An Artful Christmas

Happy December. 

Take that greeting to heart because we all know that in about a week or so I am going to be heartily sick of all things holiday and saying as much every chance I get. 

I discussed this phenomenon earlier this year with one of my BFF's and we came to the conclusion that part of the problem stems from the insane over commercialization of Christmas.

 I know.

 Ground breaking stuff.

 Even though it may be well trodden ground, I still feel it to be very true for me. 

That is why the Christmas subway art that has been rolling around in my head since October morphed from bright and jolly, Santa and holly into this:

I took a 9x12 flat canvas and covered it in pages from an ancient copy of Les Miserables.

 Don't freak out-it was literally in pieces.

 From there it was a matter of  laying the vinyl on top.

 Besides the actual design of the words, (everybody knows that's the hard part)

 the thing that took me the longest was

 finding sufficiently festive ribbon that didn't clash with the yellowed book pages. 

Pleased with it I am. Hang it I will.

Maybe if I get it up quickly, I can stave off the 

Holiday Blahs 

for a few more days than usual.

P.S. Can you tell I watched Star Wars this last weekend? 

I love being a nerd.

Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after me.

Here's the thing,

I have become a prisoner in my own home. 

I know. Sounds a little far-fetched. Possibly even overly-dramatic.

 It's true though. 

I am being pursued by a very determined ward missionary lady. The very same one that seems to be overly fond of the dreaded drop-in visit. The one I mention here. Besides one or two random texts from her, I haven't had any contact with her since then. BUT-according to the kids, I have had a few narrow escapes in the last few weeks. It is only by sheer luck that I have missed her follow up drop-in visits. And, since I am NEVER lucky for long, I am sure that on her next visit she will find me home alone, too drunk to remember that I no longer answer the door and forgetting that I'm not wearing pants or something until it is too late. 

Now, lest you think I am just being paranoid, I can offer further proof that I am in danger of having to endure another awkward drop-in. Awkward on my side, that is. I'm sure she will just go home and take a couple of  nice hot showers to wash away the stench of ghetto she picks up from her required visits to our side of the tracks. 

It started with a text I received at 8:30 on Sunday morning. It woke me up of course. Any self-respecting mother with children old enough to feed themselves breakfast doesn't get out of bed until 9 (9:30, 10:00-close enough) on the weekends. Replace lazy for self-respecting in that last sentence and it describes me to a T. 

The transcript:

Lady: morning, thinking of u & how it would be so fab to be w/u at church in our little class after sacrament mtg. it's empty w/o u. if I can pick u up, text.

I waited a little while for my rage at being awakened that early to subside (did I mention I'm not a morning person?) and for church to start and then sent this answer:

Me: Thanks. It's always nice to be thought of. usually the only little room that feels empty w/o me is in a mental institution.

See how nice I was in actually answering and everything?

Keep in mind that she is at church at this point and that I resisted the urge to say that I was going to tell the bishop she was texting in church.

Lady: I do think of u and ur kids a lot. I want to come visit again if ok. when is a good time, 2day possibly? we could talk outside if easier again, maybe take a walk?

Me: Going to be in Lehi with my oldest most of the day.

This was true if you didn't count the 2 hours that I spent accordion folding book paper and

 watching a movie in bed before I needed to leave.

Lady: ok during the week sometime, I let me know and I can drop by.

Me: no response

Lady:oops u let me know

Me: no response

Lady: regarding your first comment, are u stressed, need anything? 

After the15 minute stretch it took to process the fact that she actually thought I was hinting to her that I needed mental help, (which I probably do but wouldn't seriously tell that to a stranger) I replied with this extremely restrained answer if I do say so myself.

Me: No. that was a joke. If u knew me better u would know that I am never serious. Even during a funeral.

Lady: ok, lol

Firstly, we now know that she used lol which means she could be a satanist working to bring things down from the inside. Everybody knows that this is true:

I try to share this with any and all Christians I run across.

Secondly and more importantly, we know that this woman thinks I am some rude loony that doesn't let people into her house, has been and/or needs to be in a mental hospital but would actually just call her during the week and say, "Hey girl! got some free time. Why don't you boogie on over here and we'll have some grown-up girl bonding time! Yay!" or something to that effect. You think she would have learned a little more about me from our other encounter. If that was anything to go by she should be expecting me to ramble about my colonoscopy and hang up without saying goodbye.

I was still only slightly alarmed until I came home the other afternoon and found a flier for the Relief Society progressive dinner stuck to my door with the following written across the top:

Hope you can make it!  Enjoyed texting with you!

It was after this that I realized that she thought I was crazy enough to wander from unknown house to unknown house with perfect strangers in search of my dinner; (if we share genetic material and/or I will swear in front of you, we're golden. Otherwise, all bets are off.) and also that my luck was about to run out.  

Oh Dear.

