A Scream and a Thump

Hey Chyrese,

I know where you live.

Don't think you can leave me on the side of the road for dead.

(Yeah, and I liked how you closed your eyes so you didn't have to see all the gore.  Those are some mad driving skills, lady.)

These eyes will stare yours down someday.

Be ready for it!

Rico the Raccoon

The Family Toy

Dear Shaw,

I'm sorry.  

When Kennedy said something to me about teaching you to make pies, I should have asked for a clarification.  I was in the middle of making dinner and vacuuming the house and polishing the silver and for a split second I thought you were a little young to learn how to make pies, but wacky hormonal teenagers often ask strange things and I've learned to just roll with it. I figured you need to learn sometime and it would be convenient around Thanksgiving if you could help out in that area.  

Plus, I like pie and it sounded good.  I was hoping for fresh peach or boysenberry.

I had no idea.

Love, 

Mommy

If only it were Mississippi Mud...

A Realization

Yesterday, my mom brought me over a copy of an old photo.  My heart sank. The flashbacks started flickering through my mind.

I think you don't really see yourself until you see yourself in a photo.  Photos don't lie.  They don't hide or hinder things.  They show things for face value.  In photos, you see yourself as the world sees you.

The Kristen in the photo faced a cruel reality that couldn't be ignored.

And this reality still remains.

I have been a giant all of my life.

 1986

Here I am at 14.5  years of age.  See how mammoth I appear amongst my fellow cheerleaders?  This was the summer before 9th grade.  I had made the cheer squad and went up to USU for cheer camp.  I was in away-from-home-on-my-own-with-only-my-cool-sister-in-law-as-a-chaperone heaven!  I remember loving the cafeteria food because I could eat sugar cereal every morning.  Sugar cereal for breakfast was unheard of at my house growing up. Occasionally, my mom would give into our pleading and buy a box of fructose engorged Fruity Pebbles, but the stipulation was that it was only for an afternoon snack.  My brother Scot and I would wolf the whole box down in one sitting and that would be it for a while.

I know, such a deprived childhood.

I also remember trying to not be too bothered that, as the giant of the group, I was always on the bottom of the pyramids or the one on the bottom row of the stunts.  I understood that logistically there was no way that my 80 lbs. teammates could hold my behemoth body, but to a developing 14 year old, it still bugs.  I was even taller than my sis-in-law, Carene (8 years older and next to me in the picture).  

{I think she's smiling at me and laughing at my fluffy 80's hairdo.  Look at those side wings. Now that is H-O-T!  Or maybe she's chuckling at JoLynn's poodle puff (far right).  And look at our fancy white Keds that are accentuating our highly sun-kissed legs.  I currently have plenty of wrinkles thanks to those years of baby oil tanning.}

Don't think that I have height dysmorphic disorder.  At 5' 9" tall, I know that I truly am not that gargantuan.  The problem lies in my choice of friends.  I never had friends my height.  (I take that back; I only had one friend my height and that was Lynette.)  All the rest of my friends were itty bitty, petite, pocket sized pals who wore size nothings and tipped the scales in only double digits. It was this way through elementary school, jr. high, high school, and college.

Even now.   Remember this?

2009

Even my adopted sisterhood is made up of little people.

I'm as tall as Briar Fox and he's not even real.  

Don't get me wrong.  I don't mind being tall, but when your closest friend is miniature you feel colossal!  Yes, I think I have a colossal complex.

Good thing I'm married to a therapist.

  

Foreshadowing?

After the events of the last 2 weeks, I've been telling Jeff to tread lightly. 

Watch his step.

Tiptoe through his day.

Not walk under any ladders.

{Increase his life insurance policy.}

First, the collision course up  Farmington Canyon.  Not too earth shattering, but still unnerving. No major damage done but just enough to cause me to have second thoughts about driving up there anytime soon.  Jeff says he knows how to bind and gag a person so I may not have too much choice in future canyon tours.

