Make it stop...

It's too cold. I hate cold. Cold makes me want to wrap up in a blanket, eat my weight in junk food and watch a sinful amount of reality TV. Cold is bad.

I tried not to let it get the best of me. I tried to channel my inner Rudy (we watched Rudy the other night--you know the story about the young man who, against all odds, fulfills his dream to play football for Notre Dame--very inspirational) I tried to work hard, be productive, and push through the pain, but it was too stinkin' cold. So I watched "Millionaire Matchmaker" instead (yeah that's productive--I'm not even in the market for a millionaire).

I ask you, what's a sun lovin' girl to do? What?
Seriously.
I'm cold people.
Help.

And yes, my feet are covered.

Merry Christmas...

Life got away from me this year. I didn't get Christmas cards sent out, no cookies were shared with family, neighbors and friends. Nope, none at all (well none shared from us that is. We got lots and lots of goodies from others. Lots and lots, which only makes me feel worse for being so lame this year. Sorry family, neighbors and friends) and if not for a quick trip to the valley last weekend and a little help from our pals at good ole Golfland, we wouldn't have gotten a family Christmas picture this year either.

Yep you heard me right, I said Golfland. We went there for a round of fun for all before our family Christmas party and when I saw that they were offering pictures with St. Nick I said, "Ooo, we should get a family picture."
To which Rick replied, "No we shouldn't."
"But it's our last year with Landon." I pouted (this statement always makes me pout).
"Okay then." Rick agreed.

And dontcha just think it turned out so cute for a last minute, just spent three hours driving in the car, then another one playing golf, then another one running around the arcade, then everyone jump in with Santa, with mom's sunglasses still atop her head, say cheese and snap yer done Christmas picture?

I sure do. And if I was organized at all I would have sent one to all y'all with a Merry Christmas wish attached, but I'm not organized so I'll just post it here for all y'all with a great big
Merry Christmas
to you. I hope it's your best one ever!!!

Pirates are our peeps...

While visiting the historic homes in Denver this past summer, I commented on how some of them reminded me of an Archie Bunker neighborhood, which led me to being stuck with the lyrics of the title song from that show floating around in my head all day.

Later while in line at the amusement park, the particular words, "And we knew who we were then, girls were girls and men were men" gave me reason to pause as I listened to the young ladies around me, who had obviously gone to great lengths making sure that they looked lovely on the outside, swear like sailors. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. I felt bad for these girls who had sadly lost the art of femininity, but relieved that at least I still know what it means to be a girl. Femininity is not a weakness. On the contrary, it holds great power.

After all what man doesn't like a nicely dressed, sweet smelling, eyelash batting, cookie baking (that one's optional, but very powerful) encouraging word talking, soft, smooth female by his side? I'm not talking about the fragile, cry all of the time, I need someone to do everything for me, kind of softness. We CAN bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan and we are certainly tough enough to put a swing set together all by our own selves if we feel so inclined, but while doing these things we can maintain a level of femininity that'll drive our menfolk wild. We're powerful I tells ya. Power-ful.

But swearing like sailors does not power make, my fellow ladies. Swearing like sailors is manly, swearing like sailors is ugly, swearing like sailors will put hair on your chest and who wants a gal with hair on her chest? Who?

Most men don't as I recently learned from my own Mr. Landon...


Mr. Landon comes from a long line of poopie mouthed, swear like sailors, hairy chested men. Not a proud part of his lineage, but a part of it just the same. Because of this, Landon has picked up the colorful language of his forefathers, a trait that I his mother have sadly never been able to combat (what do you do when dad talks that way?) In his younger years I tried soap, Tabasco sauce, timeouts and guilt trips (the same tactics I use with little Waylon today. I'm telling you this thing is a virus that attacks all male members of our family) but to no avail. I had all but given up, when just the other night I finally made a break through.

When Landon cussed in front of me I simply repeated what he had said right back at him. I cussed with clarity and finesse and got a reaction much like this...

The boy grew weak in the knees, he reeled in pain and felt as though he might throw-up. It turns out that the boy is quite offended by the sound of the fairer sex speaking in such an unbecoming manner. The boy doesn't like it. No not at all.