I have been forced to develop a few strategies to get around this now very real and constant threat from our intrepid Ward Missionary Lady. Until she moves on to another poor sap, this is my life: 

*If I am in the kitchen, a knock at the door will find me hitting the deck like we are under mortar attack. AND since my children don't seem to have enough of the tell-a-lie-but-make-it-quick gene that runs through my family to tell whoever might be there that I have malaria (moved to Borneo, become a man and left to tour Canada with a barbershop quartet, whatever), I have started to dig a hole into the wall behind the stove in case I become trapped in the kitchen and need a quick escape.

*The few times I have been forced by necessity to venture out, I have taken to first watching through the blinds for any movement that might indicate an ambush before I can dash to the safety of the car. I also wave an old broom handle over my head in a circle as I dash. Just in case the ambush is better executed than I thought.

*When I get back, I duck down and make three passes past the place before I park. Having the porch comes in handy at this point. The bruised shins and black eyes from awkwardly vaulting the porch railing and crawling to the door are worth it.

*If I hear a knock and happen to be in my bedroom or bathroom; I have been known to lie down next to the toilet in the hopes that it will be thought that I hit my head on the toilet and therefore have good reason to avoid whomever is at the door. I keep a bottle of ketchup under the bathroom sink to slather on my head for just such an occasion.

So, keep all this in mind if you decide to drop-by.  

On second thought, maybe you'd better call first.

S.N.O.W!

It's been snowing all morning and I couldn't be happier. If I weren't elbow deep in apples, I might be doing my happy happy snow dance.

There is nothing on earth like the first real snowfall of the year. 

Suz was too excited to bother finding her snow boots and waded out in Sam's slicker boots. Sam (aka Baby Peach) went out for 5 minutes and declared it too cold. That's why Miss Q is here making a snow fort with the neighbor kid instead.

Oat-us-meal-us

I'm not ashamed to say that 

I love oatmeal.

It's cheap, healthy and tasty. What's not to love? 

And, since I am kind of a food Nazi when it comes to what the kids eat for breakfast on school days, (cold cereal only on one or two days! horrors!) oatmeal is also one of the perpetual breakfast options around here. Unfortunately, nobody will eat a bowl of oatmeal every. single. morning. Nobody but me anyway. Therefore, I am perpetually looking for easy breakfast options that are an option at 5 in the morning (when Miss Priss crawls out of bed) but don't require me getting up at 4 to prepare them. This recipe is one of my new favorites. I make it the night before and stash it in the fridge. That leaves me with nothing to do the next morning but to turn on the stove and shove it in. Most of the time I even remember to remove the plastic wrap first. Trust me; at 5 in the morning, there is not much more of which I am capable. I have also been known to make it as a snack after school, leaving the leftovers for a re-heat able breakfast. Which, in turn, leaves me in bed later that morning. Serious win-win. Thomas likes to heat it in the microwave but Turner does her re-heating in a dry frying pan because she thinks it is too mushy otherwise. Vive la Difference! 

I found this recipe in an old Reader's Digest I was reading while I waited 2 hours (2 hours!!!) to get the van aligned. I can't attribute the original recipe to anyone beyond that because in my I'm-entitled-because-I-can't believe-I'm-still-here magazine ripping frenzy, I didn't rip out both pages, just the one that would let me know the basic idea. I never completely follow any recipe anyway, so the rest didn't seem to matter. 

One last note: The original recipe called for blueberries but I don't really love them. I have used both the Wal-Mart brand mixed berries (sans strawberries because they were too big) and straight up raspberries. Both were equally good. But use blueberries if you're sick like that. I also haven't actually made this with the walnuts due to the fact that the older I get, the more and more allergic to them I get. And now you have something good to write about in your journal today.

Baked Oatmeal

2 c. old fashioned rolled oats     1/2 c. walnuts, chopped    

1/3-1/2 c. sugar(depending on the tartness of your berries)    

1 t. baking powder     1 1/2 t. cinnamon     scant 1/2 t. salt     2 c. milk     1 egg    

3 T. butter, melted     2 t. vanilla     2 ripe bananas, sliced     1 1/2 c. frozen berries

1.Preheat oven to 375 degrees with rack in top third of oven.  Butter 8x8-inch baking pan.

2.In a bowl, mix together oats, half the walnuts, sugar, b. powder, cinnamon and salt. In another bowl, whisk together milk, egg, half the butter and vanilla.

3.Arrange bananas in a single layer in bottom of baking dish. Sprinkle 2/3 of berries over top.  Cover fruit with rest of oat mixture. Slowly drizzle milk mixture over oats. Scatter remaining berries and walnuts on top. 

4.Bake 35-40 minutes, until top is golden and oats have set. Remove from oven; drizzle remaining melted butter on top. Serve with extra sugar or maple syrup if desired.

Time's a Wastin'

Happy Tuesday?!?

From the way I could barely crawl out of bed this morning, it appears I may have

 overdone things a bit in the kitchen yesterday. Normally, I'd be couching it all day.