Second, he got hit by a car while taking a morning bike ride.  I hate when he bikes on the street.  I especially hate when he heads way out west on State Street - a long stretch of road where cars drive fast.  He was stopped at a light, then it was his turn to go, but the car didn't see him and didn't stop soon enough.  Luckily, the car was going slowly and only hit his front tire, but Jeff said he was prepared to roll on the car's hood.  The guy was stunned and after he stopped and looked up at Jeff he started to honk his horn.  Slow reflexes, I guess.  Jeff was absolutely fine and, again, no real harm done.  Unless you count my nerves as collateral damage.

Third, Jeff and the boys did a driveway camp out.  The tent trailer was beckoning them and they obliged.  Jeff did a quick, (ahem) lazy-man's version of putting it together but didn't bother with lowering the support legs on the back end.  Jeff slept on the unsupported end and the boys slept on the other side.  Everything was fine until morning.  The boys wanted to wake up their dad, walked to his side of the trailer, and the trailer tipped on it's end.  THE ENTIRE TRAILER WAS TIPPED SO THAT JEFF'S BED WAS ON THE GROUND RATHER THAN BEING 4 FEET OFF THE GROUND.  

Don't understand?  Here's a pictorial explanation.

   

Fourth, another biking calamity but this time he was in the mountains.  He came riding down a trail, came around a corner, and a horse and rider were right in the middle of the path. To avoid spooking the animal and miss a messy pileup with a 900 lb. equine, he did an end-o and flipped off the trail.  Heaven, AGAIN, was looking out for him and there was no injury to him or damage to his bike.  (FYI - the rider of the horse didn't even ask if he was OK; she didn't say anything to him)

As if these incidences weren't enough...

Fifth, he went and turned 39 on me.  Just like that.  Didn't even consult with me to see if I was OK with that.  Humph!  By turning 39, I'd like to claim that there has been no damage or injury as a result. But, sadly, I cannot.  More grey hair, old man snoring, mysterious nasal and ear hair growth, and an over-abundance of boyish irreverence have appeared.

Did I mention he also tunes me out more now than he did when we were first married?

(Yeah, yeah, don't think that I can't hear you mumbling something about him being "older and wiser" and having a wacky wife like me would drive any man to selective hearing.  Don't think that I don't sense those vibes through my computer's keyboard!)

In all seriousness, I love my husband.  He is my greatest friend and I couldn't ask for a better father for our children.  He is the best thing that ever happened to me and he loves me in spite of myself.  He talks openly to me and shows me insights that I need to see.  He is kind and good and has his priorities straight.  He is not caught up in the things of this world.  He has an eternal perspective for which I am grateful.

He is awesome.

So, looking back over these close calls that he's experienced these last 2 weeks, do I think it is foreshadowing of doom and gloom or bad things to come?

No.

I think I have a husband who is living life and experiencing what this world has to offer.  He is getting out there and kicking it up a notch.  Being active and enthusiastic about things he loves.

And not worrying about the fact that he has turned 39.

For his birthday, he wanted to go camping at Anderson Cove up at Pineview. We had a great time.

   

Jeff, we have a lot of living to do.  Places to explore, people to meet, food to taste, sights to see, and adventures to face.   A whole world to experience and a whole lifetime still ahead of us.

And I'm glad that you'll be the one by my side through it all.

(Insert Theme Music from the Twilight Zone Here)

Our kids are scary when they're asleep.  Oft times they talk in their sleep about a myriad of topics.  They'll sit up, eyes bloodshot and bulging, and start a soft toned dialogue of disconnected ramblings about nothingness.  Jeff always checks on them before he heads to bed, experiences this made for horror films phenomenon,  and has the same reaction every time.

It creeps him out.

Freaks him out.

Unsettles him.

It's not a pleasant thing to see your children possessed by the sleep demons.

So, how do you think I felt last night when I was the last one to head to bed (I was up late reading).  The house was quiet.  The kitchen clock was ticking softly.  The lights were off (may I remind you that I'm 37 and still afraid of the dark).  I walked through the kitchen to get to my bedroom and saw this.

