Here I come, chocolate in hand, to one lucky winner

Well, interpeeps, I am mighty impressed.

Some of you really like to watch movies (like me). Some of you? Not so much into the remembering of the lines. Why is that?

The Husband thinks I'm a freak. He can't remember what happened last week, let alone in a movie. And it boggles his mind that I always remember the obscure lines from a movie I saw years ago.

Yes, it's a disease.

No, I don't care.

So, here are the answers of the next 11 movies I expect to see in your Netflix que:

1. As Good As It Gets
Who doesn't love Jack Nicholson as Melvin Udall in this movie? He's just so insane that you find you actually relate to him. Admit it. You love him.

2. When Harry Met Sally
My other favorite line in that movie is "I'll have what she's having," but the scene at the end on New Years Eve is the best. Who knew we'd one day find Billy Crystal slightly attractive? Maybe that's what makes this movie so perfect.

3. Braveheart
Although, the line is also in "Shawshank Redemption," another of my favorites, I did write the quiz with a chiseled Mel Gibson wearing blue face paint in mind. An excellent, inspiring (albeit a teensy bit violent) movie.

4. Love Actually
One of my all-time favorite movies, and I just adore this line said by the often underestimated Alan Rickman. Snape character aside, I sure wouldn't complain if he got crumbs in the bed, you know what I mean? For his full deliciousness, re-watch him in "Sense and Sensibility." You will love him forever after his tender portrayal of Colonel Brandon.

5. Usual Suspects
Brilliant movie, total twist at the end. You will NEVER see it coming. Love it.

6. Pride & Prejudice
One cannot help but love Elizabeth for saying out loud that, yeah, a guy with money is pretty attractive, even if he's a little bit of a jerk. Hands-down, a lifetime favorite for me.

7. The Departed
NOBODY knew this one. It's a great movie, one most especially appreciated if you ever lived in Boston. A little heavy on the F-bombs, but still worth a watch. Another surprise ending you don't see coming.

8. Bridget Jones Diary
Ah, the ever delicious Colin Firth. I like you, too. Just as you are. Please call me, okay? And when you come, bring your Mr. Darcy costume. So, we can, uh, be sure of its quality, uh, workmanship. Yeah, that's it.

9. Steel Magnolias
Some of the best movie lines EVER come from this movie. I could do a post on just this movie alone. A classic, in its own right, for sure. It is one that must be passed down through the generations, just like a favorite old quilt or a set of dishes. I can't wait to share it with my little Hannah someday.

10. Terms of Endearment
Nobody guessed this one, either. This is probably my ALL-TIME-FAVORITE Jack Nicholson moment ever. I like it so much that I had to find the clip for you to watch. It's a little long, so if you are impatient (cough*Daniel*cough), then skip to about 5:19 and watch until 7:00 or so, you will see why I included it here. So very Jack. So unexpected from his character, yet also so befitting. It's my favorite part in the whole movie. Oh, and when you do watch this movie, you will need about eight boxes of Kleenex. I'm just sayin'.



Bonus: Good Will Hunting
A great movie, and an even greater line for the movie to end on. Makes me cry every.single.time. I love it.

Oh, and the random winner of the prize? I put all the numbers in a hat and had my kids pick one out. They picked:

Comment number 24..................GABI

Lucky for you, I already have your address. I will put myself in a box (with chocolate, of course) and be there overnight via FedEx. Please have a large stack of movies waiting.

Thanks for playing!

"Son of a @*%, he stole my line!"

I must tell you something about myself that you probably already know.

I love movies.

I love bad movies. I love good movies. I love old movies. I love new movies. (I don't, however, love horror movies). But a recent conversation with the Husband brought to mind just how much I love a good movie line. To me, there is nothing better than a well-written line. It's what takes a movie from ordinary to great. It's a singular sentence, delivered with precise timing and rhythm, that, out of nowhere, immediately resonates with your soul.

Do you know that feeling?

Maybe it makes you laugh. Maybe it makes you cry. Maybe it's just plain weird. And sometimes, it can be just so utterly brilliant that you know you must find a way to work it into casual everyday conversation, even though you'll never come off sounding as cool as Jack Nicholson did. But still, these lines stay with you long after a show is done. Sometimes a single line is greater than the sum of an entire movie.

So in honor of this, I thought I'd share my top ten favorite movie lines, and see if you could guess any of them. Though I could make this list about 200 long, I'll start with ten, and a bonus thrown in for fun.

NO CHEATING. Get your mouse off that google search right now. Just see if you know any of these off the top of your head. For anyone who takes an honest crack at it, I will randomly draw a winner. The prize will most definitely involve chocolate of some sort. Or maybe my favorite movie.

Or maybe you get to have me on your couch eating chocolate. Watching my favorite movie.

You never know.

In any event, here they are (and in no particular order):

ONE:
"Sell crazy someplace else, we're all stocked up here."

TWO:
"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

THREE:
"Every man dies. Not every man really lives."

FOUR:
"Invite him out for a drink, and then after about twenty minutes, casually drop into the conversation the fact that you'd like to marry him and have lots of sex and babies."

FIVE:
"The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world he didn't exist."

SIX:
"It has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began. But I believe it must date from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."

SEVEN:
"I'm the guy who does his job. You must be the other guy."

EIGHT:
"No, I like you very much. Just as you are."

NINE:
"Miss Truvy, I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair."

TEN:
"I love you, too, kid."

BONUS:
"Sean, if the professor calls about that job, just tell him, sorry, I have to go see about a girl."

Good luck! Contest ends Thursday at 6 p.m. central time.

Trying unsuccessfully to make sense of the world in which I live

While perusing a high quality periodical this week (which is a whole other post in and of itself), I came across something startling. It took me by surprise, and I'll be honest, was more than a little disturbing.

What frightened me were two different full-page advertisements. The first one was for this charming product:


Monkey Cuddles, they call it. A miniature baby monkey wearing a diaper, holding a half-peeled banana to his cheek, and sporting a saucy little bow on top of his head. And all of this adorable cuteness can fit right in the palm of your hand.