BUT-

 Since the most notable thing about the week leading up to election day is that I have to avoid my television like it's been simultaneously infected with cholera and the plague, I am left with computer based entertainment only. 

What a blessing it is that I am so gifted at wasting time on these danged internets. 

No chance of boredom here. No sir.

 Losing a few more I.Q. points is another story. Something we all know I can ill afford.

Anyway-

Thanks to that magical place known as YouTube, I have new favorites in the time-waster department. They're trailers for movies that tell the truth about said movie. They're also close to what is going through my head when I watch most movies. Because I'm a jerk that way.

Check these out and then just go to YouTube and watch everything on the Screen Junkies channel.

 You won't be sorry. 

AND-

Just in case you are one of the many that find themselves at the breaking point with all of the election ridiculousness, I leave you with this:

Watch it twice if your blood pressure hasn't lowered 

enough after the first go-round.

Isn't that all better now?

You're welcome.

Lessons Learned

Well dearies,
November already.
 I can't help but marvel at how October and September
 managed to so thoroughly kick the guano out of me.

I know. Don't say it.

 Again? 

Do I ever really have anything else happen to me?

There. I said it for you.

Fortunately, when things are going as well as they have been lately, there are
 always hard earned lessons that must be absorbed and passed on. In this case, to you.
Aren't you lucky I'm a silver linings kind of gal?

In the best teaching-others-through-my-mistakes spirit I submit the following:
Taking Thomas to physical therapy every week has given me way too much time to kill at the thrift store that is so very conveniently located across the street. Not only does this allow me the chance to find too many old books to take home and put under the knife (more about that another day), it also has taught me a few things I never knew I needed to know.

 For instance,
Don't think, "aw that's kind of cute" (like I naively did) when the man standing across from you in the book section begins to read aloud romantic sounding passages to his, um, significant other (sister, mother, hostage, snaggle-toothed familiar?). MOVE AWAY post-haste. I don't care how stupid it makes you look-run if you have to. That way, when he continues to read (quite loudly mind you) with nary a stumble when he reaches phrases like, "his magnificent loins" and "freed her pale white globes", you won't find yourself staring in frozen horror at the possibly homeless lovely couple as the not-as-romantic-as-you-thought-they-were words pass through Petey the Perv's spittle-flecked brown teeth. The horror that washes over you when you glance over and witness the creepy smile indicating how pleased he is with his performance won't be something you'll soon forget. Finding a convenient pole into which you can run; head down, full speed, won't make it go away either. Nor will the multiple showers and compulsive hand washing you will find yourself helpless to stop when you get home. Not to mention that you won't be able to walk in the book section at the D.I. without your PTSD coming back full force.

I'll never look at a romance novel the same way again.

Speaking of romance novels, DO NOT believe a book if it tells you it is a "smart, fun-filled romp". I know how easy it is to convince yourself that a book couldn't lie to you. After all, books are our friends. BUT-keep in mind that a paperback that has been priced at 50 cents will tell you ANYTHING to get you to take it home. It could and would lie to you. Even if it bandies about words like "wonderful"or "enchanting", remember that a book that has been consigned to what amounts to the book ghetto will tell you whatever it thinks you want to hear just to get out of there. Even if it's only for the 2 hours it will take you to read it in the bath. In these cases, smart can usually be interpreted to mean that the heroine reads too many books and quotes poetry or the hero of the story has kooky parents that encourage him to marry the virginal scullery maid even though he's a Duke or something equally ridiculous. Remember, "wonderful" or "enchanting" probably  mean "dirty" or "really dirty" and "fun-filled romp" means "badly written porn penned by a lonely woman with frizzy hair that lives with too many cats". You can count on it.

That should keep you out of trouble when wandering the book section.
 If you should decide to venture forth into the other aisles keep in mind:

*The brown substance on that adorable stuffed tiger most likely isn't chocolate. Save your quarter.
*I know the N' Snyc figurines in the case may seem like a fun piece of reasonably priced nostalgia, but if you buy that set and take them home, you know they'll end up under the bed in the BOX OF SHAME with your Backstreet Boys sweatshirt, Ricky Martin CD's and the last shred of your self respect.
*And last but not least: if you find yourself reaching for the same quart jar as the woman pushing around a cart full of picture frames (sans glass), plastic cups and high heeled shoes from the Eisenhower era, let her have it and back away slowly. I don't care how much you'd rather pay 75 cents apiece instead of full price for them at Walmart. It's not worth the top 1/2 of 3 of your fingers that she'll be spitting onto the floor after you insist that you got there first.

Saving Sanity (or what's left of it anyway)

Fall Break.

The children are out of school today and tomorrow.
 Like any good mother, I was looking forward to having this break with the children. 

Until about 10:00 this morning when the umpteenth knock-down-drag-out started and ended with Turner calling everyone several words that you wouldn't say in church, Suzie doing her Velociraptor impression as she passes out death threats and with the few words he is getting in edgewise, Thomas is making sure that no one could be in doubt as to the absolute superiority of his character, intellect and gaming skills. 