Victory! I told Mr. Landon that every time I hear him cuss I'm going to cuss right back to which he replied, "Man, now I can never cuss again because I'll think of you cussing and it makes me sick."

.

And so it has been (for the last couple of days at least) Landon no longer swears and I'm a happy girl.

.

Now, what to do about the other two male folk in our house. Hmm...

Random things I would blog about if I ever had time...

On Friday I wanted to join in on the Frugal Friday holiday decorating addition over at The Shabby nest.

I wanted to show the stockings I made out of old quilts. So fun, so frugal, so fabulous. Love them. But I never got around to sharing my fun, frugal, fabulous stockings on Frugal Friday because I was too busy.

Busy watching this sweet little baby nephew of mine and busy celebrating the birth of my own sweet baby, Waylon.

My baby is five now. I can't believe it. Five. How did this happen. I'm not mourning this though. Nope. In fact I think it is rather exciting to have my youngest child be five. This is the first time in over 18 years that I've had a five year old as my youngest (Paige almost made it. She was four and a half when Easton was born) and I think it's fabulous. I can't wait to see what lies ahead for me when all of my kids are in school. What will I be when I am an official all kids in school grown up person? Fun discoveries await me I'm sure. Fun, fun, fun.

And if I ever had time I would also blog about the new wall we are having built in our loft. So exiting! It will be another bedroom for now and an office later (as more kids fly the nest). We felt inspired to call a friend to build it and it all fell into place very quickly in fact it would be getting done today if Rick hadn't needed him for another job, but still it should be done before Christmas and I'm so happy.

And last but not least. For my mom and sis-in-law Mindy here is the picture of me in the new super cute apron (made by my super cute sister Jillene) that I got during the white elephant gift game at our family Christmas party this weekend. I told them that I was going to wear it with a string of pearls around my neck to which Mindy asked, "And nothing else?" Which made me laugh because when I told Rick that I was going to steal the apron from my nephew Mason, who had opened it first, he said, "And I want you to wear it with nothing else." Ha-ha so funny.

And look, it's reversible too! Fabulous! And about the wearing it with nothing else idea...

Hmm, maybe after we finish P90x. What's that you ask?

Now that I will save for another post.

Victory...

This is a story of two sisters (pictured here with their cousin). Now these two sisters do not share many common interests, they're quite different in fact. One thing they do share however is a bedroom because that is how life in a big family sometimes works (and also because we like to keep things lively and interesting around here).

Now Miss Easton likes her room to look pretty. Yes pretty is a very good thing to Miss E.


So when I hung this lovely curtain (given to me by my lovely sister) up in her room, Miss Easton was very pleased indeed.

She especially loved the matching valance I made from the lining of the lovely curtain to go on her other window (when you are given only one lovely curtain but have two windows, you must get creative, but please don't do so while standing on a piano bench).

Now Miss Jamie thought the new window treatments were alright, but her decor of choice was a large poster of a dead 80's pop star. Yes this pleased her greatly. But Miss Easton? No, not so much. "Why do I have to share a room with Jamie?" She complained. "That stupid poster of Michael Jackson is making my room ugly. I hate it. I just wish I could have my own room."

.

Now I can't rightly say if Miss Easton did anything to sabotage Miss Jamie's love affair because I wasn't privy to their bedtime conversations, but for some reason Jamie started becoming quite frightened by the thought of MJ's eyes peering down at her while she slept. "Michael Jackson's really starting to freak me out." She confessed one evening before running up to bed.

.

At which time an evil grin spread across Miss Easton's face as she pinched her fingers close together, leaned in tight and with pepper in her voice whispered, "Ha. I'm this close to getting that stupid poster out of my room."

.

And that she was because Michael Jackson has since been rolled up and retired to the closet shelf. To the great delight of Miss Easton, it seems that Miss Jamie is simply too scared to have a boy hang out in her room.

.

Here's hoping that never changes.

Well alrighty then...

"Now that Landon is getting ready to leave maybe we should get our foster license again." I told Rick a few months ago.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that." He answered. "I'll have to think about it."

