Shiner

(The Shiner, Insider's Guide: There is no fantastic story behind this injury. He went down when Fia when up. And as it turns out, Fia's head is rather hard.)

See a resemblance?

What have we been up to? Why, creating an eco-friendly dollhouse, that's what.

I saw this tiny dollhouse idea on Angry Chicken and thought we'd give it a go. Fia loves the outcome, complete with sparkly wallpaper and carpets. And she's pretty proud to have done most of the painting. Wonderboy wants a house of his own too. I picked one up for him, but I'll try to steer him toward boyish colors, or E will probably have a cow. Anyway, it's perfect for anyone looking for a more environmentally friendly way of life for their dolls. I'm thinking with just one up and one down, the dolls will be forced to live a simpler life and in turn, leave a smaller carbon footprint.

An Ivory Tower of Intellectualism? Last Bastion of Witty Intellectual Banter? Oh yeah.

Leave it to Roblogger to find this site: Blog Readability Test

It ranks my blog as...

And that's because of that one time when I used the word "gigglefest", I'm pretty sure.

And I was all, Wahoo! Look at me writing at college-level, (which is good since I did graduate from college, to the best of my knowledge) until I looked at Scully's blog and Julie Tellin Tales, (not to mention a blog E started that is so lame with just one lousy entry, it's not even worth linking)...and got jealous. Really jealous:

And then the whole thing got me thinking about the other night when E was watching The First 48 and this teenage gang-member, under suspicion for murder, told the investigator he "was copacetic" about the whole thing. Copacetic? Are you freakin' kidding me?

And I'm pretty sure my status should be upgraded to "Some Graduate Level Reading" now given that I just included five hyperlinks in this post (and found a way to insert the word Copacetic!!), and dang it, that should be worth something.

Where's mah shotgun?

So, these mysterious tears began to appear in the cushions of our patio chairs this spring and I was really puzzled about the cause of the damage. And then word began to spread around the neighborhood of a crazy raccoon attacking unsuspecting folks in their yards and I wondered if that same raccoon was hanging out in my yard at night, and, well, sort of using an intimidation tactic on me by shredding the cushions in the middle of the night. It could happen, right? And then the cushions got worse and worse. And then we realized what was happening one day when fearless Daisy was yipping and twitching at the back door. And this is what we discovered:

And then I released my fierce Basset and she went into immediate attack mode, but then those ears got in the way and she was just a tumbling head-over-heals mess of stubby legs and waggly ears, and the squirrel got away. And now most of the fluffy contents of my chair cushions are somewhere high up in our trees where this guy's got a pretty cozy pad by now, I'd imagine.

That doggone, low-down, good-for-nuthin, dirty, rotten, stinkin' rodent...

When your number's up

Those three inch tall brownies? Well they nearly killed my daughter today. Twice.

First they fell off the top of the fridge when Fia threw open the freezer looking for Popsicles for dessert. The pan slammed into her face and overturned on the floor. E ran to the aid of the brownies, I ran to the aid of my 4 year old who had a nosebleed. When the tears were dried and we resumed dinner, Wonderboy revisited the idea of dessert. E grumbled, "Dessert's in the trash."

"Oh, you know Daddy's gonna eat that after you go to bed." I replied. I couldn't help myself.

And he did. Wonderboy, Fia and daddy enjoyed Floor Brownies with ice cream. I know what's been on that floor and how often that floor is cleaned. I did not eat the Floor Brownies.

Later at bed time, things quickly deteriorated, as they always do, and one of us had to intervene...as we always do. The fiesta was in full swing in Fia's room. Wonderboy had filled her footed, zipper pajamas with toys. I extracted all toys, and then zipped up her bellybutton in the zipper. Crying jag numero dos.

Turned out the lights and asked her to lay down and sleep, (please, please, please???) and then made my way down the stairs. By the time my fanny was settled back on the sofa, bloodcurdling screams erupted. I sprung back up, stairs two at a time, and discovered her wedged between the head of the bed and wall. She wailed between sobs, "I was trying to get cozy and I fell down!!" I pried her out and pleaded with her to do her very best to survive the night.