It was exactly at this moment that I remembered I'm actually a crappy Mom and that the kids go to school for a reason.

 *It's the only way to preserve my sanity AND keep them alive.*

Yeah. Crappy Mom.

Luckily, when I took to the computer out of self-defense this morning, I found a few sanity savers. No, it's not a blog full of advice on how to be a better parent or the family crisis hotline number. I happened across more insane product reviews on Amazon. Some are as good as the Banana Slicer ones I found a few months back. I think I'm saving up for the Tuscan Milk first. A little spendy but sounds worth it. I hope the Hubs doesn't read this because I just about have Christmas wrapped up thanks to The Mountain Three Wolf Moon Short Sleeve Tee and Zubaz Pants. And since I believe you can never be too prepared, I hope to acquire How to Avoid Large Ships for our emergency kits. 

 Now that my face hurts from laughing, not clenching my teeth in irritation, I can load up the kids for a (hopefully) pleasant trip to the liquor store.
If that doesn't work out, there is always the option of ordering up myself the Uranium Ore. Some people have way too much time on their hands.
Bless their hearts.

You must eat these!

In spite of recent evidence to the contrary, I'm not a big banana fan.

 About once a month I might talk myself into eating one but only if it's still half green. Once they become even all the way yellow (let alone really ripe), I'm outta there.

 Now that you know this about me, you'll understand how good these bars must be for me to recommend them.

 They're called Banana Bread Bars but they're more like moist banana cake.

 Really, it doesn't matter what the bars are like because the real reason they're so good is the brown butter frosting with which they're topped. After trying it for the first time, I knew I had found my new boyfriend.

Seriously. Yum.

This frosting could possibly make shoe leather edible.

I found the recipe here. Via Pinterest of course.

 Is there any other way these days? 

Even if you don't have any ripe bananas hanging around, call the neighbors, go to the store, whatever-just find some. Then, after you try these, call me and we'll brainstorm other things on which we can put this frosting. 

That is, besides on a spoon, heading into my mouth. 

Already done that one.

Banana Bread Bars:

1 1/2 c. sugar     1 c. sour cream     1/2 c. butter softened     2 eggs

1 3/4 c (3 or 4 ripe) bananas, mashed     2 t. vanilla

2 c. flour     1 t. baking soda     3/4 t. salt     1/2 c. chopped walnuts (optional)

Frosting:

1/2 c. butter     4 c. pwd sugar     1 1/2 t. vanilla     3 T. milk

Heat oven to 375 degrees. grease and flour 15x10 jelly roll pan. In a large bowl, beat together sugar, sour cream, butter and eggs until creamy. Blend in bananas and vanilla. Add flour, b. soda and salt. Blend for one minute. Stir in walnuts. Spread batter evenly into pan. Bake 20-25 minutes or until golden brown. Meanwhile, make frosting. Heat butter over med. heat until boiling. Let the butter turn a delicate golden brown and remove from heat immediately. Add rest of frosting ingredients and whisk until smooth. Spread the frosting over the bars while they are still warm. 

 Makes about 2 dozen bars. 

Note: I don't have a 15x10 pan. I used my 13x9 pan and it worked out fine. You just end up with slightly taller bars with thicker frosting.

So nice to see you, my friend

It's was 44 degrees when I shoved everyone out the door this morning. 

Hooray for October
Listen up people. Fall has arrived.
Let's dig out the jackets and sweaters.
 Time for vats of soup, piles of pumpkin themed baked goods and actually sleeping under a blanket at night.
 I must say, it's about damned time too.
Maybe I can start feeling like a human again. I hate being hot more than almost anything. I have a tendency to turn into a hibernating shrew during the summer so it's a good thing for everyone around here when Autumn temperatures finally arrive. Maybe this weekend I'll celebrate by going outside more than once. AND, for more than 5 minutes. I know. We got us a bad-ass up in here.
 Sweat and sunlight make me sad, okay? 

One problem. I find this time of year so pleasant that I actually get motivated to do...things. Not things like housework and stuff. That would be ridiculous. More like the 20 half-finished projects laying on every surface in the house that need attention. No exaggeration. Truth.
 I think it's the weather. And the new paper designs coming along every 15 minutes or so. And the excited feeling in the air that the holidays are coming but Taylor Swift and Hobby Lobby haven't had a chance to kill it yet. Whatever it is has me feeling like I am on fire with all of the things I want (must, need) to create. Who knows? Maybe I'll actually get a few projects finished this year.
Now, there's a thought to chew on whilst I whip up some properly celebratory
 potato soup.
As long as the stove isn't too embarrassed to heat up after seeing me
do my happy dance in the kitchen this morning.
Did I already say hooray?