Oh, the google searches I'm going to get this week for that paragraph alone.

But really. I must know.

WHO BUYS THESE?

I am guessing old ladies in housecoats and slippers, who shuffle happily between their shelves full of Marie Osmond dolls, and the yellow pictures of grandchildren from 1968 still on the walls. These are probably the same suckers victims who willingly send all their life savings to Mr. Liu Yan and his many relatives who have billions of dollars trapped in overseas banks. (Oh, Liu. All the horror, and yet you somehow manage to still send eight emails to me every day. You're such a trooper).

That demographic I kind of get. I will never BE that person, but I can begrudge the old ladies their little treasures. Whatever.

But this one I will never understand. Here we have disturbing advertised product number two:


Yes, a skeleton wearing blue jeans and a leather vest, riding a Harley that is decorated with other skeleton heads, and proudly sporting a pirate flag on the back of the bike.

Please help me understand. WHAT DEMOGRAPHIC IS BUYING THIS?

I could be wrong, but I just don't picture a tough, tattooed, chiseled biker taking the time to order himself a porcelain figurine. What would he do with it? Do you think he would put it in his curio cabinet that's full to the brim with miniature tchotchkies, and then proudly display it at his next Hells-on-Wheels meeting, where he and his crew eat homemade tea cakes that he tenderly serves on lace doilies?

Yeah. Not likely to happen.

And I'm not imagining granny in her housecoat wants the biker skeleton, either.

I really hope somewhere in this world is a factory full of unsold figurines. Because that would mean nobody bought this crap, and my life, as I know it, would still make sense to me.

Unfortunately, I am sure there are many a parcel in the mail today with these very things in them.

I think I must be missing the tchotchkie gene. Because I just don't get it.

[My apologies to any readers who actually own these items. Please unsubscribe from my blog. We clearly have nothing in common. You are definitely in the wrong place if monkey and skeleton figurines are your thing. No hard feelings, okay?]

What happens when dad says yes

A conversation:

THEM: "Mom, can we go out and play in the backyard?"

ME: "Umm, no. Hello, it's raining?"

THE HUSBAND: "Why can't they go out? Let them do it. Don't say no. It won't hurt anything."

THEM: "Yay!"

ME: Groan. Mumble. Curse silently.

Thirty minutes pass, and there is a knock at the back door. I open it to find this little cheery sight:


And that, my dear husband, is EXACTLY why I said no.

Any questions?

If that's not love, what is?

"Do you love me?

Do I what?
Do you love me?

For twenty-five years I've lived with him,
Fought him, starved with him,
Twenty-five years my bed is his,
If that's not love, what is?

Then do you love me?
I suppose I do.
And I suppose I love you, too.
It doesn't change a thing, but even so,
after twenty-five years,
it's nice to know."

You know that song from Fiddler on the Roof where Tevye asks Golde if she loves him? And she rattles off a list of chores she has done for 25 years that proves her love?

I think I finally know just what they mean.

See, my husband is not the flower-sending kind. Don't get me wrong. I have gotten them. Just not on a regular, everyday basis like I think I should.

My husband is not the foot massage giving kind of guy. I think my ugly, knobby feet might actually disgust him. He's more the type to try massaging OTHER parts, if you know what I mean.

And my husband definitely is not the "Surprise! I bought you a sparkly new diamond ring for no reason!" kind of guy (unlike some lucky girls - hi, Emily!)

But I do know that he loves me.

How do I know? Because he builds me things like this, of his own accord and design, knowing just how much I need it in my life:

A giant, wall-sized bulletin board, covered in a pretty red-checked fabric. Divided into three sections, topped with crisp white wooden letters, clearly, and oh-so-neatly, denoting each kids' spot.

He knows the piles of papers that come home from the school need to have a home. And he knows that their current home (which is piled up on my desk) makes me crazy. So, he spent a whole Saturday last weekend putting this together for little ol' moi.

In addition to that, he gave up his lifelong dream of having a man cave downstairs and put wainscoting on the walls in the basement, knowing full well he'd never get to hang that rifle, Danish flag, and beer keg lid on walls as pretty as these.

So does he love me? I suppose he does.

Although, if he ever wanted to send flowers or big, sparkly diamond rings in addition to the house stuff, I wouldn't necessarily refuse them. You know, because I'm just so nice like that.

Thanks, baby.

After almost 15 years together, I suppose I love you, too.

God bless refined sugar

Several weeks ago, a reader named Tracy (hi, Tracy! Got a blog yet?) sent me her favorite brownie recipe. And because I like you, internets (and am constantly striving to fatten you up), I am going to share it with you.

Plus, we made and ate two pans of these in one week, so surely it is not fair that I get fatter while you do not.

Here now is what I have dubbed 'Tracy in Iowa's Sell-Your-Soul-to-Satan-For-One Brownies.' May your thighs have mercy on your soul.

Mix up a batch of your favorite fudge brownies. From a box, because surely no one makes brownies from scratch anymore, right?

Bake according to the directions, and allow to cool. When cool, spread with your favorite cream cheese frosting. Mine is the kind in a can because I'm just so lazy homespun like that.

Be sure to lick the knife clean when you are done. This is CRITICAL to the success of the recipe.

Then take 1 cup peanut butter and 2 cups chocolate chips. Melt in the microwave until smooth and creamy (took me less than a minute). Add 3 cups Rice Krispies to chocolate mixture and spread over the cream cheese frosting layer.

I know, right?


Then pop the entire pan into the fridge to speed up the setting process. Heaven forbid one should have to actually wait for them to be ready on their own. THAT would be a sin.

Then hide them from the kids, and be sure to eat at least four. Preferably six. If you eat half the pan, I promise to hold your hand through your next Weight Watchers meeting. If you don't, then I'm not sure we can be friends anymore.

Thanks, Tracy. Send me any more you've got because, clearly, this getting fatter thing seems to be working for me (at least in my neck, anyway).

What? You still here? Get thyself to the kitchen and start baking. Now!

Gracias, mine interpeeps

How much do I love the internet today?

So, so much.

