"Tacos"

We are all standing at the kitchen island, a vast taco bar spread before us.

"Hey kids, we are having chicken tacos for dinner. What do you want on yours?

Sour cream?

Cheese?

Salsa?

Guacamole?"

"Mom, I just want chicken," says Jackson.

"Me too, Mom," says Lilly. "And no tortilla, just chicken."

"Same here," says Jackson. "No tortilla."

If I looked puzzled at this point, it's because I'm not quite sure what they were describing.

"Well without the toppings, that's not a taco. You are just eating chicken."

They just looked at me. Then at each other. Then back at me.

"We just want chicken tacos without anything on them and no tortilla."

"Right. I think that's called 'chicken." 

"But Mom, you said we were having tacos!"

At which point my brain got up and walked out the back door.

Seven Things

So I have been racking my brain trying to come up with seven interesting things about myself to share with those who read this blog. And if I'm honest, I've got a big bag of nothing.

But since that has never stopped me before, I type on...

1) I love camp. Not camping. Never camping. Camp.

Being a camper as a kid and a camp counselor in college were both amazing. As a camper, I'd call home after being away for two weeks, BEGGING to stay another two. I just couldn't get enough of all the fun, pranks, activities, snacks (you knew it involved food), and friends.

And being a camp counselor is probably my favorite job of all times. Why I was entrusted with other people's 9 year-olds for two weeks is beyond me, but we sure had a good time together and laughed ourselves silly.

Even though I am all about sitting in Panera with my laptop and sipping a latte by the roaring fire, I am also all about being dirty, not showering, and sabotaging other people's cabins, then waiting for the favor to be returned. Such fun.

But camping? I don't mind the eating out of tin cans and sleeping on sharp rocks. What I mind is that I can't stop thinking wild animals that don't belong anywhere near me are suddenly going to attack. I don't want ants or bugs crawling on me while I sleep, bears circling the tent, or fish so much as peacefully swimming in a nearby pond. If a ladybug so much as crosses my path three feet ahead, I'm out.

2. My favorite sports are baseball and golf. LOVEY LOVE LOVE them both.

They are a) warm in nature, b) intense, but not paint-your-face intense, and c) involve some of my favorite concessions.

3. I have a knack for losing big-ticket items. I am not proud of this, but it is who I am. 

Brad thought it might be "fun" to post the highest-dollar item I've lost. Well, I couldn't possibly do that to him or my parents, because the memories it conjures are downright painful.

But I will say that I had to have my entire college dorm re-keyed more than once and it is NOT CHEAP to buy new keys for like 500 girls.

4. I am not a "shoe" person. Love my flops. Love my running shoes. The End.

The rest of the year I limp by in out-of-style black or brown shoes. But mostly running shoes. Because I would rather spend money on 10 lattes than  having a pair of shoes. 

Because shoes are not edible.

5. It's taking everything in me to come up with seven things that don't all involve food. Because it is what I love. The buying, the making, the ordering, the dreaming about, and drumroll...THE EATING. 

Food is like my children in that I couldn't possibly come up with a favorite because they are all so unique in their characteristics, so wonderful, interesting, and just tasty in a way that quenches both my soul and tastebuds.

What I don't like is bad food. There are few foods I don't care for, but if something isn't fixed well or dry or wet or crunchy or soggy or whatever it shouldn't be, I can't do it. 

I have had four perfectly golden chocolate chip cookies cooked in a cast iron skillet, served sizzling hot, partially cooked inside, topped with ice cream and chocolate sauce in the last 10 days.

Is that a problem?

6. I have strong feelings about the pronunciation of certain words.

Syrup.

Pecan.

Pajamas.

I will not tell you the correct pronunciations according to me because I don't want to hurt any feelings. Just know I am cringing inside when you don't say it right.

My favorite word in the English language is "swarthy." I just LOVE it.

7. My dream invention is called The Starbucks Mobile. It drives up and down my street each morning (like an ice cream truck) and stops out front so I can get a Skinny Mocha at approximately 6:30 a.m.

There are so many mornings I need a fix, but can't justify loading up the kids and myself in full Mismatched Pajama Regalia to hit the Starbucks that is five minutes from my house before shuttling everyone out the door to school. The nearest drive-thru is about 20 minutes away and I'd be lying if I said I'd never driven that far just to have everyone physically restrained while I drank my vanilla latte in peace.

(I let Brad unbuckle to drink his hot chocolate.)

So there you have it. Seven things.

I'm not really sure who to tag because many of the blogs I read are people who get THOUSANDS of comments and I'm not sure Pioneer Woman would know my email isn't spam. And really, people like me tagging her for memes probably IS spam.

But I love my blogging friends, so if you want to share Seven Absolutely Fascinating Things go right on ahead. I will be reading and loving it.

Should I be Dusting Right Now?

So as I mentioned yesterday, B is at work. Not in the home office. But in The Real Big Boy Office.

Since we've been married, he's always worked from home or in whatever exotic location Frontier Airlines jetted him.

But this job? Minimal travel, and a real office. So for the first time in 9 years, he got all dressed up (no jeans, steel-toed boots, or yellow polos anymore), gave me a kiss, and walked out of the door. 

(It was actually quite a bit more romantic than the alarm going off at 4 a.m. and him wildly rushing to the airport, then texting back and forth all day.)

So I've been going about my normal daily comings and goings, but it just feels different. And I can't figure out why.

Since he's always worked from home, he knows what my day looks like. He gets it when I run around town in my workout clothes, take five hours to complete various stages of laundry, and spend a little too much time rearranging living room accessories instead of actually cleaning. I'm so thankful I don't have to explain how the stay-at-home-mom thing works at this stage in the game.

But I still can't shake the feeling that I should be wearing some sort of June Cleaverish dress with heels and firing up the crock pot right now. Should I set the table? Are we done eating in front of the TV? Is it now my job to make the bed? Should I have the children prepare a short song and program complete with Early American costumes to welcome him back to the homestead?

I will ponder all of these things while I enjoy the internet's finest and eat another chocolate chip cookie. I don't want to strain something thinking so hard.

J to the O to the B

This is a post I've been thinking about for quite some time...something that's been on my heart, but not something I've shared with the blogging universe.

Because, ironically, of the internet.

There is this search engine where you can type in any words you want and it will find you that special something for which you searched. Or like 2 billion of those somethings.

Clever, isn't it? If I could Google things like "Where, for the love, are my car keys?" or "How to find my current grocery list" then we'd really be in business.

For the past few months, B has been on the employment hunt. Not the click-around-on-Monster-in-my-free-time hunt, but more of an aggressive search like when Indiana Jones was in the Temple of Doom and ate monkey brains and live cockroaches in order to accomplish his mission. I believe Indy also rode in a mine car and witnessed someone's heart being pulled from their chest, but B's desperation hadn't yet reached those levels.

So you get the idea. 

