Crown Of Glory

Me: "Wow! Did you see all my gray hair in this picture?"

Hubs: *blink*

Ma Turns 35

Thirty-five, thirty-five, oh thirty-five. You have found me.

And so my only response was this:

Eleven cartons of ice cream.

You got a problem with that?

Mmm-hmmm.

Okay, okay. So I shared them with my neighbors and friends. But still. No one said I couldn't taste them all, now did they?

DID THEY?!?!

Moving on. To a blast from the past:

I agree. Very cute.

And I hear you--you're amazed the photograph is still in one piece after 30+ years. Hardy har har har.

So here I am on my 35th birthday, spending it with my favorite friend:

And my favorite food:

Happy birthday to me.

Hair Update

My bangs keep growing.

ISN'T THAT EXCITING?

I've been trying out a new 'do since last fall, heading towards the all-one-length-tapering-towards-the-jaw look.

Pa has held back many an opinion since I've started this little project, but there was one day (ONE DAY!!) he said, "Hey! Your hair looks nice today."

I said, "Get it on camera."

Bouffant is not the look I'm going for, though. I'm aiming for sleek and stylish.

Mmm-hmmm.

With a Brillo Pad for hair, I'm not thinking I'm going to hit that goal.

Moving on.

To cuter subjects:


Just had to get a shot of those piggies.

Her hair can stick out at the sides and it just plain looks cute. And I have no doubt that when she wants a style that is sleek, her hair will be able to handle it. It's the truth.

"You can't handle the truth!"

And that's the hair update for this millennium. Other, more riveting blog posts to follow.

PS: We were at Ikea. In case you were wondering.

My Senior Year Of High School

Facebook made me write this. I'm posting an edited version here to entertain the Not On Facebook Crowd, and also to give my mother a good laugh. And mark my word -- she will remember my senior year of high school far better than me.

Did you date someone from your school?
HECK NO. I was not exactly what you’d call, “dating material.” Too prickly, too geeky, too picky. I had no boyfriend until college. NONE. And I never remember being dissatisfied about that. (See, “too picky.”) My husband was my first boyfriend. He was the first to put up with me, so I kept him around. Oh, wait. I'm getting off track already...

Did you marry someone from your high school?
No, no, never never, nuh uh uh.

Did you car pool to school?
My senior year? I have no clue. I DO remember getting up too late, taking long showers and wasting all the hot water, and then speeding to school. So I guess I drove. Prior to that, I rode with my my brother and his friends and MY WORD, I am FORTUNATE to be alive today. Roller coasters got nuthin’ on a teenage boy behind the wheel.

What kind of car did you have?
Seeing as it was almost 20 years ago that I started to drive (!!!), I hardly remember. I learned to drive on the "Smurfmobile," which was my Dad's stick-shift blue Toyota truck. I think I stalled that thing approximately 873 times on one trip to town. I eventually bought a Ford Bronco.

What kind of car do you have now?
Honda Odyssey. The Queen Mother of All Things Vehicular.

What did you do on Friday night?
I went to (nearly) every football or boys' basketball game on the books. Lots of times my friends would go to Pizza Hut right afterwords. On off nights, I'd likely go out to eat and shop with my parents. I didn’t care if people thought I was a loser! I knew who was footing the bill! Plus they're just fun people to be around, BUT I DIDN’T SAY THAT OUT LOUD.

What kind of job did you have in high school?
I had a job from age 15+ during the summers only. I'd travel around the state doing 3x a day music sessions at a camp for teens. I met a lot of great people during those years. None of whom I keep up with, BUT STILL. FRIENDS ARE FRIENDS FOREVER. I also worked in an office doing the most mundane of tasks -- shredding paper, sticking labels on folders, erasing other people's mistakes. And I am SO NOT JOKING about that.

Were you a party animal?
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Maybe you need me to translate: HA HA, HA HA, HA HA, HA!