You sure do know how to make a girl feel good. Even you lurkers that decided to come out and play. I thank you. From the bottom of my very short-haired heart. I think next time I'm feeling bad about myself, I will whine about it here, and wait for you all to make me feel pretty again. Seriously, thank you. Your kind words meant a lot to me. I am just blown away by all of it.

Now onto other non-hair related things (you mean the world doesn't revolve around my hair? Shocking, but true).

Yesterday was the first day of school. A buzz of energy, the kids got all ready in about six minutes, and then sat around waiting until it was time to go. When the time finally arrived, there was some moaning as they lugged their school supplies to the bus stop, which I was absolutely no help with. I mean, someone had to be snapping pictures, right? Who else will document these milestones?

Once at the bus stop, I forced them to endure the gratuitous, cheesy smile pose that moms everywhere are snapping this time of year. Backpacks on, freshly scrubbed faces, new clothes. Note to self: Must get more creative for next year. I'm thinking headstands on backpacks, human pyramid, flame-thrower in the background. Something.

McKay had a lot more anxiety and nervousness about this year, which surprised me. Poor kid could hardly eat anything for breakfast because his stomach was all in knots. Lucky for him, I ate enough for the two of us. Just trying to keep the universe balanced and all that (or so I'm trying to tell my thighs).


Hannah was definitely the most excited, "Aboutstartingfirstgrade! Ohmygoodness!! I'minfirstgradenow!! I can'tbelieveI'mfinallysogrownup!! I'minfirstgrade!!!" And that's exactly how it sounded all morning, I kid you not.
Chase was hardly nervous at all - telling his usual round of jokes, searching the ground for frogs, and asking how soon it was until lunchtime.

But in the end, only my baby girl looked back.


But only for a second, and then she was gone. Leaving me, my checkbook, my novels, and daytime movies all alone.

Whatever shall I do?

"Shelby was right, it DOES look like a brown football helmet"

All right, because you asked for it. Here is my new, unplanned hair. I still don't like it, but have at least managed to stop crying whenever I look into a mirror.

Pros of having short hair:

• Not spending 25 minutes with a blow dryer every morning.
• Not having to sweep up large piles of hair in the bathroom every day.
• Less money spent on shampoo and product means more money that can be spent on shoes.
• I could pose as a man and do undercover work, should I ever so desire.
• On hot and humid days, my neck isn't nearly as sweaty.
• No more ponytail headache.
• Much more interesting bed head in the morning.

Cons of having short hair:

• It's short.
• It's really, really short.
• It accentuates my fat neck (just ask the stylist from hell).
• I don't know how to style it very well.
• I am tempted to really tramp up the cosmetics in an effort to draw attention away from my hair, thus giving me a new look - drag queen in a bad wig.
• Hannah still telling me how ugly it looks.
• Having EVERYONE notice and comment on it is really embarrassing.
• Every other commercial on t.v. is for hair products, demonstrated by models with long, flowing locks. Who mock my pain on purpose, I know it.
• And I can do absolutely nothing about it.

P.S. Know the name of the movie where the title comes from? If you do, we are meant to be BFFs. If you don't, find out and rent it today.

Apparently I just don't speak hairdresser

Yesterday I made a mistake of colossal proportions. Ignoring the begging, pleading, and whining of the Husband, I proceeded, with my stubborn mind made up.

Girls, I am telling you now. Listen to your husbands. Sometimes, they just might be right.

I had decided that the time had come for me to cut my hair. And not just trim a little off the ends, but really cut. my. hair. It has been varying degrees of long for about the last six years.

And humidity and long hair? They don't get along so well.

I was tired of it and ready for a change, but also not wanting to go too short. So, for the last several weeks, I have been perusing websites, magazines, and people-watching in search of my new hair. One lucky day, I found it. It belonged to a girl who was innocently walking around the City Museum with her kids. Unbeknownst to her, I was stalking her hair, snapping away with my telephoto lens like a paparazzi. I had pictures of every angle of this hair, lest there be any confusion when I went in.

I need to pause in the telling of the hair story to tell you that I have not found my hair "person" here in St. Louis yet. I have gone in a few times for trims, but never really felt like I had found my stylist. Just haven't found that special someone. And if you're anything like me, this is a relationship that MUST be just right. It requires almost as much thought and prayer as choosing your spouse.

You know it's true.

So, armed with my arsenal of pictures, I made an appointment. The day arrived, and I excitedly headed in, ready to meet the new me.

Well.

The stylist I had blindly chosen did not agree with my hairdo of choice. She flat out refused to give it to me. Then, in a move I'll never fully comprehend, told me I was too old to be able to pull it off. Oh, and that it would accentuate my fat neck.

Excuse me?

There are a lot of parts of me that I will agree are fat and jiggly, but up until that moment, I was fairly confident my neck wasn't one of them. I should have gotten up and ran from her chair right then.

But the coward that I am, I stayed right there. And with a few thousand flicks of her scissors, she gave me her version of the haircut, which in no way, shape, or form resembled the one I was looking for. I left the salon in tears. My hair was not only A LOT shorter than I wanted, but I looked like I had a giant poofy bell taking up space around my head, ringing as I walked. It was HORRIBLE.

Calling and sobbing to the Husband did very little good, as he had advised against cutting it in the first place. To his credit, there were no "I told you so's," but we all know how well the men deal with the tears. They really don't know HOW to deal with them.

So, I frantically ran to my friend Mindy's house, tears streaming, and hair-bell ringing. Thankfully, Mindy is someone you can count on to be brutally honest, but in a kind, loving way. And with a hug and a diet coke, she handed me the phone and the number of a male stylist, the likes of which I should have seen in the first place.

A few hours later, lots of laughs in the second salon at my botched job, and my hair is as fixed as it can be. It is, unfortunately, really, really short. So short, in fact, that I am not in a mental place where I can even take pictures of it yet. In a few days I might be ready, but not today. I'm still working on coming down off this ledge.

Which would probably be easier to do if Hannah would stop telling me just how ugly it is, you know, every eight minutes or so.

By the way, she's for sale. Cheap. And she comes with a lifetime supply of polly pockets. Any takers?