I didn't post much about The Search for the Holy Grail of Employment because I've been assuming that the first thing any employer worth his salt would do is google the prospective candidate's name. 

And if that boss is a proficient Googler, he would quickly come to the conclusion after discovering this teeny blog that "B is a great guy, but his wife has an undiagnosed case of OCD and based on her posts about food, apparently weighs close to 900 pounds, which cannot be good for our group healthcare rates."

And I believe that, perhaps, that might hinder B's quest.

 

For the past several years, work-related stresses have interlaced themselves into nearly every area of our lives. And even though my sweet spouse searched for an alternative, nothing presented itself that would ease the weariness of constant travel and the steroid-infused, jazz-dancing elephant of tension residing  on B's chest.

So in January, our family received some mandatory rest. Our very own exile island (see that? I can always bring it back to reality TV) where there was not much more to do than lovingly stare into each other's eyes while talking about all that WASN'T going on.

As a matter of interesting timing, Jackson was off-track for three weeks, so when I say we were ALL HOME, I mean ALL FOUR OF US AT HOME. In the winter. Doing a whole lot of...being at home. Inside. Together!

Good times.

And slowly, in this quest for better, different, new, God quietly laid on our hearts some things we needed to release from our lifeless kung-fu grip.

Time.

Perfection.

Location.

Which, of course, made for lots of light-hearted conversation and small talk around the the dinner table. And in the office. And while playing the Wii. Because did I mention we've had a lot of time together?

One day while I was running, I listened to a podcast on the topic of  being faithful when times are hard. The speaker defined faithfulness as walking through hard times having eternal eyes. Not avoiding the tough trenches of life, but forging onward, relying on God for his strength.

And on that same day, I read this verse, "As for God, His way is perfect; the word of the Lord is flawless. He is a shield for all who take refuge in Him." (2 Samuel 22:31)

So here we are three months into this journey and B is starting something new. 

Tomorrow.

This isn't necessarily a dream job or all that he envisioned a few months ago, but we feel blessed and cared for beyond words. We're thankful that God has taken care of our needs and even our wants. He has encouraged us along the road in amazing ways.

One day while I folded laundry, I was praying for B to get an interview as a sign of encouragement. As I matched up the socks, the phone rang with an opportunity. Seriously.

(I chose not to take that as a hint that I should further engross myself in housework.)

On the day that I ran out of my pricier-than-it-should-be eye cream, I was a little disheartened to think about not replacing it until the cash flow rebooted with new employment. Later that afternoon, my mom called and asked if I needed any of my precious eye cream and did I want the night cream to go with it? God is faithful to provide even beauty products for a body that is made from dust and decaying as we speak. That is generous beyond measure. And a humbling reminder that he cares about the details in my life.

We keep coming back to the verse in 2 Samuel that says "His way is perfect." We rest in knowing that while our ways our flawed, lacking, misguided, and even greedy, His way is none of those things. I will gladly receive that any day...even when the gift is exile island and the time spent there is less than pleasant.

So, here we go...the next chapter begins.

And even though I could quote "In Christ Alone" during just about every post (whether the topic is molten lava chocolate cake or parenting issues) I've restrained myself a lot lately, so here it is one more time. Because it is true and the glory is His.

In every victory,

let it be said of me...

My source of strength, 

My source of hope,

Is Christ alone.

Fashion Exhaustion

Wow.

Reading about fashion all day, putting that fashion knowledge to use at the mall, and eating a lot of lasagna has really worn me out.

I have so many things I want to discuss, and so little time before I fall asleep with my forehead implanted on the laptop.

1. How OH FREAKING HOW did Michael Johns get voted off Idol already?

2. And "Shout to the Lord?" Interesting. As the first few notes were played, I turned to Brad and said, "Didn't we sing this at our wedding?!" I am personally convinced they just want all Christians to download it on iTunes. I am debating...

3. "The Office"--Jim & Pam--funny. Michael & Jan--scary.

4. I got tagged for a meme by a Legit Blogger, Lisa. I am so excited to come up with a few things about myself that are interesting, yet not frightening. That might keep me up all night. The ideas Brad brainstormed suggest that he believes I have a few areas in need of personal "growth."

Or that I'm driving him just plain crazy.

5. I left my cell phone charger in Arizona and feel crippled without use of my cell phone. I almost pulled over and used a pay phone today because I am used to the instant gratification of a thought coming into my head then immediately calling someone to purge the info before I forget.

We interrupt this boring blog for a ***LIVE BLOGGING UPDATE**** 

(beep beepbeepbeep beep beep)

Michael Johns is on Jay Leno. Right. Now. With Gene Simmons. Are you watching? 

But Michael Johns ascot? Brilliant. And his smile? Brilliant.

Michael, I apologize right now for failing to vote. Forgive me.

Now Gene Simmons is singing "Rock and Roll All Night" and I am dying to jump through the TV screen and tell him that I would love to play that song on Guitar Hero while he sings. We would be such a great duo. I just stopped typing to work on my guitar riffs while Gene halfheartedly belted out his greatest hit.

In conclusion, I believe I have hit rock bottom.

It's All About the Uniform

Y'all, it's here!

I know you have been eagerly awaiting for the Spring Fashion Fiesta and all of the mediocrity it holds. Fashion is something near and dear to my heart, although those in my path might question that on a regular basis.

I did catch myself mid-sentence the other day at the Gap asking for "white jeans in my size," but rest assured that I left those babies on the rack. Big Mama, God bless her, is giving this little fashion foray as an opportunity to showcase some fashion do's and don'ts, as well as a look inside the collectively scary closets of bloggers.

This morning my mind was filled with fabulous ideas about spring fashion, when I looked outside and saw this:

I'll be honest: snow in April took the wind right out of my fashion sails. This was not serene, O-Tannenbaum-ish snow. It was driving, horizontal, blizzard-in-your-ear-canal storminess. But in the name of Banana Boat sunscreen and summer I'll forge right ahead.

Let's start with my summer uniform. There has been no piece of clothing as faithful to me for the last three summers as the ribbed tank top:

For $5 (give or take), I can look totally average hauling my kids from the pool to the grocery store to the gym to the Dairy Queen. 

It's a Swim Cover Up! It's a Cute Top! It's a Workout Shirt! It's my Uniform!

Being that these are so reasonably priced, I've bought just a few:

In my best estimation, I have about 12 of these little beauties. That means between wearing the exact same one a few days in a row and slacking on the laundry, I am good to go for approximately three weeks. I tell ya, it's harder than it looks to earn the title "Trophy Wife."

This year I added brown, blue (in a very distinct shade), and coral to the rotation. I will probably keep all of my friends excited and guessing as to which one I'll wear when they see me. Variety is what makes fashion so exciting!

I like to pair these tanks with some long shorts in either a) khaki or b) black. 

That's right: 2 pairs of shorts + 12 tank tops = an entire summer's worth of clothes! 

