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.