need sometimes to point out certain things before other people can...or before they can even think it. Does that make me insecure? I don't really care. It helps me feel as though I have cleared the air of certain mysteries. Don't be misled to believe that I don't know anything at all. I am actually quite smart in few random areas (and NO I don't just mean movie quotes and memorized restaurant phone numbers.) Besides knowing 101 ways to cook pasta and potatoes, I also know a lot about familial dynamics, relationships, human development and parenting. Not to imply that I am really good at all of those things...I just know a lot about them. Somehow BYU saw it fit to give me a degree. I only failed one class, but I'll get to that in a second. I graduated half-way through the academic year so I didn't do a graduation ceremony. (I graduated in 3 1/2 years...so I may not be super intelligent, but I am a hard worker.) I never walked across a stage wearing a gown and a tassel laden pointy hat. They mailed me my diploma. For years I dreamed that I didn't really graduate from college or high school. No closure, I guess. In those dreams, I also could never find my locker (different issue.)
I failed Physical Science in college. We're talking basic, freshman, Physical Science...one of those classes like American Heritage that they make all the freshman take to make sure they pass therefore proving to themselves, meaning the college admissions board, that they didn't actually admit any imbeciles. Boy, did I fool them! But here is the strangest thing. The first time I took the class with my sister and a best friend. We went to every class, took copious notes and studied. That resulted in a fat F. The second time I took it was with a different sister. We went to 20 minutes of the first lecture and then decided that Taco Bell was a better fit for us. I never went to another class and yet somehow passed with a B. I'll tell you the secret. You gotta kiss up to the TA's. You have to learn exactly what they want to read in your essays and even which words to use. If you cater precisely to their wishes then they pass you...you have to make them feel beautiful and powerful because they wear those blue vests that scream "Look at me! I'm so smart that I don't care how I look in this vest!" But those vests were way back in the 90's...maybe in this new century they get to wear pimped out lab coats or something shiny.
My friend and I used to sit and make fun of the people in Freshman Academy. Don't be offended if you were part of Freshman Academy. Only the dumb people make fun of you...and why would you care about that? We figured that everyone in Freshman Academy was smart because they all seemed to wear glasses. Again, sometimes stupid people come to irrational conclusions. It's just what we do. We would keep tabs on how many times they pushed their glasses up in one class because we figured that each time they did, they got a little smarter.
So here's to you Freshman Academy, Physical Science and TA's in dorky, blue vests!! How do you like me now?!!

(Haley insisted that I then pose with a pencil...and not doing that freaky thing with my eye. Because as we all know, pencils make us look smarter too...)

These are actual notes from my first attempt at the class. When weeding through college papers I just couldn't part with them. Not because they were filled with information and knowledge that I [kind of] possessed at one time...but because they made me laugh and remember that even though it's the only class in my life that I ever FAILED, it sure was fun. I mean, look how neat my handwriting was! Awesome. I give myself an "A" in penmanship (for spending a lot of time perfecting my handwriting and less time listening to the professor or checking the clock to see how many more minutes I had until getting Hostess coffee cakes from the vending machine and taking a nap in the girls bathroom on the 3rd floor of the library.)

Like a dog to its vomit

This is how I feel about Walmart. Let's just get it out in the open. I am a Targetarian, all the way. (I wish I could find the link to my sister's blog a while back about it being a sort of religion. It is, you know.) I don't care if you shop there or not. You all know what I mean. Walmart is a must because there are simply some things that just cannot be picked up anywhere else (and by picked up, I am referring to food or household goods, not diseases, though I wouldn't discount that either.)
My sister affectionately named it Waldemort...as in "the store that shall not be named". It makes me feel dirty. I tend to give my hands (and the hands of those accompanying me) a double dose of antibacterial gel when we leave, that and a shudder of the shoulders. And without fail, here are the things you can expect to see at any Walmart, in any part of the country, after 2 in the afternoon.
One or more of the following:
child/children without shoes walking around
a parent yelling inappropriately loud at a small child
parents yanking, pulling, pushing or spanking a child
lots of foul language from young and old alike
an underage person buying something from the phylactery isle
people eating unpurchased food
someone picking and or eating boogers
someone scratching their crotch without being subtle
wedgie picking

Clark and I had our special Valentine's date last night. We indulged in our once-a-year-extravagant meal and then made the stop at Walmart on our way home to pick up some Valentines for the girls. I had recently made a visit to this particular store only to realize that it had been recently renovated, and actually kind of..nice. So I said, why not?

It was only 8pm and we witnessed:
more people in sweatpants/pajamas than a Richard Simmons video
a young teenager putting a pregnancy test into her mother's shopping cart (after yelling rather loudly to her younger sister to F@*% off...come on, her sister did pinch her)
one mother yelling at her child to get off the floor
one father yelling at the same child to get off the floor (at least they were united in their parenting cause...)
one mother spanking her child at the checkout
and our favorite, one mother lovingly zipping up her child's coat with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from her lips (we had fun with that one. imagine your raspiest, smoker's voice "we just want to keep you warm and healthy little one", cough, hack, sputter, spit..."now let's go strap you into the car and close the windows while I suck down the rest of this cigarette")

So, I am like a dog to it's vomit. I will keep going back no matter how much disdain I hold for it. And hey, let's face it, some days my kids are dirty and have no shoes...I may even be wearing sweatpants...I know the perfect place to pick up those last minute essentials. "Come on kids, we're going to Walmart!!"

Today's chuckle...

is brought to us by Abigail. Today at school they celebrated the 100th day of the school year. Whether or not that includes the million snow days, I am not sure....in order to find that out I would have to sit with a calendar and actually count to 100...and who really wants to do that? After all, at any given time during the day all I have to do is make the subtle suggestion and any one of my kids will count to 100, willingly, again and again, and again. I'll just take their word for it that today was indeed, the 100th day of school.
Anyway, Abby came home with this little book that she had filled out and the last page struck me as funny.
The random pages of fill-in-the blanks included:
(Abby's fill-ins are in italics.)

I can eat 100 ies crems. (ice creams)
I could never eat 100 crakrs. (crackers)
I wish I had 100 graps. (grapes)
Having 100 cats could really be a problem.

At least it puts to rest my fear that Abby was destined to mature from amateur junior hoarder to grown, lonely cat woman.

Baby Rhodesbud

I realize that in all the time that it has been there, I have never taken the time to give due attention to the adorable button in my sidebar. Do you want to know what it is? My sister Suzie Petunia, who got the ball rolling gives a thorough explanation here. Now that you know why, go here for what (and you can start at the beginning.)

Now if you feel so inclined to know how, go here, or here, or here.

Isn't my family lovely and talented? I think so.

kids...

I am sitting in a darkened upstairs, the kids recently tucked snuggly into their beds. It has been silent for over 10 minutes now. I breathe in and then blow out the day. Then in the silence I hear it...the, how shall I say, "passing of wind"....then giggles from three girls.
Some things will always be funny.
(just for clarification sake...the noise came from their room, not mine.)