My son...

asleep...



in Shaw's highchair!!!

Curse you, Sandman!  

The boys had fallen asleep in our bed. When Jeff sent them up to their room to their own beds, Taiden made it but not Britt. 

Rather, he opted to choose this unnatural spot in the dark, dark kitchen so his mother would find him.

And have a near accident in her jammies.

 

Rhythm and Moves

While we know there could never be a replacement for an entertainer like Michael Jackson, we do offer this possible runner up.

{I think Shaw was channeling Fred Astaire and Stevie Wonder for this rendition of  "Nursery Rhyme Samba".}

{No whiplash was suffered during this production}

I'm a Blogger (that still doesn't sound very flattering)

It was exactly 1 year ago that I posted my first entry on this little blog of mine.  

(music in the background)  This little blog of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

My blog has gone through its infancy and has grown into a healthy, vibrant past time.  As my baby, it's often experienced growing pains - moments that have made me want to pull my hair out and moments that have made me so proud.

It's also had its fair share of stinkers in the written form.  Sorry about those. It's part of growing up, right?

It's been interesting for me to go back and reread some of my earliest posts.  I feel I'm continually evolving as a person and as a writer. Reflection, for me, is key to moving forward. Forward to being that better person and better writer that I strive to be.

Thanks for sticking around for the past year.  

Please know that I am SO human.  Often blogs unintentionally paint pictures of charmed lives and perfect worlds.  While I try to capture the positives and memorable moments for journaling sake, my life is far from flawless and I struggle along with every other woman out there.  I am not a perfect mother, wife, or individual.  I don't pretend to be.  I apologize if it's ever come across any other way.

I've made plenty of mistakes that have allowed me to be one of life's object lessons.

Again, thanks for reading.  Thanks for commenting.  Thanks for being my friends - even if I've never met you.  I know you're out there.  My sitemeter tells me it is so.

For fun, I've listed a handful of my favorite posts.  

Kristen Gregson 101

Eating Bon Bons and Watching My Stories

Say it Ain't So

My Minimalist Husband

Blame it on the Fumes

Edible Apologies

Bad Genes

Evolution

My Kids Have an Adverb Dependency

Bootleggin'

Here's to another year...

(cup of lemonade) Cheers!

The Proof...

In case you thought I was a tad biased in my humble 

opinion of my hometown.  

Check this out.

(Thanks to Chadwick and Alysa for passing on the info)

Hometown Pride

I love, love, love living in a small town where the streets are heavily shaded by trees that were planted in the previous century and a rich pioneer heritage runs deep.  A community that boasts the state's first courthouse and a rock church (our church) where the first Primary was formed by Aurelia S. Rogers back in 1878.  

I love living in a small town where there are more horses than strip malls. Where there are more tractors than restaurants.  Where you feel safe letting your kids be kids outside, and the people you rubs shoulders with are some of the most down to earth people you know.  

Salt of the earth kind of people.

I love my town.

I enjoy the fact that I live in a house that was one of the original adobe brick homes in the area.  Built back in 1854 by Joseph Lee Robinson, our home housed the first LDS Bishop in our town and his 5 wives.  No, they didn't all live here at once, but they each lived in the house at some point during their married lives to him. 

Our neighbor's rock home used to be the barn for our house. Our shed that contains all of our gardening and lawn tools used to house 2 African American boys who helped the Robinson family move to Utah from back east.  They lived in this little shack next to our house until after the Civil war, at which time they left to return to their families. 

 

You just don't find history like that in new subdivisions.

The 2nd weekend of every July we take time to celebrate our beloved Farmington.  Its history, its heritage, its people, its idyllic nature.  A chance to sit along our gorgeous leafy streets that are draped with Old Glory and participate in one of the most All-American activities.

A parade.