Let's move on to the last part of the uniform, and possibly my favorite. I have a deep, long, abiding love of the flip flop. They have never betrayed me by hurting between my toes or giving me blisters and have been my trusty companions for longer than I can remember.

But all flip flops are NOT created equal. That is a lesson I learned the hard way when several Old Navy pairs just quit on me. I was mid stride, in a hot asphalt parking lot when the part that holds the flop to the foot pulled right out. That is a sizzling and painful failure, especially when one nearly drops the baby and the pool bag packed to sustain an entire family for upwards of a month.

However, a few summers ago, I was forever changed. The Reef came into my life and we shall not part--even in death--when I am buried in a ribbed tank top with these on my feet. (Sorry if that was a little morbid, but I don't own any pantyhose or pumps and honestly, can you see me buried in a floral Laura Ashley dress anyway?)

(Sorry again.)

What I adore about Reefs is that they are like walking on pillows that are so perfectly firm, yet cushiony in just a way that makes each step feel like a piece of heaven. If you think I am just being dramatic, then you haven't tried Reefs yet and you are also correct.

Here is my new pair for Summer '08:

I needed a black pair and felt the zebras were right up my alley. Also they will match my black long shorts and the black knit skirt I occasionally throw in the mix to dress things up when I go to the grocery store after dusk.

This brown pair has loved me long and well:
Bless them.

I've even infiltrated my kid's flip flop collection because if you've missed it thus far: REEFS ROCK HARD CORE. Plus, the kids are weenies and won't wear stuff if it hurts.

Lilly's pair:

Jackson's pair:

Now there are occasions, like church and weddings, when a little bit dressier of a flip flop is in order. I love a Dressy Flop because it can snazz up an outfit without forcing you to wear some strappy number best left to people with no actual walking to do. Plus, strappy heels don't really work well in sand or wood chips.

This is my Dressy Flop '08:

Not sure if you can tell, but that is a delightful black patent usually reserved for music recitals and Christmas Eve. I'm glad it's making it's summer debut because it does pair nicely with a long jean or casual skirt. 

Eating Mexican food in the summer at anywhere other than Taco Bell demands a certain leg coverage in the form of a great jean so that you can withstand the arctic air conditioning in order to savor the queso.

I'll be honest: Reefs are more of a daytime slap, while the Dressy Flop begs to be worn in the presence of a margarita and salsa. A bracelet pairs nicely, too, if you can remember it and have time to fish it out of your 4 year-old's closet.

My other favorite gift this season was the Madras Top Sider:
I'm not sure if y'all remember the Top Sider from the peak of its popularity in the 80's, but I guarantee I could go into my dad's closet right this very minute and find his pair lovingly at rest. He will probably also have the knit Polo shirts whose collars he popped right alongside them.

See? If you hang on to things long enough, they will always come back in style.

Here is an up-close of the madras print that makes my heart skip a beat. I've always loved madras and to see it on a shoe is an extra measure of God's grace.
The last item I'm going to discuss is tough. I'll be honest. You either love them or hate them. 

Brad has declared that when I wear these, he won't be seen with me in public, and that is okay. I'm not exactly cruising around, hoping he'll lock arms with me while he wears his yellowed, pitted-out shirts with pictures of burritos on them. Sexy!

I bring you The Aviator:

Brad was flipping channels the other night and came to an episode of "The Bachelor" where all the girls were similarly shaded.

"Don't they all look absolutely ridiculous?" he commented.

Meanwhile, my pulse quickened and I hoped I liked my pair as much as theirs. If I can get this much satisfaction for $10, then life is good.

Hope you enjoyed my Spring Fashion Fiesta! Head over to Big Mama's for more fashion fun and don't hold me to anything I've said. I could be wearing white jeans next time you see me.

Which Explains the Cramping in my Hands and Wrists

I have been BUSY working on my career in Guitar Hero. It was a sweet birthday gift from my mother-in-law that has taken over my life and that of my family. 

After coming home from a fabulous girls weekend in Phoenix, I promptly hugged the kids, sat them on the couch and said, "Let's watch Mom play Guitar Hero for about 5 hours."

They were beside themselves with excitement.

It's well-documented that the addictive effect of Guitar Hero is similar to meth, but does not come with twitching or weight loss. Just dreams of guitar strings and chords. Richie Sambora and Santana probably dream like that every night, but it's totally new for me.

Somehow years of piano lessons never really got to me in the same way...infiltrating my dreams and causing me to think about the VERY NEXT opportunity I would get to sit and play the piano for hours. However, I am working on a theory that the piano lessons might have helped my hand-eye coordination and propelled me to a future of Guitar Hero Excellence. 

I am becoming all that my parents dreamed!

Also, He is in Favor of World Peace

I am glowing because Tuesday is the day of free.

Free breakfast at Chick-fil-A!

Free birthday burger AND ice cream at Red Robin!

I am down with free food, especially when it is tastier than the cold, dry pizza various collegiate organizations used to provide as bribery and lure for students. And which I ate quite liberally.

At this point, I'm really done sharing about the free and wonderful things provided us today and am segueing into a segment about Jackson's sweetness.

This transition may seem a little clumsy because it is my very crafty and authorish way of giving all readers who are not family members ample time to exit the blog.

(NOW SEGUEING...)

(FEEL FREE TO LEAVE.)

(If you stay around I have to type out all kinds of disclaimers about how I know the following statements are somewhat contrived and may or may not prove to be true and how I really don't think my kid is better than your kid, except I do a little bit, because of course, he's my kid.)

(LAST CHANCE.)

So there we sat at Red Robin, savoring the freeness and deliciousness of my eleventy millionth birthday celebration because remember, FREE was involved.

And I LOVE free. Because it doesn't cost anything.

At which time Jackson said, "Mom and Dad, I am going to say something that will just delight you."

Well our ears perked right up at that.

"I want to obey everything you say and serve God with all my heart my entire life."

Sigh.

(You were warned.)

Hopefully I'll Find Time to Wash My Hair

I've been thinking about the fact that if I lived on the East Coast, it would only be two hours until American Idol comes on, as opposed to the heart-wrenching FOUR hours I currently face.

I'm also conflicted because The Biggest Loser is narrowing down finalists, Dancing with the Stars has a results show, and my first love, American Idol, will be coming to me "live" (via my tiVo) from the Kodak theater in merely a few hours.

And then the Lord spoke to my heart in a gentle whisper:

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds." James 1:2

I believe I am being refined this very minute.

Drugs + Batteries = Birthday Fun

I just love a good birthday celebration, especially when it comes to throwing one for other people.

The members of my immediate family are the usual recipients of my overly heightened sense of Birthday Excitement and Overkill, where I plant the seeds for what fun party will transpire and then entice/beg/brainwash them to actually desire the kind of party I already planned for them. 

So we both win.

