I Know What You're Thinking.

You're thinking "Holy Crap! She went three days without one assinine post!" Yep. Did it.

I was working hard. "Workin' hard or hardly workin', ay Mac?"
Well, both actually. It's hard to get things done when "mommy" is your full time job. But things are coming along.

I think there is such a thing as too much vinyl in one's house.

And I have crossed that thin, thin line.
I think I might be done. Now. Finally. Maybe. Yes.

And somewhere in the valley, my sister in law rejoices. And cries quiet tears of joy. No more orders from Mandi. (Well, except for that teensy weensy one for the growth chart. . . just that. . . one. I'm sorry!)

Anywho, gonna hang these in the playroom after they get a date on 'em.

The homies loved doing this. You should see Johnny's. It's a disaster. But that makes it all the more um, unique, right?

I'll keep plugging along at my lil ideas. Slowly. And I'll stop sharing them because it is beyond boring, I'm sure.

On a random side note, because you know I'm good for random,
today is Jam's "VIP" day at school. It's his turn. We made a poster for him with all the pictures he chose.

That's what I'll be doing this afternoon. I let him pick his treat to give the class.

And as Jace watched his brother put on his pictures, pick his treat, and listen to his mom and bro talk, he got so sad.

I'm not talking snotty "Hey I wanna do that!" sad. I mean, like, pretend not to be upset, wipe alligator tears from your cheeks, sad.

It would have made Ms. Hannigan run out and buy a poster just for him. I'm tellin you. So I let him pick his own pictures.

And he can have his own poster today. Poor kid.

And on a final random (my middle name is RANDOM!) note, I never showed you my birthday cake.

We are so much better off with half my head cut off. Too bad I can't cut out that chunky arm. Sigh.

I Am My Father's Daughter.

And what I mean by that is, I start at least 5 projects at once. And then I have a least a dozen others floating in thee ole noggin at all times.

I can't keep up with all my crazy ideas. And then that means I can't keep up with general cleaning. Too many a night I've said to meself: "Self, you just don't have enough time in the world." But then I realize- but you had time to sit on your butt at the computer 3 times today. . .

Aw, shucks. Busted. So in order to do what I want to do, I'm gonna not turn on the computer much for the next, well, while. I'm not gonna lie to myself and say I'll NEVER turn it on, but you know, like tone it down, and stuff. Just might have to clear thee ole Google Reader of the 500 things I've subscribed to when all's said and done. . .

'Cause,

this took me entirely too long. Finally finished every. single. stripe on Friday. This was one of thems where you wished you never started right after you began. And then you beat your head against the wall. I do like it though. Love it, in fact. Just don't make me crouch behind the toliet to paint a stripe ever. again.

Replaced thee ole towel bar with hooks (what is it with me and hooks?) so my kids hoody towels have a place to hang.

Anywho, so many things, so little time. . .

Sittin' there for weeks. Waiting and waiting to be monogrammed.

All kinds a lumber. Just waiting.

Chandeliers screaming "clean me! Hang me!"
Huh. Don't hear many people saying "hang me."

A simple bookshelf that needs to be put together, and then some fancifying afterwards-- beadboard I need to cut and paint for the backing, and so forth.
I gotta whole corner of the garage (please pronounce "gay-rage") that's my lil work station dealy-o.

A shelf that needs to be repainted and hung- and a spraypainted frame.

Chalkboard that is 70% done. . . soo much to do. . . so little time. . .

Sorry computer. I still love ya. It's not you, it's me.

The Finer Things Club.

"Let's hang out this weekend."
"Okay. What do ya wanna do?"

Silence.

"I don't know- what do you want to do?"

Scratches head. Picks nose.

It's usually pizza and a movie for us when we hang out- unless I get some strange idea in my head. Like the beverage tasting event, for instance. This weekend, 'twas a Cheese and Wine tasting event. We're sooo european. Yeah, my brother would kill me for saying that. Dang French.



Of course you know the "wine" for non-drinkers would be nothing more than a little bit a Welch's sparkling grape, and a little bit a Martinelli's.


Britton taught us how to hold your goblet, depending on what's inside. Really. Learned it off KBYU. Seriously? KBYU?

Speaking of drinking,

we got a good laugh over work parties that involve very drunk people, and the very common question "How can you have fun if ya don't drink?". I think Brannon put it best:
"We have tons of fun. Watching you guys make A's of yourselves."

Brie, Camembert, Gouda, Provolone, Fontina. . .

'Mmm. Next up: Cards. And tons of hot chocolate. So much hot chocolate that you have to go all night long. And it shall be made the Flander's way.

Blowtorch and all.

A Self Portrait.

That's what I wanted. Just one "hey that was the day I turned 30!" picture. It's kinda hard when you need to take this on your own. I'm not a fan of the "hold-the-camera-away-from-yourself" shot; especially with a 50mm. Do I need a closeup of my nose hair?

Anywho, I found it highly entertaining. Got all kinds of angles of my bathroom.


Why is this so hard?

Hello, gummy. At least it was funny.


And this last one makes me wanna drop and give ya 20 with those flabby arms.

But before I head off to exercise, one last thing.
The kids loved my balloons. Of course. They're kids, ain't they?
I tole 'em and tole 'em not to let go. I can't help them if they lose their grip in the family room.

I've now got 9 floaters at the top of the ceiling.
But Jamison got smart.

When your turn 30, there's nothing left to do. . .

except for humiliate the total living crap out of yourself.

Which is why I dug up my most embarrassingest moldy oldy pictures for your enjoyment. Woot! Let the shame games begin!