TGIF

I know that TGIF is as trite as it gets but I have rarely felt the absolute truth of it like I did today. This week was the kind that had me believing that Wednesday should be Friday and we should really be into next Tuesday by now. A lot of sighing. Lemme tell you.
Then, just as things looked unbearable, I found these on YouTube.
They're G.I. Joe PSA's from the 80's that have been dubbed with different audio.
Hilariously random and definitely my cup of tea. I have the feeling that if I had found these on Monday, I might have been whistling a different tune all week. I also have the feeling that after you watch these you'll be looking at me in a different way. With concern and a hint of revulsion that my sense of humor could be this off kilter. Who are we kidding? Like you didn't already know.

A few of the best:

I guess I should say these are the best out of the ones that won't make your lily white ears burn. If you're hard core enough to think you can handle it, go check out Pork Chop Sandwiches and Give Him the Stick. I can also recommend  G.I. Joe Indian, Reggae, Get in the Fridge and Soccer.

 Now go I tell you! 

Before this week gets any worse.

Have you seen the Muffin Man?

I was just telling a few of my sisters about my new favorite muffin.

 I'm always ordering someone to make my new favorite whatever so this is nothing new to them. Yes, I'm one of those annoying people that is always calling you up to tell you about the latest thing I made and then demanding that you make it too. Thank heaven for tolerant friends and family that still answer their phones. Since Turner tagged me with her lovely head cold earlier this week, I can't stop thinking about eating these muffins and chocolate chip cookies. Weird, I know. Especially since I haven't wanted to eat ANYTHING in days.

Anyway, since I can't get these out of my head, I am now demanding that everybody try them. (and like them too of course) 

AND bring me some because I'm waaay too tired to make some myself. 

They're not as fluffy as regular muffins because they don't contain any flour and you blend them in the blender but they're super moist and intensely flavored. A fair trade in my opinion. Not to mention the fact that they're crazy easy and pretty good for you. Bonus and Bonus.

 I originally found the recipe (via Pinterest. Is there any other way?) here. I went back to the original recipe from there; found that the original had strawberries so I have also made a version substituting thawed frozen strawberries for the bananas and almond extract along with the vanilla that were pretty tasty too. Now I'm thinking I'll have to try peach and a berry besides strawberry. Just for kicks. Oh the possibilities!

Oatmeal Muffins

2 1/2 c. old fashioned oats     1 c. yogurt     2 eggs     3/4 c. sugar      1 1/2 t. b. powder

1/2 t. b. soda      2 bananas     1 t. vanilla

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Spray muffin tin with non-stick cooking spray. Place bananas, yogurt, eggs and sugar in blender. Blend until smooth. Add 1/2c. oats, baking powder and baking soda. Blend. Add the rest of the oats, 1/2 c. at a time, blending after each addition until mixture is smooth. Pour into muffin tin and bake 20-25 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean. 

*a few notes (just in case you check out the original and start to wonder about me)*

The original recipe tells you to use foil liners or a silicone muffin pan. (paper liners won't work) I had a silicone muffin pan and hated it so much that I stomped on it before I trashed it. Nor did I want to go get foil liners just for these. I made sure I used my non-stick pan and sprayed the cups well. They popped right out. If you don't have a non-stick pan then go blow 6 bucks or whatever on one at Wal-Mart. It's worth it because it's also the best thing in the world for making baked eggs. I also wipe the excess oil off of the top because I hate the way it goes gummy in the oven. Ick. I added the vanilla because it seemed like the kind of recipe that needed it. If you don't have real vanilla, up it by another teaspoon. I didn't use the plain Greek yogurt as in the original. Not that I have anything against Greek yogurt; I just didn't have any. Used vanilla Sam's Choice and it worked just fine. The second time, when I made the berry I used strawberry banana and it seemed to not make a difference. Use old-fashioned oats. Nothing else. Trust me, it matters. You shouldn't be buying anything but old-fashioned anyway. Lastly, I finally got around to trying these because I had bananas that needed using up and ended up using 2 1/2 REALLY ripe bananas. I think if my bananas are that ripe next time, I'll reduce the sugar by maybe 1/4 cup.

Where's a Unisom When You Need One?

I can't sleep.

It's terribly late.  

I guess that much is obvious since it's tomorrow, even though for me it feels like yesterday should still be today. It also feels like everyone in the world but me is peacefully dreaming. Even the fashionable people.

 Le Sigh. 

A few realizations that this night/morning have brought home to me:

I am too damned old to drink large cups of coffee right before bed. If I have to get up to pee one more time, I'm going to drag my sleeping bag into the bathroom for the sake of efficiency. 

All of my Sunday School teachers' were right when they told me that once you let something into your head, it's in there for good. I know they were mostly talking about curse words and dirty pictures but I now know this also applies to pop songs with really dumb lyrics and questionable melodies. I never really cared that Kesha and her friends were (in their minds anyway) hot and dangerous or that they were in need of new stockings due to the fact that theirs were inexplicably torn up the sides. That hasn't stopped her voice from repeating these facts in my head for the last three hours. Shame on me for not recognizing good advice when it was being proffered.