The only bright rainbow in this cloudy hair storm? At least I found my new hair person. If only I'd found him a few hours earlier.

Picking the collective brain of the internet

After a weekend spent ignoring my family reading, I finished a few days ago. [And I will only say that I liked it, was mildly disappointed in the anticlimactic ending, and would rather have had a little more written detail about the you-know-what that was going on ALL OF THE TIME, apparently. Stupid young adult audience. Spoils it for the rest of us.]

Anyway, I am left with just one question.

Now what do I read?

I have been on a reading frenzy ever since our catastrophic vacation. I have sped my way through all of Philipa Gregory's Henry VIII books (and loved each and every one of them. I may even be a little in love with crazy Henry now. I know. Don't tell my boyfriend Edward. And certainly don't tell the Husband).

I have devoured this, this, this, and this in the last few weeks alone, among others.

But I find myself at a loss. Browsing my favorite online bookstores is not netting me any inspiration. What should I read next? Where can I focus my near-obsessive personality?

Certainly not my husband and children. Oh, no. Not them. They wouldn't know what to do with themselves.

So, I look to you, dear interpeeps, to help me in my time of need.

What are your favorite reads? What have you read lately that you loved and could not put down?

Please tell me another book or series that I can become addicted to. Give me some more reason to ignore my laundry, dirty bathrooms, and children [as if blogging weren't enough, right?]

Right. You know what I'm talking about.

The last week of summer

I am starting to think that I just might miss these little friends when they go back to school in nine days, 16 hours, and four minutes.



But who's counting, anyway?

Summer Fun Photo Contest

5 Minutes for Mom is having a little photo contest. Somebody has to win, right? Here's my little try. Thanks, Girlymama , for the heads-up. Here goes nothin'!

A plea, in spite of myself

Tomorrow, the fourth installment of my Edward fix the Bella/Edward/Jacob saga will be released. And you know that because, like me, you, too, have shred every ounce of dignity and self-respect by caving into the mania that is the Twilight series.

I wanted to NOT like these books. Really, I did.

I tend to want to buck trends simply out of spite. I don't like to do something, just because everyone else is doing it or saying that I should.

I resisted reading even the back cover of the first one until well after the first three had been published and were dominating all the best seller lists. I listened to friends prattle on about how romantic they were, how lovely Edward was, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.

And teen fiction?

I wasn't reading that when I was a teen.

But Ms. Meyers has created another tragic, haunting hero that I have grudgingly put on the mental boyfriend shelf next to Heathcliff, Mr. Darcy, Edward Ferrars, and Atticus Finch (come on, you know you all want him, too).

Edward (in spite of the fact that he's a blood-sucking vampire) has become a household name at women's gatherings. We talk of him, we dream of him, and some women out there even make shirts, plastering his name across their chests. In my grown-up, semi-responsible mother world, I have never seen anything like this. It feels like the Beatlemania of our housewife generation.

And here is where I make a solemn plea to our dear Ms. Meyers.

Tomorrow, I will pick my copy up, bright and early at the bookstore. I will most likely spend a couple of days ignoring my family while reading this new book. But should I get to the end and find that Jacob The Dog wins, I will be seriously ticked off that I wasted any time on these books at all.

You did not suck me into this teen crap to leave our darling boy alone for all eternity. Do not go for an ending with controversy, as some authors are prone to do. GIVE US WHAT WE WANT ALREADY. Have him suck the life out of her, turn her into one like him, and let them spend eternity hunting mountain lions together, as two perfectly beautiful stone-cold vampires.

[Oh, geez. Tell me I did not just write that last sentence. I really need help, as do all of you, vehemently nodding your heads in agreement while reading this in your "I heart Edward" t-shirt. Come on, you know who you are.]

But seriously. If it doesn't end well, I be one unhappy mama.

Please let it end well.

Torturing her brothers, one ABBA song at a time

What happens when your obsessive tendency towards all things musical combines with your daughter's obsessive tendency towards all things musical?

I'll tell you what happens.

It began last weekend when a perfect storm presented itself in the form of, "The boys are going to Batman, what should we do tonight?"

In a moment of weakness, I took her to see my new obsession.

And now it has become her new obsession. She spends hours and hours every day, rocking out to the soundtrack from Mamma Mia. The boys come begging and pleading, fingers in their ears, offering to sell their souls if I can only MAKE IT STOP, ALREADY.

But I can't make it stop. (And secretly, I don't want to.)

For she IS the dancing queen.

Young and sweet, [thinks she's] only seventeen...

She can dance, she can jive...

Having the time of her life...

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen...

I think it's the perfect payback for their little soldier firing squad. Don't you?

She's one of a kind

If everyone had an Annie, the world would be a much better place.

When you went to the local pool, instead of finding it packed as usual, you would have the place all to yourself. You would sit in amazement, scratching your head, wondering where all the people are.

But only for a moment, because you'd soon be too busy to worry about that anymore. Instead, you would share in the joy of your kids as they dive repeatedly without having to wait in line once.

Poolside chairs in the shade would be empty, and fun would had by all. People and OK Magazine would be on hand to provide Hollywood relationship speculation, fashion critiquing, and comparisons between yourself and the Jolies, Witherspoons, and Albas of the world.

But with Annie by your side, she would be quick to remind you of all the qualities that none of those girls have, that only you possess.

You would instantly feel much better about being you.

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, sightseeing trips to the Arch would result in children that magically pose for the camera, with smiles on their faces:

And you would only have a few shots that looked like this (but it would be because you laughed and let them do it, not because it was the best they could give):

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, movies like this would be on the big screen, just waiting with all their magical campiness for you to arrive with your popcorn and diet coke in hand.

With Annie by your side, you would squirm just a little when Bond, James Bond, takes his turn to sing. But you would also be rewarded with the surprising sweetness of Mr. Darcy's voice and the awesome girl power that is the Dancing Queen.