E was chortling as I explained. Turns out Daddy pulled the bed from the wall looking for books. And then I guess maybe he lost himself in thoughts of brownies and ice cream and forgot to move the bed back. Brownies strike again.

The brownie pan is in the sink. We're done with brownies around here. At least for now. But I'll be watching carefully to see what food item turns lethal tomorrow.

A little Sunday counting exercise

1 - The number of times I watched "Billy Elliot" after kids have gone to bed. One of my all time favorite movies. I would have absolutely no problem with either of my lads learning ballet (or ballee). And then they could go to the Royal Ballee School. And then I would sit in the audience and weep through Swan Lake.

And I have a fair amount of regret over the fact that I didn't name one of them Billy so I could yell "GO BILLY!!" at will.

2 - Boxes of brownies cooked in one giant pan. The result: three inch tall brownies. Evidence of E's shear genius? I think so.

3 - Number of juicy, resounding belches proudly released by Wonderboy during dinner.

4 - Glasses of pink bubbly drunk to fuel those juicy, resounding belches. Note to self: water is a suitable dinner beverage.

5 - Number of adult human beings invited for dinner, to enjoy an evening of Wonderboy's symphonic belching. We don't do this often. It is noteworthy.

6 - Twisty crayons lobbed forcefully, and with gleeful abandon, at the new family one row back in Sacrament meeting by Bubs. Hey-do! Welcome to the ward. Betchya didn't ever think a crayon could take an eye out, eh?

It has been raining for five days

...and we're B O R E D.

No, really. It's been raining, and raining, and raining,

and raining...

Friday the 13th was a good day

Twelve years. I have more to be thankful for than I can possibly comprehend. I wish I wouldn't take things for granted. But some blessings are clear. I have the kind of husband, best friend and father for my children most girls hope for and never find. I truly don't understand my own luck, but for him I am overwhelmed with gratitude. And he gave me these beautiful little people to keep my days lively and interesting:

Thank you, E, for twelve very good years.

Just so you know

The boy does not like to smell steamed squash.

The whole point to Tae Kwan Do

Wonderboy was unusually quiet this morning while polishing off his Cheerios, and then, in his characteristic completely random way, said:

"Mommy, I've figured out why you learn to chop boards in two in Tae Kwan Do. If a really bad guys tries to kidnap you, you could just take a board out of your pocket and chop it in two. Then he'd see how you're able to chop boards in two and think - Whoa, I'm not messin' with this guy."

And I was all, Yup, I think you're spot on there buddy.

Man, I love the way this kid's brain works.

Daisy the Drama Queen

I've mentioned how Daisy has personality. That's in comparison to Luna, who does not. And bedtime is just one of the many opportunities to observe it. My routine before heading upstairs goes something like this:

- Feed damn cats who have been crawling over me for last couple of hours, caterwauling for their nightly "Fancy Feast" feast.

- Lock damn cats in basement.

- Open back door. Luna trots out and does business. Daisy does not even raise one droopy eyelid where she lays in complete repose on my sofa, while I holler repeatedly at her. I walk across room and take hold of Daisy's collar, at which point she springs down with remarkable litheness considering how deeply asleep she was pretending to be. She makes it just over the threshold and simply cannot go any further. She collapses on the step. Again I take her by the collar, she pops right back up, instantly revived, and I accompany her down to the grass where I cheer her on and dump loads of praise on her for killing the grass. I run back inside.

- When she's good and ready, she very s l o o o o o o w l y comes back up the steps and inside the house. This all requires the expenditure of more energy than she believes she has, so she slumps in a heap on the floor, in her best I-just-cannot-go-on dramatic flourish. If we ignore her, she makes a rapid recovery and resumes her place on the sofa.


Last night as we headed upstairs, E gave her a right good guilt trip of some sort and made her leave the cushy sofa to come up to her crummy dog bed in our room. She skulked in and promptly creeped into my dark closet to implement her very own self-imposed time-out. I'm not sure if she was punishing herself or us though. I turned the lights on to get a quick photo, otherwise she was just laying there feeling sorry for herself in the dark. When she thought we were both asleep, she slunk out of the closet to sleep on her lousy dog bed.



(Sidenote: My mother will begin uncontrollable twitching at this point because of the slightly slovenly state of my closet. This gives me a sick sort of pleasure.)