Ovens.

Yesterday I broke the door off my oven. It isn't important how that happened--just so you know that I did finish painting my kitchen...

Anyway, I had to look at what a disgustingly dirty oven I have all afternoon. I finally decided it was time to clean my oven. Of course, not me personally. It does have a self-cleaning setting (which is quite lovely with an appliance.) I know. I've used it before. Once.

Since we had the instruction manual out to try to fix the door, I was able to get the oven cleaning setting information. It had times for average and heavily dirty ovens. Unfortunately neither of these options could describe MY oven. I added an extra hour for it to clean mine.

So, after 30 minutes the smoke alarm started going off. I opened all the windows and doors, hoping the freezing cold wind would help. It did not. My husband was able to rig up a fan which finally stopped the incessantly loud beeping of the smoke alarm. (The cats may never recover from this trauma.)

I think I'm supposed to wipe out the inside of my oven now. Except with the door now back on, I can no longer see inside it. I will most likely not remember. So basically I blame the door for my dirty oven. I'll get around to it the next time I paint.

Merry Christmas!

We decided to get Sarah and Heather laptops for Christmas this year since they'll be leaving for college this fall. We asked Heather what features she wanted her lap top to have. You know, stuff like a camera, Internet access, memory, etc.

"I want it to be purple," she decided.

So on Christmas morning she opened up her computer and smiled. "It's just what I wanted. It's purple."

Luckily for her, she has a long time to discover all the other features on her purple laptop.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

The Snow Cave

Alternative housing in case the need arises.

These accommodations sleep two comfortably.

The snow this year has a decidedly "industrial" taste to it.

Making snow angels with my honey.

This is Nick's excited face. See all the snow on the deck rail?

Shoveling the driveway on Saturday morning. They had to shovel it 3 more times because it just kept snowing and snowing...

It's harder than you'd think...

On my list of things to do today was "buy a maroon towel for Nicholas." Okay, I can do that. At the mall I went to Marshalls and looked through the towels. Man, there are a lot of different colored towels!

"Excuse me, but would you call this towel maroon?" I asked a lady walking past. "No, that is eggplant," she informed me. (Eggplant?!?)

Obviously this lady knew her colors. I wasn't about to let her get away.

"What about this one?" I asked holding up another towel. "No, I'd call that more of a paprika," she told me.

"This one?" I asked hopefully, holding up yet another towel. "Nope. Here let me show you." She led me over to the pillows and pointed to one. "This, is maroon. See, it has more red in it."

I lamented not being able to drag the color lady through the mall with me as I walked to another store. I immediately asked the sales lady at Sears, "Do you have any maroon towels?"

"The closest we have is cranberry." she replied. I left wondering why all the towels seemed to be named after food.

A few more stores later I went to JCPenneys determined to come out with a towel. "Is this maroon?" I asked another unsuspecting customer who had the good fortune to be lingering in the towel section at just the right time.

"What does it say it is?" she asked grabbing the towel and looking at the label. Labels! What a great idea...that I'd never thought of...

"It says it's 'Wine' colored." That was helpful. "Would you say that wine colored is also maroon?" I tried, desperate at this point.

"It's close," the lady replied. Probably just to get me off her back.

"I'll take it!" I yelled, excited to have finally found a towel I could buy. Some guy laughed and elbowed his wife. "Why don't you get that excited about towels?" he asked her.

So now I'm at home wondering what Nicholas will say about the towel. I don't know why I'm so worried. I mean the towel is just going to be used to wipe up spit from his trumpet. And I'm willing to bet that some poor kid is going to show up with a cranberry towel or dare I say it---an eggplant colored towel.

But at least it won't be my kid.

Dreams are a mysterious thing.

Three of my fingers were black with frost bite and I was standing in line to have a doctor cut them off. Every time I got to the front of a line, a guy from Pizza Hut would be there asking to take my order. I'd try to explain that I was waiting for the doctor---showed him my fingers--and he'd say "So do you want fries with that?"

I'd get in another line and the same thing kept happening over and over. Finally I asked the Pizza Hut guy why he was asking me if I wanted fries and he said it was because he used to work at McDonalds and it was a habit he just couldn't break.

My fingers never did get fixed. And now I'm awake and craving pepperoni.

Apparently I've met my musical match!!!

Family Resemblance.

Someone asked Heather if her parents played instruments. She told them that yes, they did.

"I knew it!" the guy replied. "I saw them rehearsing with the Orchestra."

"Actually you saw my dad and my sister---they are playing percussion for the Orchestra concert," Heather informed him.

"You look like your mom," he replied.

"But you didn't see my mom. You saw my sister!"

Unfazed, the guy tried again. "Then you look like your dad."

Dating...

We were driving in the car last night and I mentioned to the girls that some guy called and thought I was them and kept talking to me like he was going to ask me out. Finally I yelled out again that I was the mom and the girls weren't home.

They laughed because apparently he thinks that Sarah and Heather are the same person (which oddly enough, happens to them quite frequently).

My husband offered them $50 each if they promised never to accept a date with this kid. He then had to add that no one was allowed to ever tell the guy about this. If you think about it, if the guy or his parents ever found out, it could get a little awkward...

Of course, Heather being the entrepreneur she is, hopefully won't try to make money off this. "Will you give me more than $50 if I go out with you?"

'Tis the season...

Don't you hate it when you have a cold and it's bedtime? It takes like ten minutes to find just the right position so that you can breath out of one quarter of one nostril. Then just when you are drifting off to sleep your nose starts running...and you jerk awake every few minutes throughout the night and have to re-position yourself AGAIN.

I've decided the role of NyQuil is not to prevent any of that from happening but eventually with the correct dose, you just won't remember it. I'm still working on tweaking the dosage...I'll let you know when I've got it perfected.

This morning my nose is running and I'm trying to make "Crispels" (a recipe from the middle ages---kind of like scones but they don't taste as good) to drop off for Heather's class. I'm wiping my nose and washing my hands and wiping and washing and I'm in a cycle and I can't stop and the crispels are burning...so I stick a wad of Kleenex up my nose and continue on.

I'm almost to the high school office when I think to myself how great it is that my nose hasn't been running. I realize it's because I still have the Kleenex stuffed up my nose. Ahhh, this explains the look I get from several high school students on my way to the office...Lovely.

It's okay though, because hopefully with a large enough dose of Nyquil tonight, I won't remember any of it tomorrow...

A waste of time.

I guess I haven't added a new post in a while. Huh. I'm trying to figure out why, but I'm coming up with nothing. Aha! This is exactly why I haven't written in a while! It seems nothing has been happening...

I mean I could write about how the other night Nick decided we just HAD to go buy another season of Spongebob. All six of us piled into the car and went to Walmart since it was the only store open so late. We thought it would be fun to see how long we could go all linked together in a chain. The greeter was laughing so hard when she saw us trying to get through the doors that everyone else in the store had to look to see what she was laughing at. Then at the top of her lungs she started singing "Row Row Row Your Boat." (We still haven't figured out why she did that.)