I hate being too damned old for anything. Hate hate hate it. Hate it. I know. Waaa. I don't think there's anybody out there that loves it but, so what. That doesn't mean I have to be the first person to think it's awesome. 

Hate. It.

I just have to say that; in spite of the fact that all of my Sunday School teachers' would not approve, LoveSexMagic is the best. The back beat on this thing could make a corpse twitch. That's why I listen to it every time I sit down at the computer. Yes, even if it's the wee hours and not exactly what you'd call sleep inducing. If you're a member of the dirty dancing in music videos is responsible for the downfall of western civilization crowd, I wouldn't recommend clicking on the above link. Just know that you're also denying yourself the adorableness of a scruffy Justin Timberlake.

It's probably wandering into TMI territory (again) to mention how many times I've had to pee. Sorry about that. Don't tell my Dad I didn't say "use the restroom" instead of "pee". He'll have the missionaries over here to save the children from my coarseness.

Maybe I'm a closet egoist. If there is such a thing. 

After resisting for years, I finally saw Julie and Julia yesterday. I say resisted because I hate being in agreement with the whole world so didn't want to watch it and like it. There was such a big deal made out of Meryl Streep when it came out that I had a hard time. Okay okay. I know it's silly. Possibly more proof of my egoistic tendencies too.

 Anyway, I started to wonder when I was watching the part where Julie's husband tells her she's too narcissistic and she counters that she writes a blog and that's what blogging is. Something to that effect anyway. And here I am, making a goal to blog everyday. Writing about nothing and everything for all and sundry to see. Even though all and sundry would have to Google crap and road at the same time to actually see anything I put on here, it's still out there. Maybe the sick feeling of horror I got in the pit of my stomach when Julie gets excited when one of her posts gets 63 comments is really my defense mechanism to keep me from realizing what an egotist I have to be to even have a blog.

 Um.

 Am I just 3 posts away from navel gazing poetry and monologues about my yearning for Pokemon cards and how the moon landing was a hoax? Now my head hurts. By telling you that did I just prove how secretly eager I am to share all? 

Oh, I give up.

Really.

I'm going to bed.

Back to School. Again.

Decided to finally get the annual Sharing of the Back to School Pictures out of the way so we could get back to the real business for which this blog was created-

*Rambling Drivel*

Since my camera had betrayed me in such a vicious fashion in the morning, (still not sorry I fished it out of the trash can and threw it across the porch) these were actually taken after the kids got home from their first day. Courtesy of my Step-Mother Terri, her fancy camera and the fact that she is too nice for her own good.

In spite of the way it looks here;
Turner is trying to show she is in 10th grade,
not show you how she would go about groping
you given half a chance.

8th grade
The reason it looks like Thomas is on his way
out of the picture is due to the fact that he was.
This is the only picture that looked like he was
half-way standing still. 

No, Sam is not trying to pull off the seldom attempted
(for good reason) simultaneous high five/thumbs-up
 maneuver.
6th grade. That's the message.

Neither is Suzie trying to let you know how friendly
 she can be to someone that isn't me. Or her brothers.
This is the year of the baby as a 5th grader.

The secret to getting a half-way decent picture of the kids
together?
 Leave me home.
Worked like a charm.

Lazy is as lazy does Sir...

Having spent no small amount of time communing with my couch this week and last has given me the chance to ruminate on laziness.

 More specifically, my penchant for extreme laziness. 

On the first day of school my camera broke. My first thought (after all the bad words and the temper tantrum that is) was, "No more blogging for me!". Did I mention that was the last working camera in the place? Now, we all know you don't have to have pictures to blog but I had worked myself into a nice little routine of blogging when I had pics of the kids or the latest piece of crap I had made. That way I only had to label the pics and pat myself on the back. And let's not even talk about how I can manage to spend an hour on Pinterest before telling myself I'm too tired to blog and I'll do it tomorrow. 

 Lazy. Lazy. Lazy.

 Not that any of my 3-5 (depending on how many family members I've offended in any given week) pity readers are sitting around with bated breath for my contributions to the blogosphere but it's the principal of the thing. I said I would do it, therefore I should. My ever-present fear of joining my mother in TMI Crazy Town be damned. So, here I sit; resolving to once again resolve to actually stick to my original resolution. Seriously, if I can sit and accordion fold paper 1/2 inch at a time for hours on end, then I can do THIS. 

I think.

The Grand Old Age of Fourteen

Little Sicky here turned 14 yesterday.

 He celebrated by playing Xbox for 8 hours straight and trying not to cough up both of his lungs courtesy of  the nasty cold he has had for the last few days.

 Happy Birthday indeed.

Baby Peach not yike to be sick on him's birfday.

What would we do without Turner to keep things happy?

His best Sheldon Cooper smile.

Bedtime hit him before he was up to making 'smores cones
so we moved dessert to today 

The fixin's.

Better times with Cousin Kate.
Can you tell that they were born a mere
3 weeks apart?

P.S. Bonus points for finding the picture with Thomas being photo bombed.  Sigh.