I'm coming off a fabulous week-long celebration usually reserved for royalty and dead people. Or in my case, 31 year-olds.

After battling about three weeks of violent upper respiratory congestion, coughing, snot, sleeplessness, sinus trouble, and The Plague, I caved and went to the doctor. I know, I am weak and pathetic.

I hate taking medicine, so I resist at all costs. Plus, it never seems to have the desired effect on me. Tylenol PM keeps me wired for weeks when I should be sleeping. Even Mucinex and Ambien aren't enough to knock me out. My anti-sleeping genes are strong.

Well, my first birthday present came in the form of some absolutely magnificent prescription medications that caused me to sleep well for the first time in weeks.

The doctor might as well have put a big red (make that a brown grossgrain) bow on them. It was a beautiful moment. Especially after I had recently been told by a friend that I looked "green" and "really bad."

So yea! I am feeling better! Finally!

One of my favorite birthday traditions that Brad created involves helping the kids make cards and select gifts based on my perceived "interests." It's always hysterical and very sweet. And a grand display of my inadequacies.

Lilly's card:

Brad and I decided that Lilly needs her own font. To my knowledge, there is not another one out there where the "y's" curl around so cute that you could eat them and the "t's" look like a headless cheerleader. 

And someday she will not write like this anymore and I will curse her penmanship teacher. 

Jackson's Card:

Please note all the x's and o's he took the time to draw. And please note the fact that it took him all ten seconds to write this out. Because he is growing and male and could care less about handwriting.
In case you weren't sure, the "m" and the backwards "j" identify exactly which characters we are in his precious card. 

I love how he shows the height of various people by drawing longer legs. No matter if he's drawing Shaquille O'Neal or Mini Me, the head and torso size are the exact same. The legs just get longer and longer. If only that could happen in real life.

Brad's card:

Seriously, y'all. 

I love how Brad gets out his best cursive and then decorates the card as he feels I would really enjoy. I'm not sure if I'm more moved by the stars or puffy cloud surrounding the message. Or maybe I love the dramatic, two-color shadow technique he used on the letters. 

Even though Brad isn't exactly in touch with his artistic talent, I crack up every year at his sweet attempts.

Okay, now it's time for a journey through the fabulous gifts and prizes I received for merely continuing to exist another year despite the best attempts of my recent illness.

Brad brainstormed with the kids many things they thought I'd like/need for my birthday. He lets them buy whatever they want, as long as it isn't a new Honda (which Lilly was sure I would love. Brad talked her into just visiting the dealership and pointing at the ones she liked instead.)

Lilly noted that I have troubled with things running out of batteries. 

Me? Really? When?

"You know," she told Brad, "Things like phones, cameras, and computers. Mommy never has enough batteries for things."

So looky here:
Of course, the things which I regularly run down are all rechargeable, but that is clearly beside the point.

However, these are the kind of batteries the Wii remotes require and I won't shock and alarm the parenting authorities by reporting how often they need to be replaced.

Next up, Brad's gift:

I think back in 2003, when I was still optimistic about being organized, I mentioned I wanted a label maker. At 31, I am jaded and disillusioned, so this gift didn't quite make the impact that Brad intended.

Until he admitted he bought it for himself and he'd allow me to use it under direct supervision if I promise not to make mean labels and stick them on his back. (Which I refused to do.)

Also, he had a gift card at Staples. That is the love of a vibrant, nine year marriage, my friends.

Next up, my gift from Jackson, being modeled on my hairy, wrinkly, and aging arm:

My Big Pumpkin noticed that my sports watch died sometime last summer. It was the second of a few Nike sport watches I'd had that were not actually as waterproof as the label said. Also, Jackson has noticed that I am late. Often.

And this watch is also a strapless heart rate monitor. Whoo hoo! Now I will know exactly what my heart rate is when I fall off the spinning bike and pass out from cardiac failure. Today when our instructor made us SING the chorus of "Right Now" as we were at the top of a hill, I wasn't sure if my legs or lungs would give out first. Or both.

This fancy watch also tells me how many calories I did (or didn't) burn, which I admit did impact my decision not to have cheese fries for lunch. 

It also came with an alternate wrist strap in case I want to mix things up a little bit. Of course, my female offspring has already confiscated it and won't take it off.

Gives a whole new meaning to "a hair past a freckle."

I'm sorry. I had to.

And my family? They are the best!

Just When I Think He Can't Get Any Sweeter

A little something from Jackson, lovingly transcribed on the tablecloth at Macaroni Grill:

If They were Polka Dots, I'd be Puking Right Now

I thought today might be a good time for a little fashion lesson. Spring is around the corner, evidenced by the fact that I went running outside in shorts and a tank top today. No tan lines afterwards, but one thing at a time.

(However, I'd like to give a quick shout-out to Jergens because apparently the self-tanner is working well enough so that drivers on the road didn't have to swerve and cover their eyes when they looked upon my barren limbs.) 

The wind was blowing at gale force, but I focused on the fact that I was simultaneously Outside and Not Freezing to Death! It's the little things.

Anyway, per the fashionista's advice on TV (where everything they say is true), I'm positive you all at home are busy cleaning out and purging your closets to ready them for this year's latest styles.

Or at least the new army of tank tops from Old Navy. Who says uniforms are just for kids?

Lilly, blessing me with her unique sense of style and creativity, graciously demonstrated one of fashion's purest principles: Just because you buy something at a fabulous clothing store, it doesn't mean that everything they sell is attractive or that all items should be worn at the same time.

Exhibit A:

While I love a good stripe as much as the next sailor, what I don't love is three different varieties of stripes on one child. Especially when the child is mine and wants to go in public.

She struggles with the concept of "Too Much of a Good Thing," evidenced by the above Fashion Don't. 

I struggle with too much of a good thing as well, but it's more focused on chocolate, Mexican food, and Starbucks products. Which, now that I've talked myself in circles, proves that you can't actually have too much of a good thing.

Just stripes and four year-olds who think they should dress themselves.

Blogging About Salad Makes Me Feel Old

Well, Easter was just fabulous.

Between the obligatory Colorado snow, the adorable outfits, great church service and (of course) the food, we had ourselves one fine day.

Because when you start the day with peanut butter eggs, things can hardly go wrong. And if they do, just eat more peanut butter eggs.

The meal, which sounded promising on paper, turned out to be just as amazingly delicious as we'd planned. Steaks were marinated and grilled to perfection, the bread was outstanding, and the cake was good. (I would give it a "great" but I think my chest/cough/cold medicine cocktail took away some of the flavor.)

The sleeper hit of the meal was the salad. Strawberries, pears, avocado, pecans, and blue cheese in a dreamy vinaigrette. Oh man, it was good. That said, Brad and my dad ate absolutely none because they were worried about their steaks getting up and running off. And Brad is careful to stay away from vegetables in general because they might rise up, join together, and retaliate against him in response to years of neglect.