See, that wasn't blog worthy.

Or I could write about how at the doctor's office we had to wait so long that Nick started playing with the chair---making it go up and down and recline, etc. When the doctor finally came in Nick was almost touching the ceiling.

No. That isn't quite interesting either.

What about last week when we went to the AB Honor band concert and sat in the front row. I was kissing Anna and she was freaking out that I was embarrassing her. So I decided to lick her forehead. She agreed that maybe kissing wasn't so bad...

And there are more, semi-interesting-but-not-quite---things that have happened. But nothing worth you wasting your time reading. So by not writing, I'm actually doing you a service and giving you more time to do more productive activities. You can thank me now.

We had the scavenger hunt tonight at the mall. I think it was a success. I kept forgetting that I was in disguise...I saw someone my husband works with and started talking to him. It took me a while to realize that he didn't recognize me! I finally told him that it was me and he wondered why I was dressed up like "Betty Boop." I figured that was better than "The Creepy Lady," which was what my daughter had been calling me all night!

Side note: Embarrassing and awkward things always seem to happen to me. So when embarrassing and awkward things happen to OTHER people, well...I just LOVE it!

Brian sent me an e-mail about his excitement this morning that I just had to post. And the best part of the story? It didn't even happen to me!

What a way to start the day.

So, there I was, sitting trying to mind my own business in my adopted stall in my adopted bathroom in the CAC (Music Building at WVU). Suddenly, I hear "clip clop clip clop" go by outside in the hallway. I figure I'm safe from being joined in my little pre-8 AM commune with nature. However, the clip clops get closer and closer. They get so close that they sound like they're in the little airlock area leading into this bathroom.

Then the door opens! Two people walk in. One goes into the stall beside me (the only other stall in this bathroom) and turns around in black, satin high heels with little black bows on the closed toes.

So, now my mind is racing. Did I really read "MEN" on the door like I thought I did on the way in? Did I see all the hallmarks of a men's bathroom on my way to the stall?

"Can you turn the water on?" the girl in the stall beside me asks. "Sorry, I'm just...you know."

So, apparently she has a companion with her who then turns the water on in one of the sinks.

Now my mind is really going. Surely she can see my shoes and knows that I'm not a girl. I've got my coat hanging over the crack in the door, so I can't even peek out to verify my own gender's porcelain accouterments on the opposite wall.

So, I sit very, very still and hope she doesn't start screaming at me and bring the police into this already uncomfortable situation. That, and I keep hoping she'll hurry up---I'll have to, well, finish things up AFTER she leaves; then I'll have to wait a couple minutes to make sure they are far down the hallway. And I parked in a 15-minute parking spot!

Tick tick tick tick tick....

Then the door opens again. A male voice says, "oh...well, this is awkward..."

One of the two girls answers, "we could NOT find a girl's bathroom!"

Whew! At least it wasn't me that was mixed up!

So, the magnanimous guy offers to show them where it is. He leaves. I get a little uncomfortable again when I hear the toilet paper roll turning.

Finally she flushes and is about to leave. Amongst all the things going through my head that I COULD say ("sorry about the mix up", "I won't tell if you won't", "Here are my keys---can you move my car?"), the thing that I feel like I can't resist saying is this:

"Nice shoes."

Hello?

I finally got the phone call this morning that I knew would someday come. 7:30am: "Mom, can you bring some spoiled eggs to school?"

Spoiled eggs? As I sat wondering just how long I'd have to leave eggs on the counter for them to "spoil" properly, my daughter grew impatient. "Mom, can you bring them as soon as possible?"

I tried to explain that it may take all day for eggs to spoil. Did she really want them now?

"Boiled Eggs!" she clarified. Boiled eggs for her chemistry class experiment. Ah, now that makes much more sense. And just to be on the safe side, I'll need to look up exactly how to spoil eggs just in case THAT call ever comes.

To be or not to be.

Or more specifically, who to be. It's time again for the youth scavenger hunt at the mall. Every year I convince 5-10 adults from church to dress up and "hide" in the mall. The youth have to answer clues and try to find as many of these adults as possible before time is up. It's been a fun activity.

The hardest part for me is trying to come up with some kind of costume clever enough to trick but not stand out, so my kids will have a challenging time finding me.

The first year I dressed up as a hooker. My friend let me borrow an awesome long blond wig and the rest of the costume sort of evolved from there. In the picture, I'm just getting ready to go next door to ask my neighbor if she had a more appropriate (or would that be inappropriate) shirt I could borrow to complete my ensemble.

When I explained what I was doing and what I needed, she was insulted. "You mean you think I would have a hooker shirt?!?" Gee, when she put it that way, I could see why she was offended. I assured her that I only meant she had better clothes than I did and she was more likely to have something "fun" I could wear. She laughed and immediately helped me, also insisting that I fix my skirt to make it shorter.

I don't have a picture of my complete ensemble---an "after" shot, with added accessories and new shirt---but you can get the general idea. Too bad you can't see my knee-high black boots...

When my son saw me, I went over to give him a hug. He pushed me away and my husband had to explain that it was me. With a horrified expression he squeaked out, "Mom?"

The next year, I dressed up as a jogger with a black wig.

Last year I decided to go as a very pregnant lady with a red wig.

So you can see my dilemma. I have to come up with something GOOD. I've gotten several great ideas, so I just need to see which one I can pull off.

Got Pop?

Yesterday I bought 10 cases of pop. Thank you to all those who noticed and took the time to comment. I do realize it is a lot of pop and I appreciate your concern. But it was on SALE!

So I got home and Brian helped me unload the car. "Wow! That's a lot of pop," he exclaimed, after seeing the cases stacked in the trunk.

"Yep, it was on sale," I replied, wondering why I felt like I'd been having the same conversation over and over again. "They were only $1.98 each!" Pepsi Max is Brian's drink of choice and we have a hard time finding it. Sometimes we can find it at Target and it will sometimes go on sale for $3 but usually costs $4.98 for a box of 12 cans. So $1.98 was a good deal. And there's nothing better than a good deal:)

"Did you buy all they had?" my husband wondered. "Nope," if only he could've seen how hard it was to push the cart with all my regular groceries plus all that pop.

"Too bad," he lamented. (Now I guess I'll have to go back and get some more.) We do have a pretty impressive "Wall of Pop" going on. I think we'll have to move it though, so it isn't the first thing people see when they come to our house.

I win.

I took Sarah and Heather to the doctor again today. As we waited in the room to be seen by the doctor, Sarah said, "make sure the doctor tells us which one of us is sicker."

I immediately began explaining that both of them were sick, both felt miserable, and that there was no such thing as "who is sicker."

A nurse came back into the room to re-take Sarah's temperature and asked which one was Sarah. I pointed to Sarah. "Oh, the sicker one," she replied as she stuck the thermometer into Sarah's mouth.