The swelling sirens of the firetrucks.  School bands.  Local officials and the crowned beauty queens.  Dance troupes, singing groups, sports teams. Tractors and horses and the jesters of the parade - the pooper scoopers.  And what about those old Shriners guys with their goofy tasseled hats riding those mini-motorized bikes?  Those guys are Jeff's favorites.  Their perfectly choreographed display of riding abilities is something to behold.  He can't get enough of 'em!  We even recognized a FJH 8th grade officer amongst the parade goers.  She sprayed our group with her water bottle and threw us an extra hearty handful of taffy.

The taffy!  Boatloads of taffy! Suckers, Tootsie Rolls, and Otterpops.  Stuffed animals, frisbees, and even hair product.  Our kids have honed their goodie gathering skills and are quite proficient at it.  They always come home with a bag full of sticky sweets and chewy confections.

Following the parade there is a festival in the park.  Bouncy toys, games, and face painting for the kids.  Lots of food. Local businesses selling their wares. Helicopter rides and ongoing entertainment.  Oh, and the chance to win a baby frog (or two). 

And not a beer can in sight.

Our Mormon ancestors would be pleased. 

And did I mention that we have some of the best lookin' people around these here parts?

Follow the day up with a concert in the park, free ice cream, and a full fledged fireworks display. 

This is the only kind of public drinkin' you'll see.

But there's always a lot of baby kissin' going on.

This is what summer dreams are made of.  

This is why I love my town.

And never want to leave.

Summer is Fine in 2009

Every year our family makes a list of things that we want to do in the summer. Merriment of all kinds that will keep us entertained, amused, occupied, and out of the house (where most of the squabbles and sibling pecking goes on).

I use the items on the list as carrots to dangle in front of their noses. 

We also like to go places where there is free A/C.  We have no such luxury. Pioneers didn't believe in living comfortably. We live in a pioneer house.  Thus, we must suffer equally as our predecessors did. We're humble like that.

Since summer has finally started in Utah (FYI,  we have had record amounts of rain - so much so that I can probably count on one hand how many days it did not rain in June) we assembled our annual list of summer adventures. Thankfully, the heavens cleared, the rain stopped, and the kids could quit selling cups of rainwater at their corner stand. Popsicles are much more profitable.

Keep in mind that we usually only get maybe half of our list checked off. Especially with what feels like a shortened summer, we'll be really lucky to get that much done.  But we try.  And we plan. And we schedule.  And we try to include dad in as many of these things as possible.  

Poor guy.  Working stinks.

If any of these activities spark your interest and you'd like to come with the Gregson brood, give us a call.  The more the merrier and it's always more fun when friends come along.

Plus, our clan seems to behave better when other people are around.

1. Camping (3x) (1 down, 2 to go)
2. Echo Lake (the first week in August every year)
3. Fishing in the High Uintas
4. Swimming (5x)
5. Adam's Canyon waterfall
6. Lagoon - a lot (we have season passes)
7. The new Harry Potter movie (next week; free tickets from the orthodontist!)
8. Raft down the Weber River
9. Drive-in movie
10. Sweets candy factory tour
11. Real SL soccer game
12. Bean museum at BYU (DONE!)
13. Snow Basin hikes
14. Alpine Slide/Coaster
15. This restaurant in Provo  (DONE!)
16. Sweet Tooth Fairy bakery in Provo (DONE!)
17. BYU bookstore (DONE!)
18. Evening at Gateway - dinner, shopping, and the fountains
19. Outdoor summer concert at one of the ski resorts 
20. Wheeler Farm
21. Boondocks (DONE!)
22. Harley Davidson store 
23. Laser tag (DONE!)
24. Thanksgiving Point Gardens
25. Solomon Center (Flowrider)
26. Ye old waterhole (my favorite idyllic summer spot)
27. Read-a-thon at home
28. Salt Lake Library
29. Homemade ice cream
30. Yellowstone (this will happen in September)
31. Moab (this will happen in the fall)
32. Popsicle/lemonade/shaved ice stand
33. Farmington Festival days (happening this weekend)
34. Eat at taco stand in SLC (the one on the west side of Sears)
35. Davis County fair
36. Clark Planetarium - IMAX 3D (DONE!) 
37. Project movie onto the side of our house and invite friends over to watch it
38. Tons of cousin time (lots already but still lots more to come)
39. Fireworks (DONE!) 