I can't say that I blamed him for his hesitation. Our last experience with foster care nearly 11 years ago was a whole lot of hard, some very, very good times too, but mostly a whole lot of hard.

We were told that the two boys (brothers) who came to our home would only be staying for a few months (famous last words). Well heck, I can handle anything for a few months--I thought. Only it wasn't only a few months it was a year. A whole lot of hard (and some very, very good) year.

I spent a lot of time on my knees that year--a lot of time--praying for the strength to get through the difficult sibling rivalry days (I'm talking about you siblings against us siblings kind of rivalry) and often wondered if I'd survive. When the case worker finally let me know that the boys' mother was losing her rights and that the boys would either be adopted or placed in long term care I didn't know what to do. I knew I couldn't adopt them, I knew I couldn't keep them long term... the only answer was to let them go and that killed me. I didn't want to be another abandonment story in their young lives. I didn't want to add to their pain, their problems and their issues. I wanted to help them, but I couldn't.

I decided I had no choice, I had to let them go, but when I expressed this to a counselor during an interview at my church he told me that he felt I should wait to make that decision. Okay--I thought and by faith alone waited a few months longer until the day came that I felt very impressed to start changing my prayers. I had been praying for strength to hang on and to be able to make everything work and now I felt very strongly that I was to start praying for the right doors to open up for the boys. I did this and soon (on my birthday in fact) they were leaving my home.

The younger brother went to a wonderful home, but the older was taken to a group home. This killed me and I wondered if I had done the right thing. Not only were they split up but... a group home? How could this be right? But about a year later the older boy began attending the same charter school that my kids went to and I found out that he had been placed in a good home too.

Still I had guilt. Guilt for ever doing foster care. Guilt for abandoning those boys and adding to their hurt. We had a few other short term foster placements after that, but when I found out I was going to have another baby of my own we decided to let our license go until our kids were much older.

Now with much older finally here...

About a month ago Rick was awakened from a bad dream. He woke me and, very shaken, said over and over, "We have to do foster care again. We have to do foster care again."
This time I was hesitant. I don't know-- I thought-- can I really do this again?

But shortly after that I had a strong spiritual confirmation that he was right. We have to do foster care again.

And watching the movie "The Blindside" this weekend (run, don't walk, to go see it) confirmed this even more for both of us.

We really, REALLY have to do foster care again.
Yes we do.
And yes we will.

On the move...

When one is finally free from crutches after being tied to them for nearly seven weeks, one finds that she no longer desires to sit. At all. One walks around all day decorating, cleaning, cooking, shopping and anything else one can accomplish in a days time. One doesn't even care that she is in pain by the end of the day. She doesn't care at all. One just wants to move, with one's two feet, move and move and move.

When one prays to get one's life back, to feel awake and like herself again, one may not realize that she is actually praying for something like a broken foot to help shake her into accomplishing her heart's desire, but it is a small price to pay.
And one finds that one is happy, happy and life is good. And even if one can never wear her beloved high heels again (although one hopes she can) it will be okay, and well worth it because one is alive (really alive) and what else matters? One must ask. What else?

The only thing one might find one regrets from an experience such as this is that one may neglect one's blog while busily moving and moving and moving. Because you see blogging requires sitting and one can't sit when one is freed from crutches. No one can't. But when one doesn't blog for awhile one tends to miss her blogging friends. One desires to know what is going on in their lives and one must come back.

So one will be back.
Yes one will.
Maybe even tomorrow.

Call me crazy but...

On Saturday I was being tortured. Tortured I say. "Make it stop." I cried. "Make it stop or I'm going to throw up." And I was quite serious. Christmas music assaulted me from the car radio. Christmas music in November. I couldn't stomach it. The sound offended my senses, causing me to consider throwing myself from our speeding vehicle just to get away from it. "The audacity of some DJs." I thought. Christmas music in November. The nerve.

.

But today, just a few short days later...

.

I made school lunches to a lovely serenade of "Santa Baby", "Winter Wonderland", and "O Holy Night" and beamed, "I LOVE Christmas music. It's my favorite part of the holidays."

.

What can I say?