But look! There it is! 

My other favorite part of the meal was setting the table.

As soon as I'm done with this blog, I'm going to put in a phone call to the nearest Senior Center so I can go hang with some gals who share my lame interests.

But seriously, I love a beautifully set table. The fresh flowers, ironed linens, classic china etc. Just ask Ethel and she will tell you how gorgeous and essential those components are to any fine spring luncheon. Then she will challenge you to a wicked game of shuffleboard.

On that note, check out these amazing napkin rings my mom brought me:

Not sure if you can tell, but they are just beautiful. I think they are made from actual vintage silverware. My mom found these little gems in Canton. What makes them cool is that they are Real! And NOT from Target (not to be confused with the napkins.)

Just like the Blue-Haired Beauties at Shadowcrest, I am a lover of fine place settings, so those sterling napkin-ring holders were just the ticket.

Lastly, here we are in all our Easter glory. Or at least our Forced Easter Photo Op.
Um, I am off to the gym.

Because I want to go.

Not because of the peanut butter eggs. 

Because I'm Positive You Care Deeply

A few, small, newsworthy items that I've numbered! Because, LOOK! I'm organized now!

1. The Flood
Let me start by saying that I appreciate the loving care and concern so many of you have shared over the Self-Inflicted Flood of Stupidity '08.

Precious Brad (who is eligible for sainthood after this latest debacle) labored to get the contents of the basement dryish to quite dry. The only major casualties were all things that don't belong to me. So while I'm relieved on a personal level, the guilt runneth deep as I share with others who dared to leave their belongings in our home that their things are lost forever.

Luckily, one of the victims is my mom who understands my track record for disaster dating back to a small carpet fire around age five. And some other incidents I'd rather not recount in case she has forgotten.

2. Car News
After being separated from the 'Burb for yet another 3 days after a not-so-minor relapse, it's back and running with all doors attached. (Which I still do not believe is too much to ask).

A longish, rubbery, black piece wasn't staying glued to the left side, causing an eccentric aerodynamic effect, forcing other drivers to honk and roll down their windows at stoplights to inform me of the plight.

At least when it snowed tonight, my seat warmer came in handy. Finally.

3. Easter Menu
There's nothing to quite get oneself over the heartache of an unnecessary flood like food. Even though as I write this, my stomach is still full from the Best Apple Crisp Ever I am still anxiously awaiting tomorrow when I get to eat again. Don't worry, I don't treat my pain with food. Oh no, I don't.

I'm hoping to take pictures tomorrow, but if I get distracted actually eating Easter dinner instead of taking blurry pictures, here's the plan:

Strawberry-Pear Salad on Mixed Greens
Fresh Baked Whole Grain Bread
Mini Zucchini Muffins
Creamy Macaroni and Cheese
Roasted Asparagus
Filet Mignon
Chocolate Espresso Pound Cake

So you see, it will be very good and very light. I'll probably try on my swimsuit right after lunch.

Or at least lube up with some self-tanner.

Chicken Enchiladas: Night IV

This post actually has nothing to do with my continued Mexican Craze. But I just thought you'd like to know. Tonight I turned up the funk and had some chips and salsa with the enchiladas. And I think I could eat them again tomorrow without remorse.

In other news, I am my own worst nightmare.

This afternoon, I sat down to do some blogging and even post some pictures of Lilly and I shopping at the Gap. Really, there is no finer mother/daughter bonding experience and she enjoys trying on the clothes and making purchases just as I do.

We are kindred spirits although her fashion sense is not yet refined.

Those pictures, however, will have to wait.

Before I finished typing THE VERY FIRST SENTENCE of the post, I got up from the computer to go retrieve my camera from the car (which I should mention is momentarily a Chevy Impala--but that is a story for another time. Like perhaps when my blood pressure returns to normal in 2012.)

I walked past the laundry room and powder room (across the hall from each other) and noticed only what can be described as a flood.

Yes, I said "flood."

Involving water. In my house. Again.

But this time the fault was all mine.

I am totally understanding of the Absent Minded Professor, except that I've never created anything as remotely interesting as flubber. Except chicken enchiladas.

My first thought was slight discouragement at having to wipe up two smallish rooms.

That was before I realized our entire home and all our possessions stored in the basement were afloat somewhere in the Pacific.

Approximately an hour earlier, I started filling the laundry room sink with water AND BLEACH (because it adds both cleanliness and drama to this tale) to give the sink a good scrub. So I plugged up the drain, started the laundry, and left the water running until I planned to return approximately 30 seconds later.

But you see, I am easily distracted by shiny objects.

I went to the bedroom to try to blog a little bit and respond to a month's worth of emails that have slowly built up without so much as a reply from myself. (Because when I sit down to do things like email I FLOOD MY OWN STINKING HOUSE.)

At which point, I also cleaned a few shirts out of the closet and checked my five voicemails that sat on my phone for the last week and fantasized about the Easter dinner centerpiece I would create from moss and fresh flowers.

See? I am already distracted from the main storyline as I tell you about my earlier distractions.

While typing, I thought I heard water running, but I just TOTALLY FORGOT about the sink and assumed it was the washing machine. Because I am slow. And chose to be soothed rather than horrified by the sound of rushing water in my own house.

So as I stood there, mouth agape, on the levee of the hardwood floors (which, GLORY TO GOD, didn't get wet), I rolled up my pants and waded to the faucet, which I promptly turned off.

Reaching below the sink to grab the towels, I realized the water had seeped into the cabinets and the very aborbers with which I planned to dry the floors were already wet.

After turning off the water, I realized there was still a signficant, Niagara Falls-ish roar of water.

Then I noticed the water rushing toward the vents in both the laundry and powder rooms.

Oh. Crap.

Running down to the basement, the tidal wave noise grew louder. Probably because there was standing water in the basement and a lovely aquaduct-system pouring water through the pipes.

All over EVERYTHING. Like photos and Christmas decor and (close your eyes, Susan) pianos.

I shook my head and almost laughed because my choices at this point were a) laughter or b) weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Thus, the clean up began.

While I dried the towels on the deck, the neighborhood kids jumping on the trampoline were all, "Miss Nicole, did you guys go swimming today?!"



"No! I just tried to ruin everything we own including pictures of my children's babyhood and a piano!"

"Cool!"

At this juncture, I probably don't have to point out why the enchiladas were the highlight of my day.

For the Love of Warm Chocolate Chip Cookies and Of Course, The Dough

Without fail during every group fitness class, the Instructor/Torturer asks us "Why are you here?"

And the answers never cease to crack me up. Every. Single. Day.

First of all, I'm glad that some people are breathing with enough regularity to shout out their convictions amidst 60 other aerobicizers.

Personally, I want all of the friendly banter to just stop already AND GET ME AN OXYGEN TANK!