See?  A big undertaking with less than 2 measly months left.

Call us!  Come with us!  Help the Gregson family make their goal!

I Told You So

Coloring Outside the Lines would like to welcome 

our first guest.

Jeffrey Jay has something he would like to share.

Part 1

Kristen has been asking me to be a "guest blogger" for some time.  I have put off this request for quite a while, for two reasons.  The first is that I'm not a very creative writer, I write clinical assessments and other boring psycho-socials reports all day...and yes they are as dry as they sound.  The second reason is that I really have had nothing to say.  I should clarify that I have nothing to say to Kristen's target audience.  I would love to ramble about mountain biking, skiing, kayaking, cool iPhone apps and how hot that girl from Transformers is, but none of you care!  What you do care about is a husband admitting to being wrong.  Oh, yes...women love that!

So here it is.  It's two parts so I'm really eating crow.  For the past several years Kristen has bugged me about getting our secondary water tap fixed.   You see there is so much pressure in our Weber water that it leaks...okay it pours out the top of the valve.  This has created a little water spot...okay a large water spot.  Kristen has called it our "pond".  She's threatened to place fish in it and add other water features to it.  I of course rolled my eyes at her exaggeration. You would think we had created a body of water worthy of mapping as evidenced by her protests. One morning heading out to work I stopped right in my tracks.  "I told you so" was definitely in order.

Part 2

Okay, here it goes again, but when she's right she's right!.  We have lived in glorious Farmington for the past 10 years.  It is a really great place!  I love all the walking and biking trails, Lagoon, tree lined streets and closeness to downtown SLC.  I have also enjoyed Farmington Canyon.  It is a great place to visit in the winter for back country skiing, snow shoeing and extreme sledding.  During the summer it's a wonderful spot for hiking, camping and enjoying the beauty.  There is however one catch.  You must drive up a nasty, narrow, steep, dusty road for 9 miles.  It is indeed a gnarly drive.  I have been up several times, but in the 10 years have not convinced Kristen to take the drive.  About 5 years ago we attempted the journey, but turned around after the first bend.  It is true at least 2 people die on that road annually.  After all it is a canyon in Utah.  It screams "all rednecks unite, bring your oversized trucks, beer, low intellect and drive like hell!"  

Well...Sunday the 5th of July proved to be different.  I asked Kristen as I have many Sundays if she wanted to take a drive up the canyon, she surprised  me with a "yes".  I assured her that it was not that scary and quickly rushed the family in the Explorer before she changed her mind.  We started our slow journey up the mountain, Kristen was tentative, but okay.  We were no more than two miles up when...BAM!  Kristen's nightmare became true!  We were hit by a car racing down the mountain.  The good news is no one was hurt, and only minor damage.  I was mostly upset at the prospect that I would now never get Kristen up there!  To my surprise after the police came and sited the other driver we completed our drive.  As you can see in the last picture, it was worth the drive.

The Bench: a Psychoanalytic Approach

{And, thus, she rambles...}

I've always been this way.  Always.  Despite feeble attempts to remedy this character flaw, I've learned to embrace this inner glitch and come to terms with it's permanence in my being .

I analyze everything.

Jeff would probably include the word over to the afore confessed analyze, but I wouldn't go that far.

Those of you who know me well are agreeing with Jeff, huh?

Fine. (pouty face)

Being married to a mental health therapist doesn't help the situation one iota. Because of Jeff's background and profession and the hours we've spent discussing quirky fractures in ourselves, our kids, family, TV personalities, and the cast of characters at the local Wal-Mart*, I tend to always analyze why people do the things they do and what driving force within them makes them tick and tock.  (* we never analyze friends; you guys are safe :)  Sometimes this need to figure myself and other people out is helpful in relationships.  Other times it's just one more thing that I don't need to worry about but that I do worry about.  