Today's December first.

And that changes everything.

On my way...

How do you host Thanksgiving with a broken foot?

You marry well my friends. You marry very, very well.

.
Marry well and you can do anything. Or nothing as the case may be, which is exactly what I did on Thanksgiving, nothing. Rick shopped, Rick cooked, Rick (and the kids) cleaned, Rick got everything ready, Rick served me... and I sat, and visited, and had a wonderful time. In fact this was my easiest Thanksgiving ever. Maybe I should break myself next year too (okay, now that's not funny. I'd rather have to work).

It was great spending the holiday with most of my family and our good friends the Gales. Good, good times. And my sister Larisa was able to shed some light on this here injury of mine which made me very happy. She seriously injured her arm some years ago and was able to tell me that this horrible shocking, electric feeling in my foot is "normal"... RELIEF... but that her arm continued to feel that way for nearly three years... BUMMER.

But the good news is that it seems to only be really bad in the mornings now and loosens up as the day goes on...HOPE...and last night I WALKED CRUTCH FREE for the first time. I took a step toward my crutches and it didn't shock so I took another one, then another. Woo-hoo! I looked like a little old lady creeping along, but it's a start and I'll take it.

I got some major shock therapy when I tried to walk this morning, but hopefully by this afternoon I'll be back at it. I'm on my way I tells ya. ON MY WAY.

And now on to Christmas. I want to do very subtle, sweet decorations this year. Any fun ideas?

Ready or not...

My foot hates me. It didn't say that in so many words because, well, it can't talk, but I can tell by the way it shoots me with what feels like a berjillion volts of searing pain every time I try to stand on it that it does indeed hate me. I feel bad. I don't like people and or body parts to hate me, but I don't know what else I can do. I've tried to be nice to it, hobbling around on crutches and keeping it up as much as possible for SIX WEEKS now. What more could it want?

I've put my life on hold for you foot. PUT MY LIFE ON HOLD. Can you not see that?
Look...

The drill and screws are right where I left them SIX WEEKS ago, sitting atop that ginormous dresser that you helped me move. Look... SIX WEEKS of dust build up is there too. Is that not enough to prove that I care about your well being? I have babied the crap out of you foot. We've done as little work as possible and have eaten so much take out that last night I was left to ponder when exactly it was that my family had last eaten a vegetable. Do you not find that terribly sad foot? Because I do.

So I'm here to tell you, "Your time's up Mister." (Uh, I mean Ms.) You have given me no choice but to get back to my life with or without you. I'm hosting Thanksgiving at my house in two days, that's right you heard me, THANKSGIVING and you are not going to stop me so don't even try. Which means that we have some work to do, you and I, and you're just going to have to suck it up and help me. That's right you heard me and I think we'll start by picking up that drill and hanging the curtain that I tried to hang that day after you broke. Remember? I thought I could ignore you and continue working anyway because I'm stubborn like that, but you said, "Ha-ha" and started hurting really bad, so we went to the Dr instead. Good times.

Hmm, I wonder what will happen to us this time...

Me, rowdy? I don't think so...

(see my guy's perfectly paid for truck, but please ignore me. Yikes)

"You're kind of rowdy on your blog." My husband told me.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Sting operations, hotel prom dates, shirtless werewolves... I've been reading your blog and it's pretty crazy."
"Well you know that thing with Jacob (the hunky werewolf) is all tongue and cheek. It doesn't mean anything." I explained.
"It's true dad." Paige piped in. "She even says that she didn't like Jacob or Edward by the time she finished reading the books." (thanks Paige)
"Oh I know." Rick said. "I'm not upset. I'm just saying, you're pretty rowdy."

In my defense, I usually wasn't "rowdy" on purpose (usually) I was just a silly naive girl who did stupid naive things, but I survived to tell about it so sometimes I do just that, I tell about it.

And about hunky werewolf boy Jacob... I don't really lust the lad. He's a child for heaven's sake, younger than my own son, but I do respect the heck out the kid for being able to create that awesome bod and it is purty. Even Rick and Landon let out an audible "holy crap" when they came into the room while I was watching a New Moon special on TV, "that kid's only 17?" They asked in amazement.