The first shouts I heard were all of the "Jesus" answers, like "To be healthy!" or "To feel strong!" or "To get fit!"

Whatever.

Those are lovely sentiments, but being healthy would never drag me to a barbell strength class where I am doing so many lunges that I can actually feel the muscles failing, twinging, and painting their microscopic faces a Braveheart Blue so they can join together and revolt against me the next morning.

Then the braver souls start to shout, "I'm here for swimsuit season!"

"To look good at my high school reunion!"

Again...wah wah wah wah wah wah. (I am trying to type the Charlie Brown teacher noise, but am not sure how to spell it. Apologies.)

Swimsuit season is compelling, for sure, but I have a little tip. Instead of dragging yourself to the gym every morning to lose maybe ten pounds, GET A TAN! QUICK! AND MAKE IT FAKE!

Because scientific polls have shown that one looks a little slimmer with a nice hint of tan. Or, if you're a body builder, a nice hint of unnatural dark brown combined with canola oil.

I am not in favor a tanning beds but I am highly in favor of Jergens lotion.

One little bottle of Jergens Express and you will feel like a svelte Greek goddess or at least her unsightly stepsister. I've been a believer in the Jergens Natural Glow for a few years now, but the recent discovery of Jergens Express amazes my highly refined tan-in-a-bottle sensory system.

Reports have come in from other users that the application made them a little orange, but thus far, my skin tone has withstood the intense color/moisture.

Thank goodness because I had a bowl of Founder's Favorite the other day and I do not think it is a diet-type snack.

In lieu of eating vegetables and rice cakes, I just applied some tinted lotion. And snake oil. Works for me!

So when Miss Perky asked the class about our motivation, I found it odd that I was the only one with the courage to say, "To eat more!"

Really, it is all about the food.

Because on the way to the gym today, what do you know?

My favorite fast food eatery was advertising a FREE BREAKFAST!

I turned in to the restaurant, hightailed it to the drive-thru window and said, "I'll have two of whatever you're giving away for free."

"That would be our chicken mini 3-packs."

That was my first sign today that God is with me in more ways than one. Because there is nothing on this earth that I love more than a Chick-fil-A chicken biscuit breakfast sandwich. And there were THREE of them. In one box.

Praise the Lord and pass the honey.

For ABSOLUTELY NO MONEY AT ALL! For FREE! For me! All because I can read signs held by cows!

I tried to discount the fact that it would take upwards of 700 barbell curls to counteract just one bite of chickeny, biscuity goodness. But that's ok. That's why I work out. For the molten lava cakes, the french toast, the bread pudding and um...et cetera.

Currently I'm on a Nightly Consumption of Chicken Enchiladas and Other Mexican Delicousness kick, but it will pass. And then I'll move on to something really healthy like granola mixed with Reese's chocolate eggs. Oh, I jest. I'll just eat the chocolate eggs.

So the moral of this post is:
1. Get a fake tan
2. Food Rocks

The End

Outranking Both Dad and Ah-nold

Jackson and I were deep in conversation while he was brushing his teeth:

"Mom, I know God is the strongest in the world and all, but I definitely think you're second."

I guess that's what buying 50 pound bags of flour at Costco will do for you. That, and a lot of peanut M&M's.

Just When I Thought I'd Hit Rock Bottom

So the other day, I humbly listed my shortcomings of the week, but sadly those were just the tip of the iceberg I sailed right into on Friday.

Jackson climbed into the car after school, head hanging low.

"How was your day, buddy?" I asked calmly, wondering if the Power Rangers had a conflict with the Imperial Storm Troopers at recess.

"Not good and very sad," he spoke through clenched teeth.

Since he has inherited my tendency towards unnecessary melodrama, I was not yet persuaded. "Why is that?" I asked.

"Because today was the 100th day of school and I was the only one who forgot to make a project."

Ouch, ouch, double ouch. To say I felt terrible is an understatement. My stomach immediately hurt and I was wiping my eyes so Jackson wouldn't see that I was crying for him.

I suck at parenting.

You see, homework at his age isn't as much his responsibility as it is mine. I had pulled the information sheet about the special 100th day project out of his folder, discussed ideas with him, magnetically clipped it to the side of the fridge, then promptly never thought about it again.

Until his heart was broken.

I can only imagine that he will be asking Santa for a new mother next year. Which he deserves. I tried to make it up to him with pizza, a churro, and ice cream (2 gold stars for guessing we went to Costco) but that didn't really take the sting out of major disappointment.

I volunteered to help Jackson complete the project this weekend and then bring it to school on Monday to demonstrate that we are not terrible, but merely below average parents. That didn't appease him either.

Finally, he said, "Mom, you can just stop apologizing about the project. It's okay."

Now my 5 year-old was trying to talk me down off the limb. Things are worse than I ever suspected.

I'm not sure if I have ADD or am just spacey. I don't know if it's the out-of-control "P" in my personality or the fact that my brain is just plain FULL. But I do know that I need to find a system that includes physical torture to remind me to complete things on time.

We can only miss so many birthday parties, conferences, and egg hunts before there is a full-on coup and I am overthrown for a newer and more organized gal.

Anyway, I am working on a plan. It involved some online shopping and lots of prayer. And some very adorable organizational tools.

Details...with lots of pictures to come!

Can I Get a Whoo Hoo?!

"Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name. Bring an offering and come before him; worship him in the splendor of his holiness."

I Chronicles 16:29

One year ago, Brad and I received the phone call in the middle of the night that everyone dreads. My brother, Mark, not-so-calmly explained that Dad was at the ER in Dallas and the doctors thought he suffered a brain aneurysm.

At first, we thought Mark was being overly dramatic/concerned, then over the course of a wakeful night realized this was actually very serious. Like get-a-plane-ticket-and-come-now serious.

Being in Colorado left me feeling helpless and far away when I wanted only to be near. I kept telling myself that everything was fine, but it's hard to convince oneself of that in the same sentence with the word "brain aneurysm."

One truth continued to race through my thoughts, standing firm and strong despite the swirling emotions: "The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 27:1) To this day, I thank God for embedding that precious gift in my soul when I needed it most.

Arriving alone at the airport early in the morning, having left behind a tired husband and confused preschoolers was tough. Wandering through the airport blinking away tears and trying to remain calm was near impossible.

Only hours after initially hearing the news, I arrived at my parent's house in Dallas. The gravity of the situation fell on me. Opening the front door, all of the lights and TV were on. Dinner from the night before sat on the cook top. My parents had run over to the gym for a quick workout, only to go straight to the ER via ambulance.

As I stood there, taking in this unsettling scene, praying and pleading for peace beyond understanding, the phone rang. Because old habits die hard, I walked to the office and answered.

While I'll never remember who actually called that morning, I'll never forget that my chest tightened and my breathing stopped while I stared at the wall directly above the phone.