The human race is intriguing to me.  

As we woke up early yesterday morning to make it to our 9:00 a.m. LDS Sacrament Meeting, I got to fretting about whether or not we were going to make it on time.  We have around a 60% success rate.  This may seem acceptable to some but, under our self inflicted circumstances, the rate should probably be much higher.

See, we always sit on the front row.

This is by choice - not a forced decision.  Several years ago, I was the pianist for the ward choir and had to be to church early for choir practice.  On select Sundays when the choir sang during Sacrament Meeting, we would sit near the front so that I didn't have to walk clear up from the back.  You know, the whole too-paranoid-to-walk-up-from-the-back-of-the-chapel-in-case-you-trip-or-people-analyze-your-highly-cushioned-derier insecurity complex.  We just got used to saving spots in the front and it stuck.

So we sit in the front row every week.  And by front row I mean smack dab right in the front row.  Right in front of the pulpit.  Right in front of the entire ward family.  No reservations required.  That is our spot.  

The Gregson Pew. 

So close, in fact, that we can see every quivering lip of emotional speakers. We can see perspiration pooling on nervous foreheads.  We get lots of eye contact from the speakers and can give reassuring smiles to those participants who are next in line.  We have the front row seat that provides us with a heightened awareness of all the happenings and maneuvers that it takes to orchestrate a smoothly run Sacrament Meeting.

I pose the question to you:  Why do Mormons choose the same benches week after week?  Are we such creatures of habit?  Is familiarity so important to us that we habitually snuggle into our self-designated pews every Sabbath?  

I know you know what I'm talking about.  You bench huggers, you!

As I analyze why the Adam's always sit on the last row of the right section of the chapel, and the Forbush's sit in the center section of folding chairs in the overflow area, and the Brezoff's hover somewhere around the middle section of the left side, I stop to examine our own peculiarities.

Why, even when we are consistently- ever-so-slightly-tardy to our 9:00 a.m. meeting, do we choose to parade our lack of punctuality in front of an entire congregation who managed to arrive on time?  

Several theories: 

1. Remember the joke in school that the A's were in front of the class and the F's were in back - do you think there's a spiritual version to this?  Those who feel they might be in need of some spiritual extra credit sit up front so that they can reap the benefits of more blessings?  If I receive this spiritual extra credit, will it erase the fact that I drank too much of my homemade vanilla last week or had unpleasant thoughts about an ornery son of a gun that I chanced to meet along my way?
2. Do I sit up front for the safety of my children?  I'll openly admit that I, at times, would love nothing more than to pinch off the heads of my oldest children during church.  Oh mercy!   The whining, and elbowing, and talking, and pestering that goes on amongst the 3 of them.  By sitting on the front row, we are within view of the entire Bishopric and any visiting Stake leaders.  I just wouldn't be a good Christian woman if I pinched off any heads or even pinched deserving appendages.  They are safe for at least 1 hour and 10 minutes.
3. Am I afraid that if I sit too far back that my mind (plagued with motherhood onset of ADD) will wander and that I won't focus on getting my spiritual battery recharged? When you are front and center, you are well aware that the speaker knows if you're tuning them out.  There's no hiding it.  No getting lost in your thoughts or daydreaming of the upcoming New Moon movie (coming out November 20, 2009).   There definitely is etiquette that needs to be kept when listening to a speaker.  And it does not include taking a nap on your own lap.  Or picking your nails.  Or last minute repentance of procrastinated lesson preparation.  The speaker knows.   They always know. 
4. If you're in the front row, the bread and water isn't picked over.  You have less of a chance that sweet little grimy hands have touched your bread and then discarded it for a larger piece.  As well, your cup of water is probably less tainted with drips of water from discarded cups.  Enough said.
5. Do I want Jeff to have an up close and personal view of those beautiful babies being blessed and that, MAYBE, he'll have an inkling that we need just one more drooling bundle of goodness?  Come on, times-a-wastin'... 
6. Maybe we're paranoid that if we switched benches (to a spot that would be less conspicuous of our tardiness) it would throw the whole dynamics of the chapel seating chart off and cause confusion and chaos.
   