I have always respected disciplined, hard working, determined people, probably because those are the traits I desire most in myself. It's why I turned my nose up at the young man with the daddy bought Porsche who once vied for my affection, (note to any single guys who are reading this, of which I am sure there are none, "You'd like me if you knew what kind of car I drive." Is not a good pick up line. No it is not.) but agreed to date the boy with the Corvette because he had set a goal to buy it himself by the time he reached 21, and HE DID. Impressive. I've never been impressed by fancy cars, but the determination to work hard and buy one was something to respect.

Which is why I told my dad, with a gleam in my eye, "And his truck is paid off. And he paid it off himself." When I talked about the new boy, Rick, who had stolen my heart. I knew this was a young man who I would always be able to count on, and so he has been. Love him.

He's my Jaward. All of the best traits of Jacob and Edward rolled into one perfect guy who, rowdy girl or not, loves me so completely that I have to just pinch myself and thank those angels for singing that day he walked past my desk 20 years ago. I am a lucky girl indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And a HAPPY BIRTHDAY shout out to my precious Jamie who turned 8 this weekend

.

May all of your birthday wishes come true!

Him is purty...

I feel hungover this morning. But although I did get pulled over last night for a suspected DUI (I was driving with my left foot, chatting with my girls and searching for my cell phone) I promise there was no drinking going on. Just good times with good friends in search of some hot werewolf love. And let me just say to those of you who have switched your allegiances over to team Jacob after seeing New Moon
because...

OH MY GOSH!!!

Just remember, those of us who have been faithful team Jacobers all along get FIRST DIBS. First dibs I say.
.
I will never fully understand the appeal of Edward. I mean the guys alright, but seriously...Cold (yuck)? Marble hard (as in literally rock hard not sexy man hard body hard)? Fatherly (who wants someone telling them what to do all of the time? Get off my back Edward. Jeeze.)? And I just have two words for the director of New Moon (and future movies) concerning Mr. Edward Cullen...BODY DOUBLE. Look into it (okay so maybe that was rude, but come on).
.
Yes Jacob's my guy (well sorta. I got sick of both of them by the end of the series) warm, ripped, fun and happy for heck sakes. The boy smiles. Edward your painful expression is causing me PAIN and not because I feel for you, but because you annoy me. Lighten up dude.
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And to prove that I indeed have always been a true team Jacober I will tell you that New Moon was my favorite book in the series (yeah, I said it) because I got a break from hearing about Edward and Bella's sappy romance (yeah, I said that too) and got to read about a real boy (I like real boys) with real boy feelings, and real boy WARMTH, and real boy TESTOSTERONE (I think Edward's testosterone was replaced by blood lust... not quite as intriguing as real boy testosterone driven feelings if you ask me)
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Wow I didn't plan for this post to be such the Edward slamfest. I better quit before I get hurt. Sorry to all of you team Edwarders out there. Your guy's pretty swell too... I mean that... really...

The Young Love Chronicles...

WRITERS WORKSHOP PROMPT:
Share a diary entry from when you were 13 (only I was 12, but close enough)

April 30, 1982

Today my family and I went camping with the ward for an outing. Our camp was right by a creek. Me, Larisa and Candice were wading at the creek when all of a sudden the boys came and started bombing us with seaweed. It was so gross! They got it in our hair, on our face, all over our clothes and everything!! Later the mutual kids (that includes me) after all the parents went to bed, sat around the fire and talked and listened to music. My sister Larisa and friend Candice kept telling me that S- liked me! Later we all went in groups to find one of the boys. Just take a wild guess who was in my group! That's right S- and his friend B-. Me and Larisa had a bottle of pop sitting by the place we were sleeping and the boys put a frog in it. There was a loud scream when we went to drink that pop!!! Finally we decided to go to bed. The next morning I didn't see S- much because he went hiking and then went home that afternoon. But just before my family went home S-'s friend B- came up to me and asked if I would go with S-. There wasn't even a moments hesitation, I said yes!!!