There hung Dad's photo gallery of some of his favorite running moments, highlighting his many accomplishments, and more importantly, his family members who he'd enticed/dragged to run with him.

While my mind knew he was unconscious in the ICU, I couldn't reconcile that with the photo of us standing together after our marathon, holding a shiny gold medals and unashamedly smiling with pride.

How could someone so fit, so strong, so healthy be fighting for his life?

And again God's tender words whispered to my soul, "Do not be afraid. I am your stronghold. I am your light. You are in the palm of my hand."

To spare you two weeks worth of drama and things you've already heard ad nauseum if you know me, I'll just tell you that for reasons we'll never know, God graciously chose to restore full physical and mental (insert punchline) health to my dad.

So why do I write this? Because when I opened up my Bible this morning on the one year anniversary of Dad's miraculous healing, the first verse I read was I Chronicles 16:29.

The Lord has been good in ways both big and small and I don't want to miss an opportunity to give Him credit and attribute all great things to His unchanging hands.

I am obviously thankful for Dad's complete healing that baffles the most intelligent brain surgeons in the country. I'm also humbled and blessed by the Holy Spirit who spoke truth and injected peace into my heart during a time when my thoughts and emotions were running wild.

I just love these words from "In Christ Alone":

"In every victory,
let it be said of me,
my source of strength,
my source of hope,
is Christ alone."

Postscript:
I am looking forward to seeing my dad next week when I will resume kicking his tail on the Wii.

I'm Not Typing in the Fetal Position

Still here...just not blogging. Doing what...I'm not so sure.

I've realized my cynical/negative/half-empty/dismal self is starting to rule the blog, so I'm attempting to be more chipper.

:) SEE?!?! :)

I find it much easier to write about everything that has gone wrong each day than to celebrate the victories. Hmmm...

(For those of you on Brad's side of the family, I'm sure this only adds to your many questions about why he married me, for which even I have no answers, but I am grateful nonetheless. My humble apologies.)

Anyway, instead of writing about my numerous mishaps this week, I thought I would give you a quiz:

1. Which "important" things did Nicole forget this week:
a) picture day
b) eggs for the Easter egg hunt
c) to eat chocolate chip cookie and brownie batter on the same day
d) Jackson's nightly homework

2. Which minor issues remain unresolved in our lives:
a) the door on the Suburban
b) the heinous sulphur-esque odor of the Suburban
c) the fact that I haven't dusted since late November (or was it September?)
d) purchasing a car we don't even like

3. Which incredibly trivial things have we completed with gusto:
a) watching American Idol, then discussing each contestant at length
b) Dance Dance Revolution
c) eating chocolate chip cookie and brownie batter
d) buying four varieties of Easter M&M's
e) being late for school every day
f) all of the above

Answers!
1. a, b, d
2. a, c, d (although upon finally getting the Suburban back and it REEKING, OH MY GOSH, REEKING of rotten eggs for a week, the battery promptly died and we had to get a new one)
3. f

Oh dear readers, I am a mess.

Ironically, I forgot all of those things AFTER I started my new filing system where I actually put the papers in a folder labeled "Lilly's School Papers." The filing system just doesn't work for me.

Brad is "taking back his life" using some Microsoft Outlook book entitled "Take Back Your Life" where you enter upwards of 50 tasks EACH DAY and then try to complete them without swearing. I get sweaty just thinking about it.

I can't decide what makes me more tense...forgetting things or being nervous about having so much to do. The combination of those factors is probably why I've never been contacted about being a CIA agent or some undercover Jason Bourne-type person.

Also, I am inexperienced with firearms.

And playing it cool.

I don't want to fully embrace my inner Debbie Downer (well, I do, but I'm trying not to) so I will end on a super positive, things-are-awesome, I heart everything high-note.

This week I:
a) ordered new makeup that actually matches my skin tone (see, I omitted the word "pasty" and just put "skin tone." I am but a ray of sunshine!)

b) ate the best pot roast of my life

c) had a super son win the Prinicpal's Award of Excellence and Cuteness (ok, just excellence)

d) learned that same son reads at a grade level so high they don't even have
tests to measure such greatness

e) had a baby girl VOLUNTEER to wear her pearls to the highly refined and sophisticated Easter program at preschool

f) had the same baby girl remember her complicated speaking role during the Easter program (one word: "bread")

Wow...now I am feeling better.

It is with great excitement and anticipation with which I face tomorrow and the many somethings I've already forgotten.

It's a Wonder I Get Anything Done

I've been busy lately. For real.

Usually I am busy in a way that leaves me time to blog about all of the things I should be doing while I accomplish nothing other than writing a blog to six or perhaps seven people who have in all likelihood, stopped checking my blog because of the rarity of my posts.

This time however, I've (get ready...) ACTUALLY BEEN DOING THINGS!

Like laundry!

Like "organizing"!

Like eating a whole bunch of zucchini muffins!

Anyway, I've been wanting to blog about why I'm not blogging, which is really a roundabout way of telling you what I have been doing. I know, A+ for cleverness.

This is where I feel led to tell you about my "organizing." I have no choice but to put it in quotes because if there is one word in the English language that in no way describes me, it would be "organized." ("Organized" is tied for first with "delicate" and "reserved" but that is neither here nor there.)

My favorite part of any "organizational" project is shopping for and purchasing the supplies. You know, notebooks, labels, label makers, markers, pencils, bins, baskets, etc. Spending hours daydreaming about being "organized" in Office Max is right up my alley.

Spending hours actually organizing followed by a lifetime of staying organized makes me want to just throw everything away.

The reason for the recent project is that a very special piece of furniture in our house is no longer with us. Brad and I graciously offered to babysit our friends' armoire while they were in transition between apartment and house.

Here is the object of my sorrow:
Not this exact one, but you get the idea. It was in our bedroom, housing the TV and most of my desk "files" and "folders." Well, these precious friends moved and demanded it right back.

Not wanting to set the TV on the floor, thus obscuring our nightly viewing of "Jon and Kate+8," Brad gave generously of his time and sizable woodworking talents to create a suitable replacement made out of two by fours and a folding table.

He has also been taking decorating tips from me because he threw in a splash of color to hide the unsightly table legs.

That's klassy with a "k," for sure.

I love how he chose a delightful autumn tablecloth that puddles ever so slightly on the left side. The asymmetrical look of the 80's is not reserved only for clothing. Vern Yip would be proud.

In case you were wondering, that's a custom TV stand crafted out of the finest pieces of wood money can find in our basement.

I've always wanted a piece of "furniture" that simultaneously reminds me of an abandoned dorm room and a free electronics giveaway. One minute I am blogging about filling each tiny space of our house with beautiful things and the next I am a set of blocks and rusty sedan away from becoming the Clampetts. Pride apparently comes before the fall .

The real problem is not just that this bedroom storage "solution" is unsightly...it's that a folding table and see-thru TV stand provide no real storage for the 1,000 papers that remind me about things like birthday parties and teacher conferences that I've missed.