The girls started laughing and I shook my head. It's always a competition...

What's that, you ask? It's a pile of socks without matches. 8 socks without matches, and in only 10 days. That's pretty good, don't you think? Impressive even. Hey, at least they did the laundry while I was gone:)

I just wonder where they all went...

I'm in Nebraska visiting my youngest sister Jodie. She has a 9-year-old daughter named Olivia. We've done puzzles, played with Bratz dolls, etc. Yesterday she asked me if I wanted to play a game that my older sister, Aunt Diane always plays with her. Of course, I told her yes. I'm not going to be the Aunt who won't play...

So this game is Olivia pretending to be my mom and I am her child. She gave me a name, "Min" and told me that I was supposed to go to bed at 8:30pm. I told her that I should be able to stay up later. To which she responded, "But Aunt Diane always goes to bed when I tell her to."

Gee, thanks Diane.

Jodie got to play "the van driver." Olivia would call to her, "Hey van driver," and the funny part was that Jodie would respond. I love this age where kids use their imagination.

Later that day we went to Sam's Club and Olivia and I went around "pretending" to buy food while my mom and Jodie filled their cart with meat. They were attempting to fill up the freezer she'd just bought. As we walked through the store we got more strange looks than I've ever gotten...and, if you've read any of my other posts, you can see that that's saying something. People openly gawked at the meat piled in her cart. We felt like we needed a sign or some sort of disclaimer: Just bought freezer.

You'd think people would be a bit more discreet. I wanted to yell, "Quit checking out our meat!" It was a glorious amount of meat though...

Light bulbs---there is a reason I refuse to change them.

A bulb burned out above the computer my dad was working on. He unscrewed it and handed it to me. Even though changing light bulbs is not my job, I figured, how hard could it be to buy a light bulb?

I clutched that light bulb in my hand all day as I went from store to store looking for a match. I spent 30 minutes looking for one in Walmart. I just knew it had to be there somewhere. It wasn't. It wasn't at Ace Hardware either.

Walking down the light bulb aisle at Lowe's, a guy saw me clutching my light bulb and started laughing. He reached out and showed me what he was holding: THE SAME EXACT LIGHT BULB! Unbelievable.

Both of us started searching frantically. I think we were both worried there would only be one bulb left. But alas, there weren't any. The guy shook his head in defeat, "They don't have any at Walmart or Home Depot."

I know. "Don't bother looking at Target or Ace," I warned him as he walked away dejectedly. He told me he was going to order one off the Internet.

An employee gave me a light bulb that he claimed was the closest they had to the one I was looking for. Even though it wasn't the same, I bought it. I figured I'd looked long enough and frankly, I was tired of carrying around the light bulb.

I got home, elated to show everyone that I'd finally found the light bulb. My husband took one look at it and shook his head. "It's iridescent." (I don't even know what that means, but it's okay, Heather explained it to me.) He went and retrieved another light bulb and handed it to me. "Here, get one like this."

So I have a new light bulb to find now. The good news is that I get to carry around a different light bulb tomorrow.

YES, YES, YES!!! I mean...sure, that would be nice.

The car filled with balloons, on our way to deliver!

Heather with all the balloons.

Yesterday a guy gave me a rose with a balloon attached and asked me if I would give it to Heather after she finished playing her violin solo. We were at a Young Yomen in Excellence program at church and I happily gave Heather the flower. We spent the rest of the meeting wondering how we could pop the balloon to read the message we could see was inside the balloon without drawing too much attention to ourselves.

As soon as it was over, Heather grabbed her sisters and a few of the other young women and ran straight to the parking lot to pop the balloon. Inside the balloon was a poem asking Heather to homecoming. All the girls swooned at the sweet gesture.

It was already almost 8pm so we headed home to plot and plan. By the time we got home everyone ran to gather supplies and got started. It took all of us to keep up with Nicholas. He was a machine. Sarah printed and cut up "magic 8-ball" type answers. Heather and I rolled the strips of paper and put one in each balloon. Nick blew up balloons. He could blow up a balloon with only 2 huge puffs of air. Amazing. Sarah tied the balloons and Anna stuffed balloons into black garbage bags.

After blowing up over 100 balloons, sweat dripping down his face, Nick asked: "Can't you just say Yes?" And miss out on all this fun??? Anyway, we loaded the guy's truck with all the balloons. Inside each balloon were messages like, "Your answer lies within another balloon," "Concentrate and ask another balloon," and "You will find your answer in due time."

We gave a balloon with a "Yes" answer to his dad to give the guy after he'd looked through all the balloons. We're hoping he wasn't running late this morning so he wouldn't be annoyed to find his truck full of balloons instead of surprised.

And of course, we're hoping we put the balloons in the right truck.

I swear it's the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Having lunch with some friends yesterday we were talking about high school and we all agreed that none of us would ever want to go back and re-live our high school years.

I told them that I was making my girls go to prom this year even though neither of them wanted to. It is a rite of passage. They all agreed. One of my friends mentioned that she had two nephews who were seniors and over six feet tall. If either of my girls were interested, she could make sure they were visiting during prom.

I told this to my girls last night. They sorta freaked out. "You broke the rules," they insisted.

Yes, we have rules.

Prom rules:
1. If a boy asks them to go to prom they must accept. Unless the boy is covered from head to toe in tattoos and has more than three body piercings.

2. My girls will not ask a boy to take them to prom.

3. I am not allowed to ask a boy to take them to prom. This includes making/posting fliers, etc.

4. Cousins, brothers and other relatives are not acceptable prom dates. (I'll need to ask them about second cousins.)

So, you see, there are rules. For the record, I did not ask anyone if they had eligible dates for my daughters. My friend brought this up completely on her own. Besides, the prom is months away. I told her I'd get back with her. I don't see what the big deal is. No rules have been broken here.


Besides, we've already bought the dresses.

Finally found my breaking point.

"There's a red mark on your neck," Sarah told me at dinner last night.

"Really? Let me see," Anna demanded.

"It's huge," Sarah continued, for some reason really interested in my neck.

"Is it a hickey?" Heather questioned.

"No," I assured them. It wasn't. But everyone at the table had to come over and personally reassure themselves.

"Nope, NOT a hickey," my husband announced. Geesh, I hoped that the official prognosis was now complete and we could talk about something else. It wasn't. My family continued to conjecture around the table about what could've caused such a large red mark on my neck.

"Your shirt must be too tight around your neck," one of the kids declared. The other kids finally agreed that this must be the reason.

"And you've kept your shirt on this whole time?" Sarah wanted to know. "Even though it has given you a red mark on your neck?!?"

***Aside***As you can see there had been way too much talking about the mysterious red mark. It was driving me nuts. It was all anyone could talk about around the dinner table. You can hardly blame me for what I did next.