May 2, 1982

Today is Sunday. I looked all over for S- today at church but I couldn't find him anywhere. Then just before I left his friend B- came up to me and asked me if I still wanted to go with S-. And of course I said yes. Then my friend T- who also likes S- came up to me and said in a kind of mad voice, "Congratulations your going with S-." I said yeah I know and just smiled. I just got off the phone with S-. He said he was just checkin out my phone number.

May 3, 1982

S- called me again tonight. We talked for at least an hour or so.

May 4, 1982

S- called again tonight. We talked about anything and everything for about 2 hours.

May 5, 1982

Guess what S- called again tonight.

May 6, 1982

Today after school S- invited me swimming at his house. Larisa and all the neighbor kids that I know were there too. We all crammed into the jacuzzi and everyone kept pushing me and S- closer together trying to make us hold hands. Well of course I wanted to hold his hand but I don't know why but I always wait for the boy to hold my hand first. But then finally he held my hand and that was that. After we were done swimming S- drove me home on his motorcycle!! I love motorcycles especially when there's a boy in front to hold on real tight to!!!

May 7, 1982

Tonight me Larisa, S- and his friend B- were out on the canal bank talking. Then Larisa and B- left us alone. Boy was that boring!!! We just sat there like dead heads forever la te da!!! But then Larisa and B- got impatient. We were just about to leave when it happened he kissed me. It wasn't much but it was a start!!!

And so ends the record of the S+J saga. And after reading that I just have a few questions...

Why in the heck did I already have a boyfriend when I was only 12? AND...

Why in the heck was I allowed to talk for hours on end with, sit in a jacuzzi with, ride on a motorcycle with and smooch on the canal bank with said boyfriend when I was ONLY TWELVE? That's just plain crazy (of course I don't think my mom was privy to any of this information).

Oh well what can I say,

S- was cute.

Powerless...

I'm way behind on blogging, both writing and reading. I miss y'all and thought maybe I could play a little catch up today since I'm feeling a little blucky and can't do much else. Unfortunately though, the charger to my laptop is feeling a little blucky too. Well actually it's dead. At least I hope that's the problem and not something more serious, but whatever the case my computer won't respond to its power adapter and I'm very sad. A new charger should get here in about two days, here's hoping it works.

.

So now I'm forced to sit at a desk and type on the family computer. And though this was never a problem for me before my husband so generously gifted me my very own "book writing machine" (the name he gave my laptop) I don't like it now. It hurts my neck. And wrists. And tethers me down. And I can't access my pictures. Or my files--including the manuscript I'm working on. And I'm a big whiner baby I know, but I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY hope that new charger works. Keep your fingers crossed for me K. And yes I did back up my manuscript, but not all of our family pictures (priorities) so REALLY keep your fingers crossed for me K.

.

Anyhoo, I love you all and plan to get back to regular blogging soon (like in two days when my charger gets here or perhaps sooner if I decide that this desk gig ain't so bad after all).

Wowwie Zowwie...

She

Loves him.

LOVES HIM!

So we took her to see this.

And I was blown away by the level of talent that had been assembled for this concert. This program was oozing talent. OOZING. From the dancers to the guitarists, backup singers and other musicians, to the directors, set designers, costume designers and technicians of all sorts. Wow is all I have to say. WOW. That would have been the concert of concerts. I feel bad that it never came to be.

But watching the movie did fill me with warm fuzzies toward the human spirit of creativity. Love creativity. And I thought for a moment that perhaps I too could conquer the world (creatively speaking that is). Perhaps. But then I got home and decided that climbing under my covers seemed like a better idea.

For now at least.

The world will never know...

WRITERS WORKSHOP PROMPT:
Describe the best/most creative punishment you have ever given your children or received yourself.

It was my senior year, or was it my junior? No matter, the important thing is that it was the year of the best punishment I ever received and I say this because it's about the only one I remember so it must have been good.

Howard Jones was coming to the state fair, on a school night, and I and a group of friends were going. Woo-hoo! That is until I was late to my A- hour class that morning for the umpteenth time and my dad, feeling very frustrated with my endless, shameless, lateness said, "If you can't get up for class on a normal day what makes you think you will be able to get up after being at a concert all night?" And so instead of Howard Jones I got to go to bed early. Good times.