Were you considered a flirt?
I really don't know. Even though my mother thought otherwise, I always LIKED boys, just never dated. I tended to like boys outside my "range" though; i.e., Not Nerds. If I flirted, it probably looked a lot like me talking really loudly and making lame jokes. Kinda like I do with everybody.

Were you in the band, orchestra, or choir?
Band and choir, and everything in between. I played the alto sax (LOUDLY), accompanied the choir, and sang alto (LOUDLY).

Were you a nerd?
Absolutely! AND PROUD OF IT! I regret that I didn't do quiz bowl sooner. THOSE WERE MY PEOPLE.

Did you get suspended or expelled?
Snerk. I was a goody-two-shoes. Obviously.

Can you sing the fight song?
Um, I honestly can't remember it. All that comes to mind is my college song, "Up beyond the village border..."

Who was/were your favorite teacher(s)?
Music teacher; Math teacher

Where did you sit during lunch?
Same cafeteria table, same friends. Every day. To do otherwise would have broken the "rules."

If you could go back and do it again, would you?
No. I'd go back and do COLLEGE again, but not the class work. Just the fun stuff, like overseas trips, concerts and events.

Did you have fun at the prom?
No. Not really my thing. Neither were all the other dances I went to. Although, I DID have a great time as The Wallflower Who Made Jokes On The Side. That's more my style. There are still some songs that take me right back to the crooning along on the sidelines: “Red, Red Wine,” “Hold Onto The Night,” and “More Than Words.”

Would you change anything about your senior year?
I would have skipped playing basketball (which I was no good at and didn't really enjoy anyway -- well except for cracking jokes on the bench -- MY WORD DO YOU SENSE A THEME).

Least/most favorite subjects?
Least: History. English. Science. Phis Ed. Art.
Most fave: Music. Math. Typing.

Do you have any regrets?
I regret not being kinder to the kids in my class (the nicknames, oh the nicknames!) that no one was kind to. I was not exactly Miss Congeniality.

Would you consider yourself well liked?
In certain, small, circles. I think the Popular Boys in my class probably spoke a sum total of three words to me during my senior year of high school. And the Just One Step From Jail Bird Boys wouldn't have gone within ten feet of me. But as you can see from # 25, I didn't exactly win any likability awards either. But with the geek crowd, MY WORD, did we clown around and consider ourselves to be DA BOMB.

What would you tell your classmates if you could?
I wasn't really that smart; I just knew how to get good grades. (And hello, I didn't cheat. Okay! Only in 2nd grade. On math drills. But I eventually felt bad and stopped that. So there.) But for the most part I'd just say, "Hey? Whatcha been up to?" And then I'd try to make them laugh. Because I guess that's what I do.


There. I hope that kept y'all entertained.

This Is A Test. This Is Only A Test.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled obnoxiously long series on Da Beach to bring you this:

I love it that my friend turned a year older and *I* got to go out for dessert.

WITHOUT THE HOOLIGANS.

It's like--I actually tasted my food. And sat still long enough for the calories to take up residence in my butt.

Oh by the way? That dessert is an "almond/hazelnut meringue with a praline butter cream and chocolate ganache."

Try not to drool on your desk.

(This is a test; this is only a test. More reasons to hate me beach pictures tomorrow.)

Because About Once A Year, I Like Myself

Or at least like a picture of myself.

Maybe it's the cute accessory I've got in my arms.

Or maybe it's just a nice outdoorsy pic.

(Compliments to the Pa--it's a straight-out-of-camera shot.)

You'd never guess where we were headed.

Da beach.

Ser-prize, ser-prize, ser-prize.

How I Plan To Shed 10 Pounds

AND scare small children at the same time.

Photo taken by Pa while he was riding his own bike.

Knock, Please

"FIVE minutes! Just fiiiiiive minutes! That's all I want!"

There's a party in the potty, even on vacation.

(Photo taken at the End of the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center)

Hippo Birdie

17 was a good age.

As a matter of fact, I liked it so much I DOUBLED it.

Happy 34th birthday to me. And good gravy, when did I get to be so old?