So then, we set up my desk as combined Entertainment/Home Office space:

I'm sure Ballard Designs will be featuring us and our creative, yet cute ideas in their next catalog.

Here is the thing: even though I am an "organizational" nightmare, I can't work amidst mess. I can't sleep with the computer humming or with papers scattered all over the place.

Which is why things got really hairy when we created the Entertainment/Home Office/Exercise Arena and Open Storage Areas:

That way I can mix in a few lunges and crunches with some Bible verse memory and paper "filing."

It took several days to find drawers with vacancy grand enough in which to stuff a year's worth of papers from preschool and kindergarten. Surprisingly, my paper overflow decreased substantially when I weeded out the book order forms from September and grocery receipts from 2006.

We are still mourning the beloved armoire that we knew and loved as our own for several months, but I have begun a mighty prayer campaign that it might be replaced before next fall when I need that table cloth and have to replace it with my Christmas table runners.

Don't Worry I'm Not Trapped Under Something Heavy

Sorry for the lack of blogging, but I've been facing some "issues." Oh, nothing serious, just stuff that keeps me from sitting at the computer.

Brad comandeered my laptop, which was the Mother Board o' the Blog. I used to type in 3 minute increments while standing at the kitchen island. Contrary to popular opinion, blogging didn't occur in hour-long stints from my VERY glamorous office (photos to come). As anyone over the age of 5 knows, mothers don't actually sit down during meals...it's more like interval training that is actually fattening instead of calorie-reducing.

Anyway, since I am now relegated to the desktop computer (horrors!) the blogging has slowed down a bit. When we moved in, we had the idea to insulate our bedroom wall (site of my swanky C-suite office) so when the kids are in high school, we can go to bed at a normal hour, while they stay up late and blare the surround sound in the next room.

That might be great in high school, but right now, it prevents me from hearing any crises until it gets so loud that the entire neighborhood has been alerted.

Which is why I can't really get to the computer.

Also.

It's March. Which tortures me. 75 degrees one day, snowing the next. My fragile psyche doesn't really handle bi-polar weather very well.

BRING THE SUN AND LET IT STAY! PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE.

Also.

I went to Santa Fe for the weekend. Even though I wrote at one point that I was opposed to all things New Mexican, I had the time of my life.

Because truly, there's nothing a little coffee, wine, shopping, and girl talk can't fix. And chocolate. And sleep, precious sleep.

There was no internet or TV for FOUR WHOLE DAYS and after I got over the shakes, it was quite pleasant. I never realized how many times a day, I want to go "look that up" on the interweb. Because my brain is very small.

But now I'm back to snowy reality.

I'll fill you in more in the days to come.

Until then, I will be fantasizing about warm, beachy locations that alternate lots of laying very still with eating mucho Mexican food.

(sigh)

Revenge of the Nerds meets Spaceballs

I know, every kid loves his or her own unique clothing combinations. But while some kids are passionate about a certain shirt or a specific style, Lilly is just about looking ridiculous. And she knows it.

It's deja vu all over again...

"Lilly, come down when you have your pajamas on!"

And then I usually add, "And don't forget to accessorize!"

(She does not love chunky jewelry yet, but I hope and pray that someday she will.)

Ta da:




The upside-down sticker and eye patch were lovely accents, but I still felt the outfit was unfinished.

We get very angry if she forgets key items like Darth Vader helmets and blasters:

In sixth or seventh grade, my favorite shirt style was one that involved tucking in the front but not the back. Nice. Ironically, I also spent many of my elementary years wearing my socks over leggings (and on a good day, they had stirrups on the bottom.)

Lilly has either been looking through my photo albums or has inherited my innate sense of ugly. I mean...our innate sense of ugly.

"Warning" "I've" "Overused" "Quotes"

Just so we're all clear, here's another photo of the Suburban:

Can you believe how the kids have aged since we last saw it? In case you've forgotten the whole car saga, we have been without The Vehicle That Is Very Much Ours since December 8th.

This is where I own up to the fact that it was ME who crashed it and the light post didn't jump out and use itself as a baseball bat to bash in the entire left side.

But still.

I didn't know it takes this kind of time to recraft what had better be an entirely new car plated with gold and platinum and more jewels than Solomon's temple.

At the risk of boring the vast and diverse reading audience, I've left out several twists and turns in this story the past few months. Brad and I just laugh with each other and add two weeks to any timetable the body shop gives us.

But today's little phone call from our "friend," "Jerry" seemed newsworthy enough.

The phone call started with an apology because the body shop wasn't going to be able to tow the Suburban to our very driveway this afternoon as promised.

No big deal.

Seriously, when they told us that earlier this week, we added the obligatory two week window to their quote and weren't expecting it back until early March.

But wait, I should back up.

The body shop had already towed the "completed" car to the location where we dropped it off. The very contientious employees immediately noticed that the door that was causing all this trouble STILL wasn't hung correctly.

They assessed this within 30 seconds of its arrival. These employees made this observation from inside the shop as it was parked far across the parking lot. Apparently the door hangers at the other location (the SUV is being shuttled back and forth for "quality" purposes...) didn't notice that it still looked like it had been in an accident even as they were up close and hopefully even touching it. And "fixing" it.

Seriously, if I didn't care how the door was hung I NEVER WOULD HAVE TAKEN IT TO GET FIXED OVER TWO MONTHS AGO AND MY FACE GETS RED JUST TYPING THAT.

(And exhale.)

To add to that, they noticed the paint "experts" didn't bother to paint the inside of the door.

Of course I laughed when they told me that because the exact words from the paint guy were, "It looks absolutely beautiful!"

I suppose that was his first day on the job and his background is in watercolors.

And I was all, "You painted it the ORIGINAL COLOR, right?"

I was nervous because auto paint isn't really supposed to look good; it's supposed to look like it was never re-painted after a wreck. Images of a Ramone -esque paint job flashed in my head but I quickly blocked them out.

Ok, so after all this hoopla about the Suburban being returned to the original body shop (I have no reason to believe you are actually following me in this lengthy Car Drama, but just try), "Jerry" calls.

(Clears throat.)

"In the process of rehanging and aligning the door today, we accidentally banged it into something else in the shop and are going to have to redo the entire rear panel again."

"Thank you for the update, 'Jerry.'"

"@#$*(_ #$@*()!@** &&%!!@??)*"

"*#($) **()) #$%^^."

(Brad and I spoke forcefully in loud voices.)

This new "challenge" apparently involves taking off the trim on the entire left side, removing the door, running boards, and (get your oxygen tank ready) REPAINTING THE LEFT SIDE OF THE CAR. That, I believe, was (one) of our original problems.

(Deep sigh. Inhale slowly. Drink something hard.)

"Jerry" is "sorry" but we still won't have our Suburban until "Tuesday."

"Right."