_________________

If everyone had an Annie, even when rain blows in and stays for three days, fun would still be found indoors. A new sport would be invented called Boxing Glove Baseball. It would revolutionize life as you know it for 10-year-old boys, 8-year-old boys, and 6-year-old little sisters:

_________________

And if everyone had an Annie, chick flicks would smoothly transition into late-night discussions which would solve the world's troubles, all while you are doubled over with laughter.

Ordinary Moms would become philosophers, and clarity would be found on critical issues such as child raising and husband management. Kettle corn and diet coke would be the food of choice for such occasions, and would never show up on thighs the next morning.

And that bittersweet moment when you have to drop off your perfect guests at the airport? It will turn into shock and surprise when you come home to receive the flowers she has ordered. For you. To thank YOU, of all things.

What's that, you say? You don't have an Annie?

Oh, I'm so sorry. But I really just don't want to share her. She's all mine.

And she's absolutely the best.

Thanks for a great week, friend!

Must. Stop. Cleaning

About 12 hours from right now, I will be picking her up from the airport.

I really cannot wait.

I have been in pre-visitor house cleaning mode all day, and I think it is time I staged my own intervention. I need to step away from the mop, duster, vacuum, and Febreeze. Annie knows me, Annie loves me, Annie has seen my real life.

And, truth be told, I think she might like me a little more if she were to walk in and actually find my house a mess.

I wish I could do it, but I just can't.

With her on this visit comes Sam, the long-missing third musketeer to my two boys.

They are beyond excited.

The only one unhappy about this current situation is Hannah, who is pouting because Annie's two girls are not coming along, as they stayed behind for girl's camp. The concept that Annie's daughter's have lives of their own is totally lost on Hannah. I mean, Hannah, who spends a good deal of every day acting as though she were 15, cannot comprehend why real 15-year-old girls have better things to do than play dress up and listen to High School Musical.

I know, right?

Anyway, we are so excited for these friends to visit. And there is nothing like having a few house guests to force your husband to finally do what you've been nagging him to do for months motivate you to finish all those house projects.

Top of that completed list? The Husband finally replaced the baseboards that were missing after we removed some hideous built-ins. You know, when we moved in OVER A YEAR AGO (not that I've nagged him about it or anything).

And after about 186 trips to Home Depot, we also finished our basement wainscoting project (which I'll post photos of soon).

What I will spare you from, however, are the photos of my boys walking around Home Depot with toilet seats on their heads while laughing maniacally.

Because some things are just too disturbing.

See you soon, Annie and Sam!

Taking his turn as a poet

During the school year, McKay's teacher had the class do their own version of Judith Viorst's poem, "If I were in charge of the world." Her poem has always been a favorite of mine, and I like his version even better. It gives you insight into his personality, which is oftentimes so agreeable that his dislikes tend to be kept to himself (I know, great kid, huh?)

But it's interesting to me the things he would eliminate and the things he would keep, if he were in charge of the world. I think it would be an excellent psychological assessment tool to see what we'd all write. Maybe I'll do one of my own soon.

If I were in charge of the world
By McKay

If I were in charge of the world
I'd cancel wars,
Broccoli
Mean people, and also
slow computers

If I were in charge of the world
there'd be mansions everywhere,
servants, and
no homework.

If I were in charge of the world
You wouldn't have germs.
You wouldn't have laundry
You wouldn't have disgusting foods
Or "clean the yard"
You wouldn't even have to clean.

If I were in charge of the world
Foods with sugar would be healthy.
Everything would cost 1 penny.
There would be no work
And a person who sometimes has bad grades
And sometimes has bad days
Would still be able to be
in charge of the world

Uh-oh, Spaghettios

Here's an interesting tidbit I bet you didn't know: Some of the greatest contributions to mankind have been accidents of science.

Yes, that's right.

Important accidents, like Penicillin and x-rays, that changed life as we knew it forever.

And there were also some less-important things like Silly Putty, potato chips, and Viagra - all brought to us by accident.

Today, another accidental discovery was made, right here in my house.

It will never cure cancer. It will never redefine medical science. It will definitely never bring life back to any men suffering from E.D.

It will, however, cause me to develop a brain aneurysm.

Our scientist? She, the one I so glowingly sang the praises of a few days ago.

Her experiment?

How far spaghettios will travel when accidentally dropped from the kitchen table:

The answer, in case you were wondering?

About 12 feet in all directions.

And if that weren't enough, the spaghettios somehow defied gravity, and climbed UP THE BACK OF THE CHAIR, as though trying to return to the table from whence they came.

How many seconds before my head exploded, you ask?

About eight seconds. (I was a little shell shocked and had a delayed reaction.)

As a result of our accidental discovery, we now know that all it takes to turn me into a manic, mumbling fool is to cover half of my kitchen with tiny, little O's and sticky tomato sauce.

Please, internets, we're professionals here.

Do not try this at home.

She

Holding her tiny hand, I look down to see her clutching the doll tightly to her chest. Her skin is soft, and her fingers, entwined in mine, give a slight squeeze. I smile inside when the tiny bunnies painted on her nails catch my eye.

I say a silent prayer of thanks for someone up above who knew that I needed to girl up my life by having her in it.

Before she came, nobody wore pink. I was the only one who ever listened to Broadway show tunes. And the tears that fall inevitably during movies like Charlotte's Web? Until she came, they were mine alone.

Now, it is her cheeks that I wipe tenderly at the movie theater. It is our shared conspiracy when we pick musicals for family movie nights, knowing those boys of ours won't like it one bit. It is her eye that catches mine and smiles when we see them squirm. We're a team now, she and I.

It is she, this tough little chica, who still likes to climb in for a snuggle with her mama at three in the morning. She, who mocks me for eating the same thing every day for lunch, but yet turns and does it herself.

And sometimes, when looking at her, I feel as though I am looking into a mirror. But then at in a flash, she is off, and it makes me sigh in wonder at this unique person that is all her own.

She is baby and princess, teenage-wannabe and wise sage, all rolled into one. She is delicate and tender, but still not afraid to climb trees with the boys. She knows what she wants, and is impatiently waiting for life to deliver it. She's my very own spice girl.

And I wouldn't trade her for the world.