Ya know,

when you're young you really can't be blamed for anything. You don't do your own hair or dress yourself. You're innocent. Wow I had a lot of hair when I was born.

Mom, what are you wearing?! ;)

Um, yeah, I was um ready for church apparently, until I decided to join my bro in the tub.

I think I might have some red hair there. . . ?

Moving on to the big 80's bangs.

Mo I cropped you out- I don't want to be in trouble. Even though for the record, you do look cute in that picture.

Ah, there we go. Humiliations galore.

Oh man.

And we get into a whole new realm of embarrassment: the early 90's dance costumes.

I'm so glad these are low quality.
Holy crap. I should show you the smurf blue costume I wore.

No. I won't do it. If I'm to have a shred of respect left in my . . .

Oh, no you di-n't. For the love of. . . .

You're lucky that was the dark picture of it. Shudder. I've got worse ones- I just can't find 'em. Think shiny, tight spandex, and massive neon polka dots.

Teenage angst.

High-waisted jeans.
Bad skin.

High-waisted dance pants. (Jazz Hands!!)

school dances.

Bad skin.

Weird looking facial/eye expressions.

Just plain out being a retard. Heather do you remember these? I've got some smokin' hot ones of you.


Yeah- everyone should torture themselves now and then. It's healthy.

Er something.

It's also a tradition.

I love taking pics of the kids and having them up on the mantel above their stockings-- it's a PB idea I stole last year. These were the pics from yesteryear:


Jamison, pre-glasses. Oh how I hate that he is now completely defined by glasses. "That kid who wears glasses". . . I hate that. He didn't have glasses for 6 years prior, people! Okay sorry. Phew.


And also,



Aw. One year ago. My kids all bundled up in our backyard in NC in 80 degree weather just for the pictures. What were the neighbors thinking?
I don't want to know. I don't care to know.

So I need new pictures. And every year I shall take the "winter mantel" picture, and then one day I can make a collage of year after year and see my children grow up.

And sob quietly to myself.

Anyway back to new pictures. For my mantel. The mantel I don't. . .have. . .yet. Cough. Jeff. Cough. (I'll paint, you build! love ya, mouah.)

So many choices. . . .



Although they will be in black & white, of course. Of Course!



It's so tempting to just go with something, kinda not smiley.

Because it's so funny.

And it's soooo John.

3 down. 1 to go. Could someone help me out here and run over during daylight hours and hold my lil girl up for a couple snaps? Much obliged.

Had Ants in My Pants.

I really wanted to work on the house. I think it's 'cause I showed a friend around and I kept talking about what I was "gonna do", and it got me in the mood to get a move on. So, I got off my heiny. Got a lot done this weekend. And I was so tired. Like shaking, bleary-eyed, starving 'cause I didn't want to stop working, slurred speech, tired. So tired, that I'm giving the abbreviated version of all my work.

This, was a loser. Needed buddies.

Hung them:

Also hung:

And:

And:

Needs a friend on there. Made it:

Need to print/frame it.

Also, Mckenna's room (thanks Jennifer):

And:


This, here.

Hard. So. Hard. You curtain rods suck.

Playroom. You need something. EVERYTHING.
Made it:

Hung it.

And hung:

And:

And:

And:

Love.

Me, love.

Still need to do:


Bathroom- needed something.

Stripes it needs.

I love. Until the drywall came off with the painters tape.

Sob. Sob. Sob. Curse.

Lowe's. Lumber. $$.

Will be:


That's next. And this, too.

Oh, and this.

I'm going back to bed, man.

I want you to know,

That everything goes on his head nowadays.

Everything.


Also, that Jace likes to feed his toys.

It's very messy. And very annoying.


I'd also like you to know that we're all geared up for the next time it snows. Got the boots, snow pants, gloves, the whole she-bang.

And these have been worn nearly nonstop ever since.

They're both pretty good with a bowstaff.

My yard is a tweenage hangout.

So I've got a small gaggle of tweenagers that like to hang out in my yard. What is so special about my yard?

They climb my fence,

stand on it-- I've also caught them down in my window wells. What the? Why?
Backpacks and jackets often get left behind.
Somebody lives here, people!

Oh, and then there's Romeo & Juliet here. Ryan & Kelly. Ross & Rachel. Padme & Anakin. With the totally uncomfortable public displays of affection.

I usually find them in the makeout position in my side yard.

Dudes, you're too young. Move along, now.

So it's annoying. Yet I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing. I'd love to tell them to find another roost, but then again I don't want to be the weekend egging victim, either. Suggestions and opinions are much appreciated.

Burning Questions That Deserve Answers.

First oh-so-important question:

Mckenna's hair.

"Is her hair RED?" Or, the more often, not-question format: "She has RED hair!"

Yes.
No.
Yes.
No.
It's like this. Right now, it looks red. We don't have a soul on either side of our family with red hair. What we do have, is plenty of little chillin's that start out with reddish hair.

There's still a hint of it in this pic. I know! I can't believe those curls.

And they turn out like this.


See what I'm sayin'?
Now I guess there could be some strange mix of my color and Jeff's color. . . only time will tell, I 'spose.

Question 2, or B. "Do you live in the house with all the windows?"

Yessiree. That's us. Bought the house 'cause I love all the natural light. Really. Or the question goes like this: "Do you live in the house that was for sale forever?"
Yep. Dara was saving it just for us. Right. Right? Thanks 'cause I love my house. Obviously. That's why I bought it.

Hope this clears up the questions you, dear reader, probably weren't the ones asking. But hey, knowing is half the battle.