Although I will admit that this punishment fit the crime, one of those natural consequence things, and I did remember it, I did not however LEARN ANYTHING FROM IT. No I did not. For I am still late to everything. EVERYTHING I tell you.

So we are left to wonder if in fact GOING to the Howard Jones concert instead of missing it would have been the thing to cure my lateness. Perhaps I would have been so grateful to my parents for letting me go that I would have jumped up early everyday thereafter, beginning a new habit of punctuality that would have carried over to this very day.

But sadly, I DID miss Howard Jones and now we will never know just what I could have been.

No we won't.

Big, fat, juicy sour grapes...

A letter to me from my broken foot...



Dear Jeanette (I think I know you well enough to call you that),

You said you weren't mad at me for making you miss going to The Phantom of the Opera with Marlee, Paige and Rick this weekend. You said you were happy for Landon to go in your place.

And that staying in the hotel room with your youngest three, playing with bendaroos, eating junk food and watching movies would be fun.

You said you were happy to do it. That's what you said. But now I know that you must have been lying. LYING. Why else would you have dragged me around the entire next day from yard sales to thrift stores, to music/book stores and the mall? Walking and walking all day long without ever putting me up. YOU NEVER ELEVATED ME. No not once.

And that's why I hurt you today and why I looked like some kind of squishy Jabba the Hut foot when you got home (this picture doesn't show how bad I was but everyone in the house freaked out when they saw me, running for ice and ibuprofen and snapping pictures because I looked so huge-o-mungous). So Ha! Take that! If you're going to try to get revenge on me then I'm just going to give it right back to you girl. Because guess what... it's not my fault I'm broken, IT'S YOURS. Try to remember that.

Sincerely,

Your broken foot

P.S. At least I'm not as purple as I have been. This should prove that I'm trying, so could you please meet me half way on this. Please. Thanks I'd appreciate that (your biceps, hands, armpits and very worn out left leg told me that they would appreciate that too thank you very much).

Busy, busy...

Please forgive my for not writing, but I've been very busy, uh, writing. And boy am I having a fabulous time at it. I had almost forgotten how fun it is to spin a yarn. I love the characters, love the story and love the puzzle of putting it all together. Good times.

BIAM or bust...

November is National Book in a Month, month or BIAM. It's a fun challenge to try to write an entire book in a months time, or to finish a work in progress, or at least make yourself write everyday.

I decided to start fresh on a whole new story, hoping that this will get my creative juices flowing so I can work on the manuscript that my girls beg me everyday to "PLEASE FINISH!"

I set a goal to write 750 words a day. I wanted to say 1000, but I needed to keep my goal realistic. So now if I get to 1000 anyway-- BONUS-- without the pressure.

Yesterday I only had time for 633 words but hey, that's a start. I'm writing a type of story that I said I would never do, but the other day the entire story (minus all of the fine details, that's the hard part) flowed through me and the characters have been keeping me up at night (love that) so I know I need to write it. FUN.

Now I'm off to write my 750 words.

Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
Self-doubt is always my biggest obstacle.

Good times...

We survived another Halloween.

With a Hulk who refused to wear makeup

A witch who got very unhappy and cried off most of her makeup

A vampire, prettier than any from the Cullens clan could ever hope to be

A yucky oozing wound zombie ghost lady. Yikes.



And a girl who had half her face ripped off, poor thing.
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We had a fun time trunk or treating and visiting with family and friends.

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But the next day was even better when we all got together for our first annual Dia de los Muertos celebration. This year we kept it simple with just a few pictures of our loved ones on display, but the food was so YUMMY and the company PERFECT.

I didn't get very many pictures because it's hard to hold a camera while balancing on crutches (and heaven forbid that I should ever ask for help) but here's a few from the program portion of the evening.

We all gathered around and listened to stories of our grandpas. I told the kids that the reason we had steak for dinner was because Grandpa Johnson had been born a fish, but his parents fed him steak everyday until he turned into a boy. It was a favorite childhood story that my dad used to tell us, claiming that he had a scar on his bottom from where his dad had chopped off his little fishy tail. We kids always loved that story and the grandkids loved it too.