I took off my shirt. At the dinner table.

Before you judge me too harshly, Nicholas had already left the table and gone to the computer room to print out music for his band practice that evening, so it was only Brian and the girls. But still. It wasn't my proudest moment. At least I was wearing my new bra.

Heather covered her face and kept repeating, "Can she do that?" very loudly; Sarah averted her eyes and told me to put my shirt back on; Anna started laughing hysterically. And Brian. When he realized what I had done, just sat there and smiled.

So, I finally realized that if I hadn't made my point, I never would and put my shirt back on. But from this experience I have realized a few things:

1. Sometimes I need to think one step ahead of myself before acting.
2. With my luck, my husband is now going to expect me to start taking my shirt off as part of every meal...
3. Modesty IS the best policy. So remember children, do as I say. Not as I do.

Just say what you mean.

Dropping my daughter off at the middle school this morning she leaned over towards me. "Is your hair wet or is it just greasy?" she asked before opening the door and getting out of the car. Kids are great. I love how they keep things real. I can't imagine how self absorbed I would be without my kids around to keep me humble.

But I like to think that it doesn't have to be REAL all the time. For example, for me it just seems a bit much to pick up used Kleenex throughout the house. Yesterday I remarked to my child that she needed to throw away her Kleenex because I didn't appreciate having to touch her disgusting snot rags. She informed me that she doesn't use all of them to blow her nose with. Some of them she uses to clean out her ears.

Too much information. But that's my kids. Keeping it real.

Just one copy, please.

Ahhh, Staples. We've been there a lot this past week. Anna's new English teacher likes her to turn in papers that include colored pictures. We were at Staples twice today trying to print out a poem Anna had written with an accompanying picture. It was one page long. And it was taking the guy FOREVER.

While we waited, a song came on and it was one I liked. "Mom we let you sing at home because we love you---but NOT in public," she informed me. I continued singing. "Mom if you don't stop singing I'll start flinching again," she threatened. Okay, I stopped.

Flinching whenever me or Brian came near the kids was a funny trick their Aunt Molly had taught my kids when they were little. It was hilarious. Strangers would watch me approach my child who would then flinch making it look like I beat them. Very funny. I can't wait until Molly's little boy gets old enough so I can teach this trick to him.

Anyway, without my singing to distract us, we started watching the printer guy. We were the only customer and he was still not getting the page to print. Finally something came out of the printer, he looked at it, crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. "I don't think he likes your poem," I whispered loudly to my daughter.

Printer guy looked very unhappy and called for another employee to come help him. Together they spent another ten minutes looking at the computer. I had to wonder if they were perhaps proofreading her poem. Or maybe they were trying to rework it into a haiku.

Finally the poem was printed. Or more accurately a whole stack of Anna's poems were printed. Unhappy printer guy handed them to us, apologized for making us wait for so long, all the while muttering insults about the printer under his breath. Oh, and he wouldn't even let us pay for them. Which was very nice.

You can never have too many boyfriends, I mean, socks.

I sent Heather and Anna to the store and after the fourth phone call with questions about what they were supposed to be getting, I hear, "We've found ourselves in the sock department, and we don't know what to do."

Since I find myself in this situation all the time (?!?) I understood completely. Actually, knowing Heather's love for socks, I understood completely. "Go ahead and pick out a couple of pairs," I told them before hanging up. Heather brought home a pair of sparkly tights and Anna found some owl socks.

You needed to know about Heather and her sock fetish so you can appreciate the next story:

Just last week Heather and I were at Target and the guy at the check-out counter was flirting shamelessly with my unsuspecting daughter. "Wow, those are some great socks," he admired. And, "Those socks are really awesome." I should mention that she was wearing said socks.

But the guy just wouldn't stop and kept going on and on about Heather and her socks. I felt so bad for the guy, but Heather just smiled and stood there. She really was clueless. I had the urge to tell the poor guy that I'd go out with him just to put him out of his misery. Maybe we could have lunch and I could help him work on his pick-up routine...

Or maybe he just really, really, really liked Heather's socks.

en794jw2fu

Family togetherness is a beautiful thing. Painting a deck,
Is fun to do,

Fun to do,


Fun to do.

Painting a deck is fun to do.

To do, to do, to do.

Painting a deck using an oil based paint that cannot be sprayed or rolled on is especially fun. So fun, in fact, that it is necessary to make it mandatory fun. And fun it was. Although, after an hour or so, we had to make Anna the official photographer, and then a little while later Heather volunteered to be the caterer. We've never eaten better.

Deck painting tips: If you feel the paint dripping down into your armpit, you've put too much paint on the paint brush. And most importantly: whatever you do, DO NOT MENTION that this is just the FIRST coat.

She did WHAT?!?

Brian came home from lunch today and announced that someone at work came up to him and told him that we need to make sure our daughter keeps her paws off of his son.

Several things flew into my head at once after Brian told me this.

"His son should be so lucky."

"Wait, which daughter?"

"Who is his son, anyway?"

"Good for her....whichever one it is..."

"I'll kill her!"

And then I knew. As sure as I know that trail mix is the most perfect food ever invented (and it's delicious, too) I knew that the guy had to be talking about someone else's daughter.

It turns out, after I got all the dirt from my husband, I was both right and wrong. In fact, the guy had been talking about our daughter. But he had been joking.

I guess Heather was lab partners with the guy's son in Chemistry. He'd told his dad that Heather knew everything and he had just sat there. The guy said that he'd told his son that Heather was smart so he was supposed to do everything Heather told him or she would chew him up, spit him out, walk over him and never look back. I wonder where he was getting his information...That sounded a little harsh. Not that I'd stand in her way of getting a good grade. But she would at least be polite about it...

So, thinking about it, I guess I am relieved that none of my girls were pawing random boys in public. I guess I should be thankful.

I smell bacon.

School started this week. With school means the start of football games. And that can only mean one thing. Bacon. We started the tradition last year. After the kids came home from the football games we would have bacon cooked and ready for them to eat. The first time, Nicholas came through the door and yelled, "I smell bacon!" He had such a huge smile on his face, we've been doing it ever since. Then we sit around and hear about how they did in marching band at the game while they ate. Kind of a late night breakfast, if you will.

Anyway. Last night at breakfast, Sarah told us that on the way home from the game in Buckhannon she got in trouble on the bus. We were very surprised. Sarah never gets in trouble at school. One of the chaperones busted her for sitting in the back of the bus. In the same seat with a boy. This is clearly against the rules.

But it gets better. Apparently, she sat and argued with the chaperon saying that she'd done it all last year and even as recently as last week on the band trip to Kennywood. She did her best, but in the end she had to change seats.

And so did her brother.

Just call me Sherlock Holmes.

The past few weeks I've been having problems with my husbands' white shirts. Each week one of his shirts has ended up in the laundry basket with marks all over it. I haven't been able to figure out what they are or where they come from. One week there were blue steaks up and down the arms, the next week gray spots on the back, and this past week yellow smudges on his collar. And I can't get any of the marks off either.