Mars versus Venus

A simple illustration of one of the fundamental differences between boys and girls.

When a girl wants to look nice, it goes a little something like this:

A boy cannot comprehend any reason to look nice. It simply doesn't compute. Let's be honest, even hygiene can be a bit tricky for the average young male to grasp, let alone style.

But dressing up? This is their version:
Any questions?

Never Poke a Sleeping Bear

You know the phrase, "So-and-so is a mean drunk," right?

Well, have you ever heard the phrase, "The Husband So-and-so is a mean sleep?"

Someone I know is a mean sleep. This someone is kind, attentive, thoughtful, and loving.

As long as he is awake.

But when he is deep in the throws of REM, there is a whole other side of his personality that comes out. The first time it happened was near the end of my first pregnancy. It was smack dab in the middle of a bitter Minnesota winter. I was sicker than a dog, and unable to take any medication (due to the pregnancy, and our desire to not have our child born with a third nipple or horns on his head. Because that's what they tell you will happen if you take anything resembling medication while pregnant, you know).

So, one night at about three in the morning, I started coughing.

And coughing.

And coughing. (I don't deny it was annoying.) But this certain someone sits up, shoves me to the very edge of our bed and yells, "KNOCK IT OFF!"

I, of course, immediately curled up in the fetal position and spent the next several hours crying, imagining my impending divorce, and wondering how I would raise my newborn baby all by myself.

And when the sun came up? Mr. I-Have-Rage-When-I-Sleep had no memory of his bad behavior. He was oblivious to the hurt feelings and wounded heart that I had nursed all night. He simply didn't remember. And he felt horrible when he found out.

Over the years, I've been unable to break him of this annoyingly bad habit. Most times, it's merely mumbling and cursing under his breath if something wakes him up unexpectedly. But the latest installment happened a few nights ago. The Husband had fallen asleep in the basement while watching TV. I gently shook his shoulder and asked him (in my sweetest voice, mind you) if he wouldn't like to come upstairs and sleep in his own bed.

He looks at me in a daze, starts grumbling, and says, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"

Now.

If I were new to the whole angry sleep thing, I might have been offended. And sad. And ready to call Sleeping Rage-A-Holics Anonymous. But you know what I did? I smiled, laughed, and left him to sleep - alone on the couch, all night.

Because that crook he'll feel in his neck the next morning?

Totally serves him right.

A sign they're returning to life

Look what I found on the kitchen table this morning:

It leads me to wonder just what the poor little thing could have done to make the soldiers so angry? Probably had the audacity to exist, that's what. You know how princesses are always flagrantly committing that crime.

Luckily, I dismantled the firing squad before Hannah was aware of the harm being done to her beloved Princess Polly Pocket.

I am considering showing her the picture and then helping her dress all their toy soldiers up in Barbie clothes.

Think it's too much for a Monday morning?

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

"Been away...now I'm back!"

(Is it scary that I can relate to this a little bit after last week?)

Okay, okay. I promise to stop whining about the sick kids. I believe I have finally left the trail of apologies and vomit behind me. Regular, boring, everyday life posts will now commence.

Now I've got you wishing for the vacation again, haven't I?

Wait. Don't answer that.

If I had a crystal ball

If I had a crystal ball (which, at this point, I might consider selling my soul to Satan for one), I would have been able to save myself quite a bit of anxiety and frustration on this little vacation of ours (which, by the way, is still going strong tripping along pathetically).

There are so many things that I wish I could have known. So much might have been different.

If I had a crystal ball, I would have been able to see that two days after arriving in Utah, Hannah would come down with strep throat. I would have seen that Utah is a one-horse town when it comes to health plans, and even though my insurance is perfectly willing to pay them, the urgent care clinic will refuse to bill on my behalf. I would have saved myself the headache and just paid the $250 they wanted in cash, rather than spending three hours in search of a doctor that WOULD bill our insurance.

I would also have been a little more insistent in not letting her play with her cousins, and making her get some rest. Even if she said she felt fine.

If I had done that, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have GOTTEN STREP AGAIN.

Yes, I know.

And maybe if we'd known, she wouldn't have thrown up all over my mother-in-law's floor in the middle of the night, a mere 12 hours after the Husband and I left for San Diego (or at least Oma would have had that bowl ready). And then maybe she wouldn't have laid around feverish and pukey at my mother's house for the next two days - contagious, and spreading her germs like wildfire.

And if I had that crystal ball, I might not have had to leave my gorgeous five-star resort in San Diego to come home a day early. It certainly would have predicted that I'd be spending the night on my mother's couch, next to Chase and Hannah, waking up groggily to the sound of their coughs, feverish chills, and sprints to the bathroom.

The crystal ball would have told me that THEY BOTH HAD STREP, and advised me to take the third child to the clinic at the same time as the other two, even though he seemingly had no symptoms. It would have also told me that at the EXACT MINUTE I get home from the two-hour wait at the urgent care with Chase and Hannah, poor McKay would be moaning, groaning, and complaining of the same symptoms as the others.

And that second trip BACK to the urgent care? It would have been nice to know that once we waited for another two hours, his strep test was going to still come back negative.

And then, two days later, after McKay has rebounded, he would wake up at four in the morning, puking his guts out. Yes, in hindsight, it would have been nice to foresee that.

You know, at the very least, for my brother Craig, who was generously chaperoning the cousin sleepover in the backyard tent.

I'll bet he would have liked the warning to move his sleeping bag out of the way.

I could be wrong, but I don't think so.

So yesterday, as I was hauling McKay into a doctor's office for what would be our FIFTH clinic visit during this supposed vacation, I find myself pining and wishing for that crystal ball.

Because, armed with the knowledge of what this trip would turn into, I just might have jumped on the nearest train.

And never even looked back.

Wait...is it still to late to do that?

Giving Answers

Remember that true/false quiz I did like a million days ago? Well, I finally have found a winner.

And I must say that you interpeeps know me a little better than I had thought. I cannot believe how close the results were. It took forever to find out who won because, as Andrea predicted, I sat here like a teacher grading papers for hours.

I'm such an idiot. Whatever.