So all you Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura wannabes, here's a chance to stretch your armchair therapist skills...

Save me the effort.

Analyze this perplexity.  

I'm a Sharer (is that a word?)

So, this week I've shared a couple of videos with you.  You my friends, family, and possible blog stalkers.  I hope you're friendly blog stalkers and not the scary kind.  If you are the scary kind just be aware that my husband is 6' 5" tall, an ex-Marine, skilled in martial arts, has a bazooka, and works from home so he's here all day long with our dog Pumpkin at his side.  Oh, and Pumpkin is a Doberman Pinscher/Pit Bull/German Shepard mix.

Just thought you should know.

Carrying on, the videos in my last 2 posts made me happy.  I thought they were cool.  Nothing of great importance or historical impact, but just little snippets of frivolity.  We all need a little frivolity from time to time.  Some of us depend upon it a little more often, but that's for another post at another time.

So, since I have been in the mood of sharing this week, I thought I would share something with a little more substance.  A little more depth.  A little more meaning.  A gift from me to you. Well, not really a gift because it's not mine to give.  Does that make sense?  Something so near and dear to me that it makes my eyes well up with emotion just thinking about it.

The Pioneer Woman.

Some of you probably already know about this amazing website/blog.  And I'm sure you will concur of it's invaluable worth.  For the rest of you who are newbies, just know that this insight I've given to you today is more precious than anything I could have baked in my oven or wrapped in a pretty pink box (with brown and white polka dotted ribbon for added adorableness) to give to you.  If you peruse through her highly entertaining, perfectly written, beautifully pictured themes of her confessions, cooking, photography, home and garden, and homeschooling, you will quickly see why I could not help but shout from the rooftops (OK, shout from my computer table) that every woman needs to get to know Ree Drummond.

She is my best friend that I will never meet.

Seriously, she is TALENT.  She has more energy than any person I've ever not known (personally).  Her writing is PERFECTION.  She is a housewife in the middle of nowhere on a gorgeous ranch in Oklahoma who has the life that every woman wants.  She has the capabilities of reigning you in, keeping you captive and making you feel like you want to sit at her counter in her dream kitchen and watch her all day long living her unique and romanticized life.  This woman has it all and she's humble.  Never do you feel like she's fluffing her own feathers or being boastful.

Except when it comes to her husband's forearms.  She's unabashedly proud of those.

Be sure to check out her recipe collection.  You HAVE to try the 

Ginger Steak Salad

Asian Noodle Salad

PW's Favorite Burger

Grandma Iny's Prune Cake

Pastor Ryan's Mexican Lasagna

These recipes are knock outs and will surely catapult you into fantastic cook status.  Whether you choose to divulge to your guests the source of your recipes is up to you.  I won't tell.  Take full credit if you choose.  PW (the Pioneer Woman) would probably support you completely.  

She's cool like that.

I told a friend that I've had almost spiritual experiences when cooking and eating her food. It is just so, so good.  The salads are incredibly flavorful.  And G'ma Iny's Prune Cake?! Forgetaboutit!  Even if you don't think you like prunes, try it.  It tastes like a spice cake and is SOOOOOOOO darn good.  TRY IT NOW!

Check out her website.  If you've been there before, you know why I've spent an entire post on her.  If this is your first visit, then all I can say is, "You're welcome".

And you can simply bring me a piece of that prune cake as payment. 

*Post note:  She also has incredible giveaways.  You and 20,000+ other people have the chance to win things like Nikon D90 cameras and Kitchenaid Mixers.  Maybe one of these days I'll get lucky... 

Frivolous Entertainment Part Deux

I wonder if his mom every told him not to play with his food.