Every memory I have of my August birthday is of being hot. HOT HOT HOT with a couple sides of HUMID.

Naturally, ice cream must come to the rescue and quench the BLASTED heat.

So it’s not MY fault that I had three large servings of four different flavors. All in one day.

So while you might be praying for a relief from the heat? I FOUND MINE.

Keepin’ cool in the Pacific Northwest.

Friends Are Goofs Forever

My dear friend from college who has had the fortitude to put up with me for years upon years flew to the beautiful Pacific Northwest to see me.

Me!

We haven't changed much.

Oh, here. This shot's a little better.

We had a great visit. I made my pal work her fingers to the bone, making Thai food for me (and the neighborhood), keeping up with the kids.

Speaking of, guess who was a real hit with the kids?

And! While she was here, the Ma and Pa Senior also flew into town, so we had ourselves a happy little reunion of sorts.

These pictures were all taken in my neighbor's back yard, where we were having a cookout and a stuff-your-face-a-thon.

Add a roasted hot dog to some awfully (I didn't say "awful," Mom!) pleasant company? Sounds like a winner of an evening to me.

Every Day

Pa and I celebrated 11 years of marriage this month. In those years, there have been two births, a miscarriage, a trip across the world, an adoption, three moves, kids who are geeks, kids who bite, a chronic illness, a couple emergency surgeries, and oh! We've each had a brush with death.

But beyond all the Big Stuff there's the ordinary kinds of things. Rolling our eyes across the dinner table, backseat driving, barking orders, getting offended, leaving clothes on the floor, chewing too loudly, wrestling over issues, admiring the kids, making plans.

Somehow in all of that I have found a person who inspires to me keep going, to hold it together, to try again. I may call him "husband," but he's more like a hero to me.

And in this all-request anniversary hour, I dedicate Rascal Flatts' song, "Every Day" to the Pa.

[YES, IT'S COUNTRY, and YES, YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THE SONG.]

"Every Day"

You could've bowed out gracefully
But you didn't
You knew enough to know
To leave well enough alone
But you wouldn't
I drive myself crazy
Tryin' to stay out of my own way
The messes that I make
But my secrets are so safe
The only one who gets me
Yeah, you get me
It's amazing to me

[CHORUS]
How every day
Every day, every day
You save my life

I come around all broken down and
Crowded out
And you're comfort
Sometimes the place I go
Is so deep and dark and desperate
I don't know, I don't know

[Repeat Chorus]

Sometimes I swear, I don't know if
I'm comin' or goin'
But you always say something
Without even knowin'
That I'm hangin' on to your words
With all of my might and it's alright
Yeah, I'm alright for one more night-
Every day
Every day, every day, every day
Every day, every day
You save me, you save me, oh, oh, oh
Every day
Every, every, every day-

Every day you save my life

Well Hey There

I'm sending off the end of twelve days of (delightful!) company Tuesday morning.

So excuse me while I recuperate.

Meanwhile, take a moment to notice my neck hairs. What purpose they serve, I'll never know.

Kinda like this blog post.

For those of you who miss seeing my smiling face (Mom), here it is.

How Two Exhausted Parents Of Three Small Children Enjoyed The Fireworks

Pure bliss.

We watched about five minutes of the Live Fireworks Show before we got bored. And then we spent a good ten or fifteen minutes talking about how incredibly smart we were how much time and energy and stress we saved by staying home on July 4th.

Party on.

Junk In The Trunk

When the badonkadonk is larger than the purse, it's time to get a new purse.

That or a husband who is really good at Photoshop.

Oh, You Know. Ma The Teacher.

Since I just can't seem to get enough teaching in throughout the week, I decided to take up the challenge on the weekends too.

We are part of a church plant in our city, and I, in my aren't-I-so-loving and good-with-children ways, was asked to do the main lesson time with the kids.

I'm not sure who was more shocked at that request: Pa or Yours Truly. Because really, I am much more suited to hiding in the closet and doing "ministry" from there.