I've tried shout, oxi-clean, bleaching, etc. Nothing works. It's a mystery.

Until yesterday at lunch. My friend casually asked if I've had any luck getting stains out of Brian's white shirts. What?!? I haven't told anyone, so I was curious as to how she knew about his shirts.

Apparently during church her grandson has been coloring with markers. All over the back of my husband. She'd been too embarrassed to mention it before. I have noticed her grandson has been a lot quieter lately...

Ahhh, this explains everything. Permanent markers. Hence all the drawings and designs on his back. Then when he puts his arms up on the back of the pew, little lines up and down his sleeves.

So, Sunday I have a couple of options. I can bring some washable markers. Or we can find a different seat to sit in. Either way: Mystery Solved!

It's okay. Her virtue wasn't lost---just temporarily misplaced.

Sarah and Heather got their Young Women Recognition Awards this Sunday. It's the completion of 4-5 years worth of goals and projects. It was a lot of work and I was proud of them for finishing it.

They spent a lot of time this summer working on the different "value" projects. Even though I knew what they were doing, it always threw me off to hear them talking about it. "Anna how is your integrity?" I heard Heather ask one day. Anna replied, "I'm working on it, but I don't have any faith."

This past year they added the value "Virtue." Since it wasn't in the book, the girls were given a separate virtue pamphlet. Last month Heather could be heard yelling through the house, "Mom, I lost my virtue! Has anyone seen my virtue?" Don't worry, we found Heather's virtue. It was in the kitchen. Where she left it.

Trying to cut the cord, but it's just too hard.

Today Sarah and Nicholas went to Kennywood with the band. For the whole day. Not that I mind so much. It's just that it is really hot out and you know, I worry. So this morning I went through the whole spiel about making sure they drink water all day because dehydration is no laughing matter. I know I went over all of this last night so I probably deserved the eye rolling, but I can't help it.

I was about to start going over everything one last time when my children volunteered:

Yes, we charged our phones. Yes, we have money for food and water. Yes, we have hats. (There is a 67 percent chance of rain today at Kennywood and they refused to bring rain ponchos.)

Fine. I get it. I watched them drive out of the driveway feeling a pang of sadness. I decided I'd run out to wave goodbye. On my way to the garage door I saw they had forgotten something. "Wait," I yelled running after them.

More eye rolling as my daughter informed me that she had grabbed a different hat. "That's fine," I told her. "But you'll need your band shoes," I replied smugly as I handed them to her. Ahhh, it's nice to know my children still need me.

Please pass the manners.

Last night I was standing in the kitchen eating cookie dough. When out of no where, my husband and 2 of my kids tackled me, taking the cookie dough. Tackled me. To the ground. I ask you, what has this world come to when you can't eat cookie dough in the sanctuary of your own home without having to worry about getting pummeled?

I think the trouble can all be traced back to the day our cat gun was mysteriously broken. We used to have a cat gun which was actually just a spray bottle. When the cats were little we sprayed them to remind them not to get on the table. Later, starting out as a joke, we used it on the kids. When the kids were chewing with their mouth full, eating rice with their fingers, or licking their plates, my husband would spray them with the cat gun. It worked wonders on their table manners.

Anyway, it seems that this past summer I have been asking "Where are your manners?" way too often. So often, that I'm considering buying a replacement cat gun. Getting tackled for cookie dough would have definitely been grounds for a good spray. I mean, chances are that had they asked politely, I might have given them some...

The last time I asked Anna where her manners were, she turned to me and replied, "Manners can't be taught, they are bred." First, what does that even mean? Second, at our house the only "breeding" you'll find is white or wheat. As in bread. I had responded by asking her if she wanted butter with her "bred."

I admit that maybe I could have come up with something better to say. It probably showed my lack of breeding. Yep, I definitely need to buy a new cat gun.

Mind your p's and q's.

Can I just say that the amount of crud I just sucked out of Brian's crack is just plain embarrassing? And before you get to thinking how nice I am for doing this, stop right there. Normally I am right there with those of you who believe you should clean out your own crack, but today I made an exception.

Because last night, well, I may or may not have left his car window open and we had this huge rain storm. So, I'm kind of hoping that by the time he comes home, he'll be so busy noticing his squeaky clean crack and newly vacuumed interior that he won't realize that his behind is completely wet from the car seat...hey, it could happen.

Plus, now that I have this nifty little vacuum, it is fun to vacuum all the little cracks and crevices that before were out of reach and therefore off limits. So beware. No one's crack is safe.

You'll never know what you'll see at the doctor's office.

Sarah has had a sore throat for the past couple days and today she woke up with an ear ache. I knew what this meant and I dreaded it. A trip to the doctor. Ugh. I dropped Sarah off at the door so she could sign in and went to park the car. After getting Sarah registered, I went to the waiting room when, who did I find myself sitting across from? It figures. It was the guy I had just seen in the parking lot. The guy who was peeing on his car. Seriously. Who does that?

It was awkward for several reasons. First, he had turned to look at me as I drove past. So he saw me see him peeing. Second, I didn't know him, yet it felt like I knew him. If you know what I mean. So, there we sat, both of us trying not to look at each other and while doing so, we kept making eye contact and then both quickly looking away. Awkward. I've never felt more relieved to have the nurse come and call us back. And speaking of being relieved...sorry, I know, but I couldn't help it.

Luckily creepy guy was gone when we left. So here is my friendly tip for the day: if you ever have to go to the bathroom really, really bad, try to avoid peeing on your car in the middle of the parking lot. It is creepy.

Watch out, this isn't pretty.

I need to look and see how many times I write about my trips to Walmart. It's rather embarrassing. I think I almost got escorted out by security today. But I swear it wasn't my fault. I went to the customer service counter and boy was I mad. I was livid. I took the Black and Decker hand vacuum I had just bought less than an hour ago and dumped the contents of the black "dust bowl" container on their counter. A pile of cigarette butts, animal hair and crud sat in a pile between me and the customer service employee.

"It's disgusting, isn't it!" I told her, possibly a little too loudly. My hands were shaking and I could barely control myself. Another employee came over and asked if she needed to call security. "I just bought this and when I got home and opened it, all this filth dumped out all over my kitchen counter!" I explained quickly before anyone had time to call for back-up. "I'm trying not to throw-up," I added, it was disgusting!

The employees finally understood that I was not a crazy person. "Wow, I'd be mad too!" one of the ladies admitted while the other employee started writing up a complaint. They both apologized to me repeatedly, but it still didn't make me feel better. Well maybe dumping it out on the counter did a little.

High Standards.

We had 4 missionaries (all young men ages 19-21) over for dinner tonight. It was a nice evening, but I have to admit there was something they said that I found rather odd. They mentioned that one of the things they usually find out right away about their new companions was which Disney princess they liked the best. Seriously? Now you see that I wasn't kidding when I said it was odd.