But we do have a winner...CJ the Purple Diva got the most correct - 14 out of 15 right. Pretty impressive considering she's never even met me in real life.

Ready for the answers?

1. True - I was writing from my bed while chowing down on some delicious room service pancakes. Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

2. True - I have read six books so far. Comes with the territory of 9,305 hours in the car, I guess. The books are: Austinland, The Last Lecture, The Birth of Venus, The Wednesday Letters, Everyone Worth Knowing, and The Second Coming of Lucy Hatch. If I was worth my salt, I'd link to all those for you, but I'm just not up to it today.

3. True - I have hardly exercised at all. And do I care? HELL TO THE NO.

4. False - I did NOT do the zip line, alpine coaster, or alpine slide. I am a big fraidy cat, and my children were sure to mention this. Out loud. Multiple times. For everyone within a 60-mile radius to hear.

5. True - I did sit by a blind man at the airport and watched in amazement as he pulled out his laptop and proceeded to work. It was very cool - he had a microphone and headset that enabled him to navigate through his whole system. The only thing he was missing was a privacy shield so people like me didn't sit there and stare at what he was typing.

6. False - I was not hit on, by either handicapped or otherwise. Thanks for the flattery though, friends.

7. False - Me, not buy something new? Are you kidding me? Hello! I practically asked the ladies at the Coach outlet store to marry me, I was that much in love with the wares they were peddling. Yes, shopping has taken place. Way too much shopping.

8. True - We are calling this the vacation of the sick kids. More on that later, when I stop rocking in the fetal position long enough to share the stories with you.

9. True - I did go white water rafting, and I did not fall in. It was actually quite fun.

10. True - The seat belt. Yes. This is an incident we are trying not to speak of. Ever again. Let's just say that Hannah had entangled herself beyond my ability to get her out, I panicked, and I cut her out.

11. False - The Husband was NOT PLEASED in the least that this had happened. He may or may not have wished it was my neck choking once he saw the damage done to the car. Let's just say he was not a happy camper.

12. True or False - I gave you all credit for this one. I did order a virgin pina colada, it came as I intended, and I drank it. Disappointing, I know.

13. True or False - I also gave you credit for this one, as well. I did force the Husband (against his will) to get a pedicure. He did not like it. I think he must not have one lick of good sense. Who doesn't like a pedicure? People who think cars need seat belts, that's who.

14. False - I have religiously applied sunscreen. These freckles do not need any more of an opportunity to multiply. They're doing that just fine on their own.

15. True - I had not done any blog reading up until that point. Haven't done much since, but that's a story for later.

Thanks for playing! CJ, send me your address and a good mail package will be coming your way.

True or False: Vacation edition

Time seems to be slipping away from me here on this seemingly never-ending vacation. I cannot believe it's...wait. What day is it?

Anyway, I am now here in sunny cloudy San Diego with the Husband, while the children are spending a few days being spoiled by their grandparents. His firm has an annual conference every summer, and spouses and children are invited strongly encouraged to attend. I have spent the last 12 hours answering the question of "BUT WHERE ARE YOUR KIDS?" until I am blue in the face. I think I'll make a sign and put it around my neck that says, "WE HAVE JUST SPENT 14 DAYS IN THE CAR WITH OUR CHILDREN. 'NUFF SAID."

Subtle, yes? I think so.

Anyway, to catch you up on my doings for the last week or so, I thought I'd make up a little quiz. Every answer is true or false, and you get to decide which is which. I realize you have no way of knowing which outlandish tale is true and which is not, but that's all part of the fun, right?

And the first person to get every answer right will receive a surprise in the mail when I get home (that is, if I ever do get home).

So, here it is: STIE'S TRUE OR FALSE QUIZ

1. As I write this, I am lying in my bed, gorging myself on pancakes instead of socializing with the other wives at the company breakfast.
2. I have read six books in the last two weeks.
3. I have exercised only four times.
4. I did the Zip Line, Alpine Slide, and Alpine Coaster in Park City, and LOVED every second of it.
5. I sat down next to a blind man at the airport and he pulled out a laptop and started typing. You know, kind of interesting because HE CAN'T ACTUALLY SEE HIS COMPUTER.
6. I was hit on by a non-handicapped man.
7. I have not bought myself one new item of clothing.
8. One of my children has already been sick twice on this trip (and one of those sicknesses turned out to be strep, which we found out after a maddening three-hour hunt to find a doctor that would take our insurance).
9. I went white water river rafting down the Colorado River and did not fall in, as I had feared.
10. One of my children became tangled in their seat belt and I was unable to get them out. In a panic, I cut the seat belt, seeing no other option. That's right, I CUT THE SEAT BELT, as in, irreparable severing of a much-needed safety device in our car.
11. The Husband was so relieved that the child was safe that he didn't care at all about the damage done to our car, and didn't once wonder what it was going to cost to repair.
12. I ordered a virgin pina colada, only to find it non-virgin when it arrived. I drank it anyway.
13. I am taking the Husband for his-and-hers pedicures today, and he is excited about it.
14. I have refused to wear sunscreen even once, and now sport a lovely, cancerous shade of red all over my body.
15. At this typing, I have not read one single blog since we left home (but plan to rectify that very soon).

Good luck, if there are any of you even still checking this blog. Happy guessing!

Heat, heights, and my ever-expanding thighs

We are now at Lake Powell. I am sitting in the hotel lobby on a borrowed computer because nobody out here in the desert seems to have heard of WiFi. I only have time to get in a quick post, as there is a line waiting for this one precious computer, and some bratty teenager (probably missing her MySpace page) is sighing deep breaths and tapping her foot impatiently next to me.

Should I hurry?

Right now, it is 5,698 degrees outside. And do you know what? Lake Powell doesn't have any trees. I'M. NOT. KIDDING. I had all this ambition to go for a quick evening run once we got here. Ambition that was bred out of six hours in the car and lots of sugary snacks at my feet.

But now those sweet sugary snacks that were once at my feet will reside permanently on my thighs.

Stupid thighs. Stupid heat.