I like groups of kids, I do.

Just from miles and miles away.

So anyway.

Each lesson corresponds to what the adults are learning in Big Church, and I usually try to come up with something messy and hands-on for the chitlins to do. It's a true test of my creativity to keep a variety of kids engaged. Mostly I just sweat a few bullets until it's over.

Whowoulda thought? Ma Meets Children's Ministry. Shocking.

Voting Paradise

Our state finally got around to holding their primary elections. You know, when there was one presidential candidate left to vote for.

But enough political talk. Did you know that all elections in our state are handled through the mail? The mail?!?!? Yes!!! I never have to Get In The Van and Drive To No Man's Land and Wait In Line and Wrestle Three Monkeys and Locate My Preferences In My Sorry State Of A Brain just to vote.

Oh, it's bliss.

And it saves the state money.

Never fear, the kids still get to see me vote (as if they ever leave my side), and I can take my time determining just who I am and am not going to vote for.

Which is not too hard if you're a registered Republican living on the West Coast.

Why?

Because there are No Republicans On The Ballot.

Took me a while to figure out why each role had a little line that said, "No candidates filed for this position."

It was enough to make me register as a Democrat.

Just kidding, Dad. Take two aspirin! Lie down! Breathe!

(I'll wait till next year to re-register.)

Snnnneeeeerrrrkkkkk.

And with that educational and engaging political essay, I'll sign off.

Dear Ol' Dorothy

Got my tresses trimmed the other day. Just as I was finishing up, a woman in her 80s looked at me and said, "That right there is the Dorothy Hamill cut!"

I didn't know whether to feel flattered or utterly outdated.

Maybe I should have just stood up and twirled a whirl.

What do you think?

When You Move Cross Country, Take Your Hairdresser With You

Had to borrow from Susie's barrette drawer to keep my long flowing tresses out of my eyes.

I nearly walked into the grocery with that thing on.

I coulda got beat up for doing something like that.

Just kidding, Mom.

I've simply been avoiding the dreaded task of finding a new "stylist."

(Not to be confused with "someone who cuts hair.")

Because she can't just be a good stylist, she has to be a good conversationalist too.

(You know, to make up for my total lack of social skills.)

So I have since determined that my haircuts ("styles") will now include the cost of an airline ticket.

I hope she likes the Pacific Northwest.

I've Got Me My Own Batman Shirt, That I Do

Sakes alive, I have a new Clothing Addiction.

And it really isn't a Batman shirt, or the pumpkin shirt, or the Spiderman pajamas, or (the latest) the Thomas and Friends short-sleeved-and-all-the-plastic-image-is-peeling-off kind of shirt.

And if I happen to mention that the Zig has worn his Thomas shirt since Tuesday, all during the day AND EVEN at night, that might ruin my reputation as a Crystal Clean Type Of Mother.

Oh wait.

Never had that reputation to begin with.

So back to my addiction.

Or maybe we'll just talk about some clothes.

So my dear friend, who shall remain nameless, but has known me since I was eighteen (!!!), AND looked like this:


...yet even though she saw the Aqua-Net bangs she STILL chose to be my friend (!!!), well, she sent me this glorious, wonderful, fleecy-warm-but-not-too-bulky sweatshirt-jacket type item.

I love it!

And don't I look cool!?! Or hot?!? Or whatever??

And on the tag, it says it is "waterproof." Guess that might come in handy here in our city, eh?

But in response to my hip-hip-hooraying over the fleece, Pa just asked me how I was expected to wash something that was "waterproof."

Oh good grief.

Okay, so *he* may be funny, but *I* look gooooooood.

Be prepared to see this fleece a lot.

Thanks, my friend.

Because What Else Am I Supposed To Do While NOT Pumping My Own Gas

$2.99 a gallon in case you're wondering.

As we pulled into the station, Campers was all about getting out and helping. Sorry, Son. We have to sit here and be catered to. AND make fools of ourselves taking odd pictures of our nose hairs.