Crap Wars

I finally decided to check out Craft Wars on TLC and see what all the fuss is about.

After watching the better part of 5 episodes of what turns out to be mostly a 43 minute Michael's commercial, I'm still trying to figure that one out. 

If you have yet to watch it, here is your 

Craft Wars Primer 

to keep the unpleasant surprises to a minimum for when you finally do get sucked in:

The judges alternate between creepy or really lame and Tori Spelling is even more so.

 I could develop my own little drinking game based on how many times per show the judges tell the contestants what they would have done instead of just judging what was actually done or when the one guy judge smiles at the contestants like he's just bursting to tell them about the bag of candy and lost puppy he's been saving for them out in his windowless van. Bonus shots for every time it's painfully obvious Tori Spelling is reading her "spontaneous" comments and questions, every time the Michael's "creative director"(You can't miss her. She's the one that I'm pretty sure wants to take you home and dress you in the same outfits as her multitudinous cats) casually mentions something is available at Michael's and when you're pretty sure Tori Spelling is finally going to sweep everything off of the tables and start screaming "No wire hangers!" at everyone. The game is immediately over and a winner is declared if someone can pinpoint the exact moment when any of the contestants realizes that they should have established a "safe word" before filming began. (A 2 drink penalty will be assessed if you get it wrong and and the person you chose is one of the contestants with crazy eyes that forgot the safe word years ago and are obviously okay with that.)

Speaking of contestants, I have only seen 2 or 3 so far that could be safely trotted out in polite society. The rest speak like they have had one too many shock treatments, look like they had been dressed by their 3 year old niece and/or had spent most of their lives misinterpreting her meaning every time Mom said they were "special". Also, make sure you don't miss the start of the show when they introduce these people.(That is if you can survive Tori Spelling in that red dress staring out of the screen like the hypno-toad). I dare you to keep yourself from exclamations such as "ugh!" "whaaaat?" and "gluuurgh!" as the pictures of their crafts roll past. Most of the "master crafters" are so unappealing that by the middle of the episode, the debate turns from "who do we like this time?" to "which one of these people can we root against the least?".

Let's not even get started with the actual crafts that they turn out or we'll be here for days. I know they have time constraints and other challenges to overcome but, really. I mean REALLY?!? The winner on the very first episode I watched produced a Christmas wreath that looked like it had been put together by Edward Scissorhands. In a poorly lit room. After he had been diagnosed with severe color blindness. I won't even go into the appeal of their final crafts. That can be a fun present for you to unwrap when you're desperate for entertainment. Or too drunk to care what you watch.

And here's the worst part:
I can't stop myself from watching the damned thing.
I feel the same watching this as I do when I stoop to watching old Nanny 911 episodes. I know I'm a crappy Mom but when I watch Nanny 911 I can sit on the couch and tell myself, "you're not doing so badly, at least the kids don't spit on you and poop in their beds!". Craft Wars, to me, is the Nanny 911 for crafting. Next time I struggle with how one of my projects turned out, I can comfort myself with the fact that I have yet to induce group seizures at the senior citizens center with my "art".
To my knowledge anyway.

Consider Me Challenged

I'm trying a sketch challenge in my ongoing quest to dig out of this creative rut in which I have found myself. This one is from Sweet Sunday Sketch Challenge #164

I made the card for the challenge and was so inspired by the paper(Graphic45 yum!)that I ended up with a bonus card.

All G45 paper.  Santa (BoBunny?) was embossed with sparkling black
 before getting a touch of chalk. I'm still not sure the sparkle
wasn't a little too much. He might be in danger of being
mistaken for a vampire but it's too late now.

The reason this card makes me happy? The background piece
came from a Making Memories journaling notebook that
I have had for-ev-er. Yes!

...and a Merry August to you!

Christmas. Blech.

This is the reaction you are likely to get if you mention Christmas around me.

Except, if it's the middle of Summer and all of my favorite paper companies have just released all of their new holiday lines. I find myself giddy with holiday cheer about this time every year. If I am really in love with what they release, I find myself having to stifle the urge to say "God bless us, every one!" every time I walk into the scrapbook store. No kidding.

So, I am now going to celebrate Christmas in the summer before it is ruined. Now, let's not assume this means I'm jumping on the Christmas in July bandwagon. If you know me, I'm not that big on jumping onto bandwagons of any sort. Plus, I blame that trend for giving some stores(who shall remain nameless)the idea that we need Christmas supplies in stores as soon as they pull Easter.

SHAME on you Hobby Lobby.

One of these days I just might give into the urge to run around your Holiday section with my arms out wide until I am satisfied there is enough broken glass on the floor to teach you a lesson. Well, really just to make me feel better. Just thinking about all of those piles of ornaments and ribbon for the offing IN AUGUST!!! makes me feel rage that I usually reserve for clowns and people using coupons and matching ads in the express lane. I can ignore Michaels and their one little aisle but you and your aisle after aisle monstrosity makes me ill. Now go stand in the corner and think about what you've done. 