Anyway, the drive here was anything but boring. The Husband decided to take a "shortcut" on an unpaved, windy mountain road for 75 miles. He neglected to mention anything to me other than he found out about a shortcut. I was excited at first.

But me and heights? We get along about as well as me and sheer terror. I'm talking white-knuckled, heart pounding, I'm-going-to-die-at-any-moment-type of terror. It was not a pretty sight.

I'm hoping tomorrow that he redeems himself when we're out on the lake on a boat - cruising along leisurely like the 80-year-old woman inside me wants to do, and not barreling through the water like the 17-year-old boy inside of him wants to do.

Wish me luck.

Travel Tips from Zion

Greetings, internets, from Zion National Park.

Have you ever been here? It is so beautiful. Sheer, towering cliffs of red rock, hot desert air, and wildlife abound. We have spent two days hiking, shopping, swimming, and hunting reptiles. I have observed some very interesting things down here, and thought I'd share a few with you.

Because nothing is better than reading about someone else's vacation, right?

I know. Sorry.

Anyhoo, it has come to my attention that there are a lot of women in the world who, for reasons unknown to me, do not shave. ANYWHERE. It is all I can do to not hand out disposable Bic razors to every hippie/European/granola girl I meet. I'd also like to take them for an eyebrow wax and shoe store visit, but first things first. ARMPITS, girls. It's just plain disgusting.

If my waitress/restaurant cashier is literally 10 years old, I will not blindly trust her skills when she rings up my dinner bill to $80 for a few cheeseburgers. It is a good idea to have her re-check the math before paying.

Hiking in 100 plus degree temperatures will bring the poor little princess Hannah to tears. She will proclaim today as the worst day of her entire life, and resign herself to laying down and dying there on the trail.

This fervent declaration will still not produce enough guilt to entice me to carry her sorry self up the steep mountain, much to her chagrin.

She will survive the mountain hike, but find herself terrified of the man-eating squirrel that will decide to take a bite out of the Husband's finger for no apparent reason. The man-eating squirrel does not carry mad squirrel disease, of this I am sure. But if the Husband starts foaming at the mouth anytime soon, I might need some help from Dr. Google on how to treat rabies.

If there is a "fossil and gem" store, DO. NOT. STOP. Stopping will have Chase suddenly finding every item that his heart has now, or ever will, desire, and I will have to spend an hour talking to the kindly owner of the store while Chase peruses the crap for sale merchandise. I will find myself unable to concentrate on anything but the man's lack of teeth.

How does a person not have teeth in this day and age? I just don't get it.

And lastly, watching people argue in another language is really funny.

Until they stop their argument to stare at you. Then it's not so funny. It's just embarrassing.

But as I walk away red-faced, I will not lose heart. For although I may be a rude, staring American, at least my armpit hair isn't longer than my husband's.

And that, internets, is enough to let me sleep well at night.

On the road again

Oh, hello there.

It's me.

No, I have not forgotten you, little blog. I got so busy before we headed out of town that I neglected to let you know that I was leaving.

Well, now it's too late because I've already left. We are taking a little time away as a family. Seeing some old friends, family, and taking our kids to places they've never been before. So far, we have:

-Spent 18 hours together in the car.

-Killed 9,345 bugs with our windshield.

-Slept in the same room for two (going on three) nights. Yes. All five of us, including the incredibly-loud snoring princess who, for reasons I cannot fathom, feels compelled to sleep within three inches of my face, with one of her arms touching me AT. ALL. TIMES.

Which isn't annoying at all.

-We celebrated the Husband's birthday and Father's Day.

-We watched as Chase caught and released two reptiles, and tried not to laugh at Uncle Micah, who squealed like a little girl when he saw them.

-We made our traditional pilgrimage to eat devour the delicious perfection that is a hamburger at Hires.

-We witnessed a drug bust on the Utah State Capitol grounds, which involved a lot of policemen wielding very large weapons firearms.

-We said our final farewell to the mohawk.

-And we ate our weight in red velvet cake. If the red velvet cake and Hires are any indication, I'd say it's shaping up to be an excellent vacation.

I don't know that I'll get any pictures uploaded before we get home, but I'll definitely be back to fill you in as we go. The Husband has promised his laptop in exchange for my cooperation on jet skis, river rafting trips, motorcycles, and long hikes.

What he doesn't know yet is that it will also require lots of extra shopping, pedicures, and napping. We won't tell him that part today though.

We'll wait until the time is right. Like when he's in the middle of all his manly fun.

Because I'm just a good and thoughtful wife that way.

What? Shut up.

Little boy heaven

Well, I survived cub scout day camp. Or what I will now refer to as the long-lost-wannabe-branch-of-the-military-camp.

Have you ever met a professional scouter?

This is one hard-core group of men who take their jobs at scout camp very seriously. They run a pretty tight ship. They are in favor of sharp commands and crisp salutes.

They will definitely yell when necessary.


They are very pro-NRA and did not stop short of recruiting me and my absent husband to sign ourselves right up.

They do not like you to refer to a BB gun as a weapon. It is a firearm, thankyouverymuch. [Won't make that mistake again. No, siree.]

And they are unaware that they are not actually generals in the Army. Believe me when I tell you, I so wanted to be the person to tell them.

But I didn't. I behaved and followed the rules.

I asked for permission to enter the range (where we shot beans from sling shots). I wore my large, ugly protective eye wear to prevent any stray beans from causing me blindness. I was absolutely still and silent during the BB gun shooting so as not to distract the cub scout shooters who were engaging their wimpy powerful firearms.

Yes, because when holding a firearm, all an eight-year-old boy really wants to focus on is his mother. Not the fact that he has an actual gun in his hands that he has been given permission to use.

Whatever.

And I even stood a safe distance outside of the live missile zone in the archery area. Unlike Mr. Scouting General, Sir! that you see in the background here:

But the boys? Best week of their lives (their words, not mine). All of the guys in our group had a good time. No one died on my watch. No one shot their eye out. No one was kicked out or had their firearm taken away.

And no one joined the NRA that I am aware of.

I'd say that makes it a roaring success. Hoo-rah!