Although, I do remember when "The Little Mermaid" first came out, at least half the guys at college were in love with Ariel. Also, strange. (I'm sure it didn't have anything to do with the shells she was wearing.)

Anyway, being curious I asked one of them which princess they liked. He said he liked the "Swan Princess." Instantly there was a loud uproar. I guess the Swan Princess isn't a Disney movie. So technically that means she isn't elgible to be a "Disney" princess. This was sounding a little too complicated.

Since the first princess went over so well, I decided to ask another missionary. He liked Meg. Again, another round of comments. "Meg married Hercules who was a god, so she isn't a princess." Wouldn't you agree that goddess trumps princess? I mean we are talking about cartoon characters.

That night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, the more I thought about the whole conversation, the more disgusted I became. I mean, it's bad enough that girls have to live up to Hollywood's expectations of what they should look like. But now they have to compete with Disney Princesses? Geesh. Give me a break.

Unless of course we get to wear costumes. If that's the case, I call dibs on the sea shells.

Argh!

My friend and I took her kids to get something to eat the other day. As we sat down with our food, a man with an eye patch entered the restaurant. Her son had a look of awe on his face as he stood up on his chair and yelled as loud as he could, "Look everyone, it's a pirate!"

Interestingly enough the subject of eye patches just came up again. My son and I were just talking about them yesterday. On the back of his learner's permit it has "2 corrective lenses." I explained that "2" was the code for corrective lenses, not the number of corrective lenses. "Do you think there is a code for eye patches?" he had asked.

Had I been thinking, I would have used my previous opportunity at the restaurant and asked the pirate if I could see his driver's license. Now we may never know the answer to his question.

INXS is not for the faint-hearted.

I haven't been running since right before I got sick. Since it's been a while, today I decided I'd do a short run in my neighborhood. I was approaching an older couple when all of a sudden, the man grabbed his wife and pulled her off to the side of the road. They looked quite scared so I turned around to see if a car was coming. There wasn't. They kept looking at me, though.

Did I smell? I guess it was possible...it was 11:00 and really too late for me to be running. It was already hot outside. But I couldn't smell that bad, could I? Then I realized that I was singing out loud. It was an INXS song and the words I had been singing were: "Devil inside, devil inside, every single one of us, the devil inside..."

I guess I had to admit that a sweaty, heavy breathing person, singing about the devil would make anyone a little nervous...As I continued running I tried to figure out what I could do when I saw them again at the other side of the circle. Apologizing would only remind them that I was creepy. I decided I'd just smile and pretend I was normal. But the closer I got to them, I realized that I probably did stink.

I ran past them and tried not to cringe as the man grabbed his wife's arm as a precaution. I knew there was a reason I usually try to run early in the morning. And scaring old people is an all-time new low for me.

Happy Happy Birthday!

Today is Nicholas' 15th birthday. He plans on taking the test this week to get his learner's permit. It's hard to believe he'll be able to drive soon. The other day when I reminded him he needed to start reading the manual, he remarked that he should because it's been way too long since he's driven. I just had to stare at him for a while. I told him that it's been a long time since he's driven because HE DOESN'T HAVE HIS LICENSE AND HE DOESN'T DRIVE! I think he's referring to all the times he used to "borrow" the car keys after church and drive around the parking lot.

Heather made a birthday cake after we got home from church today. She was mixing it when Nick came up and asked her what she was doing. "I'm knitting a sweater," she replied. After the cake was done they noticed that someone had eaten a small piece. For some reason everyone automatically assumed it was me---but hey, I was just trying the sweater on...

I'm now officially too old for the teeny boppers to understand.

It's been raining or looked like it was going to rain all week. Every day I ask myself or my husband, "Should I have Nick mow?" And then I can't help it. I just start laughing and laughing and laughing.

My kids have stopped trying to figure out why I find this funny. Which makes it even funnier to me. They don't even know what a NICMO is! That is how old I am.

I tried to explain it to them after the first time I accidentally commented that it was good that Nick had mowed. (See, even just writing it makes me smile.) But my kids got that expression on their faces. The one that they save just for me. The, that's-the-stupidest-thing-you've-ever-said-in-your-life, "I don't know what you're talking about" look. For some reason, I know the look very well.

Or maybe they are just mortified to hear their mother speaking of such things. Perhaps their system just shuts down as soon as I start speaking about it. Which of course, only makes me laugh more. When probably it isn't even that funny. To anyone else, of course. Because to me, it is hilarious.

NICMO: An alternate spelling for NCMO--which is short for No Commitment Make Out. Two people mutually agree to not get into a relationship--but just enjoy making out.

But now NICMO is whenever my son mows the lawn. See? Funny.

Harry, Bella and all our other good friends.

On Monday we went to see the new Harry Potter movie. It was fun to go with the whole family. Brian had read the books out loud to the kids when they were little, so Harry Potter has always felt like one of the family to me. Before the movie, Brian pulled out a handful of plastic colored bracelets and passed them out to everyone. They each had the name of one of the four Hogwarts houses on them. Mine said Hufflepuff. I guess he and Sarah got them while waiting in line for the last book to come out and he has kept them all this time. So with matching bracelets, we all sat together and watched the movie.

In the parking lot that same day, we saw a car with the license plate "Bella 13." I rolled my eyes and said how pathetic it was that 12 other people had the license plate "Bella". Brian surprised us all by informing us that it was "Bella 13" because Bella's birthday is on the 13th of September. Huh? We've all read the Twilight books several times but have never picked up that fun fact. I looked at Brian, who after realizing that he was the ONLY ONE who knew this, seemed a little embarrassed. As he should be.

My husband has teased us endlessly for reading and rereading the Twilight books---even refusing to refer to the last book by any other title than "Breaking Wind." I was shocked when this summer he read all of the books while we were away on vacation in Utah. He is now re-reading them. Huh.

Talking about the books over the phone one night while I was in Utah, he apologized that he would never be Edward. Although sweet, this was actually a relief---he did know Edward was a vampire, right? I'll whisper this next part, so listen closely: Vampires aren't real. Besides, if Brian really knew me, he would know that I would never, ever want him to be like Edward.

Everyone knows I'm a Jacob fan.

We're all together again, we're here, we're here.

We drove to Wheeling yesterday to pick up Heather from Governor's School. She was gone for three weeks and made me think that if this was what next year would be like---taking kids to college---I am soooo not ready. Three weeks was just too long.

The drive home was full of deep discussions. Like just what do you call the place behind your knee? I call it your knee pit. We counted dead raccoons on the side of the road and filled Heather in on everything she had missed over the past several weeks. I told her that we must have hovered a little too close when the guys came to install the new washing machine. "You look very anxious to start washing clothes," one of the guys mentioned. I didn't think we were being THAT obvious---maybe other people don't stand next to them and peer over their shoulders as they work. "We're out of clean underwear," I had blurted. Heather decided she was glad she missed that particular moment....