Sorry. I had something to get off my chest. Obviously.

 It may seem like I'm playing favorites in not blasting the paper companies for releasing holiday stuff too early. Not so. That's an industry thing. Everybody knows that they have to release their holiday lines at the Summer CHA(Craft and Hobby Association) Show. That's why if you've ever worked in that industry or even just have a little obsession(like no one I know) you know that it's Halloween and Christmas in summer and by Christmas you've moved on to Valentine's Day. 

That's exactly what we're going to do here. None of you could make up your minds so I am making an executive decision.

 For the next little while it's to be Christmas, Christmas all the time.

 Until I get tired of that and switch to Halloween.
But we'll address that flaw in my character another time.

This Baby Boy.

I am aware that the world would have gotten along perfectly well without me having shared this mini- 

book. After all, it is very similar to the baby girl one I posted a couple of weeks ago.

*BUT*

 This one had to be made and shared. 

When one of your BFFs gives birth to the baby featured by your favorite scrapbook paper, it's your scrap booking duty to put them together.

 Also, in the interest of full disclosure here, I'm seriously obsessed with the adorability of this kid. 

 Take a look at that face and tell me if I really even had a choice.

Instead of 6x6, I made this one 6x8. Just because I could.

Oh, the cheeks.

Up yours, Genetics.

I can think of few things worse than the drop-in visit. 

The complete stranger drop-in visit has got to be the most dreaded of all. I think I would rather drink Drano than be subjected to one. 

 Unfortunately, it was during just such a visit this week by a seemingly very nice ward missionary that I found myself channeling my Mother. Yes, the Mother that I may have once or twice mentioned was nuttier than a cheese log. 

Picture this:

 I'm puttering around the house bra-less, as I am wont to be on the days when convention and fear of arrest haven't forced me into one. I am wearing an exceedingly nasty shirt that I had donned when I was browning the meat for dinner. The thing is full of holes and is covered in grease spots. I had been wearing a hat all day and my hair looked like rats had been nesting in it. When there is a knock on the door and I am in that state, I usually make a run for the bedroom but no, this time the door is for me. 

Yay. 

Also keep in mind that Thomas and his bad arm and leg had been to the physical therapist and consequently all three were laying on the air mattress in the middle of the living room. Sam and his sprained ankle are wallowing the couch. And due to the fact that I have been running from project to project for weeks, it looks like a giant had eaten a whole scrapbook store and promptly thrown up on every available surface in the house. 

Double yay.

This is where I am supposed to pretend to only speak Portuguese and shut the door. 

No, my cold-oatmeal quick brain and I sidle past the air mattress and stand on the doorstep while this poor woman starts her welcome to the ward isn't it lovely to finally meet you do you like Draper we'd love to see you at church one fine morning spiel. I looked down at my hands, (still holding the t-shirt I am wrapping in elastic bands in order to tie-dye it for Suzie) and...turned into my Mother. 

Not the nice lady that hands out birthday money and would tickle your back until her hand falls off. 

The one that always seems to develop a severe case of oral diarrhea when she is within 5 feet of anyone she doesn't know very well(or at all) that has at least 40% of their hearing left. Usually the worst symptom of this involves sharing things with said person that you shouldn't and wouldn't tell your court appointed therapist. 

At this point I touched my hair, realized that I must look like a meth addict coming off of a three day bender and just started into reasons why I didn't invite her in, why I didn't go to church here, about Sam's ankle, the fact that I had 2 divorced sisters, Thomas' whole left side and why I had browned the meat for the stew I was making for dinner. By the time I realized that I had been giving her a perfect crazy Jean impression, I got a little dizzy and may have even blacked out for a minute because the rest of the conversation is kind of a blur. I may or may not have given her my social security number and told her about that week in Jr. High when I ate nothing but french fries and pink sauce at lunch. Regardless, I am certain that Sister-What's-Her-Name backed away from the doorway with a funny look on her face and the certainty in her heart that I should in no way be allowed near normal people or her children.

It's no comfort at all to tell me that this was bound to happen eventually. Or that genetics always win out in the end. Try telling that to my children as they decide whether or not they can contain the damage by putting out the word that I am officially nuttier than squirrel poo or if it's already too late.  

Damn you genetics. 

All door answering will henceforth be done in the form of folded notes slid under the door and smoke signals only.

Happy (late) #12

Sammy McSamerson here

 (dressed in all his finery and about to head off to church)

 turned 12 yesterday. 

Since he slept over at Uncle Dan's in order to be included in the annual HALO fest, we ended up with donuts and chocolate milk for a mid afternoon snack and opening presents when Dad got home. No, not by candlelight, it just looks like it. Everyone got tired of me messing with my camera settings and this is the result. Turner missed the festivities due to the fact that she was preparing to fly home from Long Beach as these pics were taken. Pooh.

And yes, Sam really does love popcorn that much.