Rick then explained that we ate shrimp because it was one of Grandpa Turk's favorites and he told a funny story of Grandpa's allergic reactions to shrimp. He'd have these allergic reactions then eat it again anyway. That's true shrimp love right there.

We sang some favorite family songs. "Once Traveling with the Circus" in honor of Turk and "The farmer boy" for Grandpa Johnson.

Well, my brother Lynn sang "The Farmer Boy" for us because none of our kids have been taught it yet (sinful).

My sister Laurann's wonderful beau Jon (we love him) came too and shared some stories of his dad who passed away also. It was a Day of the Dead, Dad addition. Those silly dads. What are they thinking leaving us all like that?! It was cool to hear Jon's stories and to see a picture of his dad who looks just like Jon and his two brothers. Fun.

Overall it was a great evening with oodles of cousin fun, good conversation and yummo in your tummo food, food, food. Love it.

I want candy, well chocolate anyway...

Friday "Eat, Drink, And Be Scary": Today Laura from Better In Bulk wants to see want we are making in the kitchen. Show your devilish desserts, give us the scoop on pumpkins, or share your favorite holiday drink. If cooking isn't your cup of tea, then tell us what you are doing with your leftover Halloween candy. Do you enjoy immediately, save for later, or just bribe your kids with it when needed?
(this is another Flip camera post so link up and try to win one too)




Normally I would be cooking up something Scary in the kitchen, but with my silly foot I won't even be making Halloween decoration soup this year, because I didn't decorate (I always make a yummy squash soup out of my pumpkin and gourd decorations. Waste not want not you know).
So I'll have to refer to the good old standby question: WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LEFTOVER HALLOWEEN CANDY?

When I was a kid, candy wasn't as readily available to us as it is to my kids today. Candy was a treat, something to look forward to so we ate it very slowly even keeping our Halloween bags in the freezer so it would stay fresher longer.

Now that I'm older, I don't like candy all that much unless you're talking chocolate. I likes me some chocolate. So if we do have leftover candy I usually will confiscate all of the chocolate for myself then leave the bowl out on the kitchen counter until it's all picked through and gone, often throwing away the few bits left at the bottom of the bowl that nobody likes (I don't mind wasting candy because it is not real food you know).

So there you have it. And because I feel bad for not cooking up anything scary this Halloween I will leave you with a little something SCARY that Marlee cooked up in the kitchen this morning (she really did work on this in the kitchen).

This is how my sweet Marlee, lover of all things Halloween, went to school today. This picture doesn't do it justice. It looks much better in person and oh so SCARY.

Spooky shmooky...

WRITERS WORKSHOP PROMPT:
Show your spooky side
(join in today for another chance to win that great Flip camera)

As far as Halloween goes, here is my spooky side. Way back in 1995 I was a witch getting ready to feast on this scrumptiously plump sweet baby Paige. She was so deliciously chunky (love chunky babies). I must have lured her in with my candy house because all witches have candy houses you know. That's what Waylon told me anyway. He said, "Mom, if you ever see a house made out of candy don't go there. Stay far away from it because witches make their houses out of candy so they can catch you."

Whew, I'm glad he learned that. I certainly wouldn't want him to be caught by a witch.

The reason this is my only spooky picture is because

1) nobody ever takes pictures of the mama and

2) I usually go for the cutesie costumes more than the scary. I know I'm such a girl.

But this year I don't think I'll dress up at all because my foot hurts and I'm stuck on stupid crutches and I'm just not in a festive mood okay (cry me a river you big baby). Unless someone has an awesome idea for a costume that involves a broken foot and crutches. Then and only then I might just get a little excited. In the meantime, I am very fortunate to have a certain Miss Marlee in my life because this girl lives and breathes Halloween. It's her favorite holiday. And she is always spooky with no patience for girly girls on this most ghoulish of nights.

And with her mad skills as a makeup artist, she will be able to save the night, painting up all of her sibs while I sit on my fanny. Boy is she going to be busy.
LOVE THAT GIRL.