We read scriptures last night and in the midst of Anna's turn reading, some phrase must have caught Heather's attention because she suddenly burst out in song. It's good to have Heather home.

Random is as random does.

I was checking out my books when the librarian asked me if we were finally finished with our vacation. I was surprised anyone had noticed we'd been gone. "You're here almost every day," she exclaimed. "You're practically family!" Next time, perhaps I'll bring my vacation pictures and set up a slide show for her. Yesterday I wore my pajamas to the library so maybe I do feel a little too comfortable there...

I think living with 3 sisters has finally taken its toll on my son. I'll hear him yell through the house, "Has anyone seen my lipstick?" The problem is that it amuses me so much, I usually don't correct him and tell him that it's really his CHAPSTICK he is looking for...

My washing machine is broken and without the steadying flow of laundry in my life, I feel out of whack. The new white washing machine arrives on Friday. I voted for either the orange or wild cherry flavored machine. Even though, if I am honest with myself, if I did have a red washing machine, I think every time I did a load of whites I'd worry they would all come out some shade of pink...

So, here's to Friday. A day of laundry. A day where everything will be right again in the world---as long as I remember to check pockets for chapstick before doing the laundry.

Watermelon: $1.98; Help from a stranger: Priceless

I figured I'd head over to Walmart first thing this morning and get it over with. It was surprisingly empty and quiet. I walked through the produce section and saw an older man over by the watermelons. I don't usually buy watermelons because Brian doesn't like them. But it's my birthday today and Nick's band is coming over this afternoon. And besides, it's my birthday.

The man was still looking through the watermelons when I approached and I felt awkward just picking up a random watermelon to put in my cart. I mean, he'd been selecting his for several minutes now. I decided to act like I knew what I was doing. I picked up a few watermelons and smelled them. The produce guy actually laughed at me, so I decided smelling them wasn't quite right. I remembered that my sister had knocked on the one we'd bought in Utah.

At this point I got carried away. I started knocking on every watermelon, putting them in piles according to what sound they made. I just couldn't remember if a hollow sound was good or not. After watching me for several minutes, the man next to me finally intervened. "You don't know what you're doing!" he announced, pointing to a watermelon. "Take that one." So I did.

I thanked him and started walking away when his wife came over to him. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "You don't know the first thing about watermelons!" I turned to look at the man. "I know," he mumbled. Then he looked up and saw me staring at him. "But I know more than SHE does." It was true. At least now I have a watermelon.

It's what's on the inside that counts.

I finished taping up the box and headed to my car. I was aware that the box wasn't ideal, but there was nothing I could do about it. I hadn't been able to find packing tape and needed to get to the post office first thing. I waited and got several looks from the people standing in line next to me. But, to be honest, some people make a big deal when I go to Walmart in my pajamas, so I've long since given up on trying to figure out why people are rolling their eyes at me.

I put my package on the counter and the post office lady shook her head and groaned. "Only in West Virginia." What's the big deal? The box was completely covered in duct tape, so what. Everyone does that, right? From her reaction, I guess not. Well, it's mailed and chances are it will stay taped together...By the way, I did end up finding the packing tape on my way home from the post office. It was in the car. Who keeps packing tape in the car?

A little warning next time, please.

I was minding my own business, when Anna came from nowhere and grabbed my behind. "You have a squishy butt," she commented as she turned and walked out of the room.

Okay, that is not fair. She should have at least given me some kind of warning first. I yelled for her to come back. I was ready for her this time. "Go ahead, do it again," I told her. She laughed and gave me another pat. "Say it," I threatened, but she just laughed again.

Putting her in a head lock, I told her to say it again. "Fine," she finally conceded. "Mom, you have buns of steel." That was all I needed to hear, she could leave now.

I know, a little childish...But hey, I have buns of steel, so it's okay.

Family.

I guess I told my mom that I would organize her photos while I visited this summer. She has several plastic bins full of pictures and "memories." I seriously don't remember having this conversation. I'm sure someone did---either me or one of my sisters, anyway. My mom reminded me of this yesterday. I leave tomorrow.

Last night we sat looking through pictures. There are some good ones. We laughed at old perms, apologized for bridesmaid's dresses, and had fun laughing at ourselves. My niece, Olivia, held up a picture from my sister Diane's wedding. It was a picture of her husband and all the best men standing in line dressed in tuxes.

"Were all these men your husband?" Olivia asked my sister.

I love sitting around and just being with my family. We tell silly jokes and reminisce. This is why we are here. After looking at pictures we loaded up and drove to Nielsen's for frozen custard and Iron ports. Another tradition.

We go home tomorrow and hopefully we have enough good times and memories to last until next year.

Generic hats are the pits.

My dad gathered a hose from the garage and as we stood in his driveway, he pointed down the street where he would be going to water some grass he had planted. "If you want to come help, I'll be over there." He pointed again.

I was waiting for a friend to pick me up, but nodded anyway. "OK," I told him. "Maybe I'll stop by to watch you work."

After 15 minutes of waiting, my friend still hadn't arrived and I started walking down the street. I figured it couldn't hurt to admire his new grass for a few minutes---the grass in some strangers' yard. Besides, I could see him sitting in the grass from where I was. His hat was one of a kind.

My dad wasn't facing me, so I decided to sneak up on him. I thought I'd surprise him. I'm not sure exactly what I was planning to do--either rub his shoulders or jump on his back. I was standing right behind him, with my hands on his shoulders when he whipped his head around. The look on his face when he turned his head toward me, was almost more surprised than the look on mine.

I could have sworn it was his hat. But apparently it was not. It was the hat of a very startled man who was definitely not my father. And I was at a complete loss for words. I mean what could I possibly say? "Sorry, I thought you were my father?" (As I all but straddled the poor man.)

So I said nothing and walked away. I heard another man ask "Did you know her?" and then there was a very fast exchange in Spanish. I just walked as quickly as I could back to my parents house. I never looked back.

Community shoes.

At my parents' house there are an assortment of shoes in the entry way. We just take off our shoes and leave them there. And, when we are in a hurry and it's time to leave, we just slip on the closest pair and go.

Last night, I needed to go pick up my kids and my sister decided to come along. She tried on a pair of black sandals by the door. "Wow, these are so comfortable," she commented while she walked around the living room.

"They aren't mine. They must be one of Jenny's girls." There really were a lot of shoes by the front door. "I'm sure they won't mind if you wear them," I assured her as we walked to the garage door. Walking past the couch on the way out, she called out, "Thanks for letting me wear your shoes."

Both girls looked up. "Sure, but they aren't ours." My sister and I looked at each other blankly before remembering that there were a couple people talking to my parents in the other room. Surely they hadn't taken their shoes off and left them in the entry way! We snuck over and peeked through the door but had to run away because we kept laughing so hard. Finally we saw that the woman sitting at the table with my parents was indeed barefoot.

My sister took the shoes off and tried to arrange them exactly as they had been. I swear we laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. I could just imagine my parents walking their guests to the door. Then the woman looking around and not finding her shoes..."Um, I'm sure I wore shoes here!" It's a good thing we didn't leave with them still on! I guess it's the chance you take when you leave your shoes unattended.

Psst...by the way...I just thought you should know...

I never feel very comfortable going to my parents church. I haven't always felt this way. Just since the one Sunday, right before church started, that my dad yelled over to me, "Mindy your hickey is showing." And everyone (at least it felt like everyone) turned to stare at me.

Actually it was only my slip that was showing. I often get the two mixed up myself. Hickey---Slip, common mistake. So I understood completely. But I always feel like ever since then, people in that ward look at me rather strange. Especially since at the time, I had been there for a month without my husband. Do hickey's last that long? I don't know.

I did take my dad aside later and explain that the next time he needed to tell me that my hickey and/or slip were showing, I would prefer he pass me a note...Or announce it over the intercom. Either way.

Pride...

I've been trying to keep up with the training, but have had a hard time breathing and running at the same time. Wednesday a man in a truck actually stopped to ask me if I was okay. That was a little embarrassing.

Today I ran seven miles for the first time ever. On the last mile I was pretty beat. Down the street I saw someone coming towards me. She was tall, skinny with a blond pony tail. It was Barbie! And she was running and smiling. (Give me a break.) I was so tired I was weaving, gasping for breath, and could barely put one foot in front of the other.

I was wearing the baggiest pair of shorts I own (when running, there are more important things to worry about, like breathing, than trying to pick out wedgies from tight shorts) and an over-sized t-shirt. I took one look at her color coordinated exercise top and tiny running shorts and knew I had to suck it up. I gritted my teeth and ran as fast as I have ever ran in my life. There was no way Barbie was going to think she could out run me! Of course it took me almost 20 minutes to recover from that outburst. But it was worth it to see the look of surprise on her face when I flew past her. Take that Barbie.

Are we there yet?

We made it! There is nothing more stressful than traveling across the country with kids. Not that it wasn't fun, mind you. Just stressful. I'm always worried that I'll lose one of them. That is much worse than missing a connecting flight.

And they know how to get on my nerves. "Nick is your favorite child, right mom?" Anna repeats for the millionth time. "Trust me," I say as calmly as possible, "you all annoy me equally." There was just too much waiting and sitting and waiting...

My dad was waiting for us and we got to drive home on the new "Legacy Highway." I noticed that he was the only one travelling at 55mph as we were being passed by everyone. It's one of the great things about driving with my dad. That and he listens to AM radio.

My parents were gone this morning so the kids and I drove to Walmart. I wondered if I should have asked for directions, but realized there was some kind of cosmic force pulling me in, and made it without any problems. We walked into the store and were discombobulated to find that it was laid out completely backwards. We were unable to function for several minutes until we finally got our bearings. How rude! It was so confusing we forgot important essentials like Doritos and bread. Now we'll have to go back.

Early morning run in the rain. What's better than that?

I went running this morning at 5am for a couple of reasons. First, I was awake. Second, I like to run with the cover of darkness. It's bad enough to find myself singing out loud as I listen to headphones, but yesterday as I ran I realized I was playing air guitar as well. And I don't even play guitar...

And I only saw one other person this morning in the park. I think the rain was probably the reason. So, I started my five miles. I brought a stopwatch to time each mile. According to the 16-week training program I printed out, I was supposed to run 5 miles today at 14 minutes 10 seconds a mile. I started as slow as I could and finished the first lap in 9 minutes. Wow! I hadn't realized I was in such good shape.

After the fifth lap---each in nine minutes, I was amazed. I wouldn't have to train as hard as I thought. If I could run 5 miles so quickly, I had to wonder just how out of shape and pitifully slow someone would have to be, to run a 14 minute mile. I even laughed out loud at the thought.

Before getting in my car I jogged over to the park sign to check the map. Then, I double checked the map. One lap = .7 miles.

Dang.

I guess I wasn't done running. After finishing and going home I did the math. I had run each of the five miles in 14 minutes 8 seconds each. I know. You don't have to say it. I'll have a large piece of humble pie for breakfast, please. And a diet Dr. Pepper.

Of course! How could I forget it's Rainbow Day?

"My you look colorful today," I couldn't help notice when Anna arrived home from school. "Duh," (I love that expression, don't you?) Anna continued, "It's Rainbow Day!" Right. I double checked my calendar, but seem to be missing this event. I felt bland and downright dowdy in comparison.

But then, Anna has always had her own style. Similar to Heather, in that, you never know what to expect when she comes up ready for school. I love their creativity and willingness to dress against the trends.

The other day Anna came home mad that some boys at school were teasing her about how good she looked without her glasses on. Interesting enough, she's worn her contacts everyday since...my little girl is growing up. I'm not sure I like that.

Is it too much to ask to at least widen the road?

I call it the "curve of death." I try to avoid driving on it at all costs, but sometimes it is necessary. I am certain there isn't enough room for two cars to fit side by side. Someone is going to die on that curve. I'm pretty sure it is going to be me.

For this reason, when Heather was learning how to drive, I made her come to a complete stop if another driver was coming the other way. Trust me, it's safer that way. This morning Heather didn't stop, she just slowed down and we crept around the curve of death at 5mph while another car zipped past. I was gripping the side of the car tightly and screaming that we were going to die. But we didn't.

Sarah said the worst is when she stops and the car coming toward her also stops. Two cars paralyzed on the curve of death, too afraid to proceed. It's scary. I can hardly blame them.

Nouns, Pronouns and Verbs...Oh My!

---

Last month, a community college called to see if Brian wanted to teach a six-week Business English class. Well, let's see. He has a degree in Linguistics and a degree in Computer Science and a minor in Music. English? Apparently they were impressed with his credentials, figuring he'd had enough English with his Linguistics degree.

So, this week he is teaching Nouns and Pronouns. He came home fairly discouraged saying that he had successfully taught his class to hate pronouns in ways they never before dreamed possible. I guess his students aren't very enthusiastic...

"Did you show them the clips?" I asked and he nodded. "And it didn't help?" I couldn't believe it. How could anyone watch the "School House Rock" grammar clips and not be excited? It was unbelievable.

One of the dads in Nick's band suggested gathering together a large group of people to run into his class one night. I thought it was a great idea! We could ask if this was the place everyone has been talking about to hear more about nouns and pronouns. Make it seem like such a hot topic, he was drawing crowds of people in from off the street.

I mean how can you not love pronouns? Weren't those School House Rock cartoons on Saturday mornings the greatest things ever? I bought a copy of the DVD for my own kids, I loved them so much... "Conjunction junction, what's your function?..."