VIII

Brittan, our resident cartoon character, turned 8 this past week.

What can I say about Britt?

He really cracks us up.  He is quirky, and goofy, and mischievous, and a hair off center.  That's what makes him Britt.  He is so different from his older siblings and is the spice and zest in this family.  

He is definitely the 3rd child.  He's had to fight to have a voice of his own and to be heard above the noise of the others.

As a result, we sometimes have to inform him that he is actually yelling rather than talking.

He has such a quick wit and comes up with the funniest things to say.  Just last week, he overheard us talking with Kennedy about a crush situation with a boy at school.  Britt tuned in, thought about what we were saying and said, "Well Kennedy, you are pretty easy to fall for." 

       

Britt has always had an enormous imagination.  A HUGE imagination.  An imagination that leads him to build things out of any scrap piece of garbage in the house, to make books out of cereal boxes, and the same creativity that makes nighttime monsters larger than life.

Brittan has always had an affinity for sugar...

...brown sugar, white sugar, refined or not, he loves it all equally.  So does the dentist.  Egad!

Mr. Jack-0-lantern grin will soon be losing his two front teeth.  I can't imagine what he'll look like without this registered trademark.

He's a fan of climbing and exploring and taking life by storm.

Britt is analytical and intense just like his mum.  He is my partner Type A in the household.

As he learns to bridle this propensity of intensity, he will accomplish great things for the good. This past year, he has really grown up a lot.  He understands the give and take in relationships with his family and with kids at school.  He sees and dislikes injustices and is willing to be vocal when he sees things that aren't right.

The only time that Brittan is quiet is when he is asleep. :) 

Yes, the gift of gab he also inherited from me.

Brittan loves any sort of  sort of celebration.  Big or small - he's always ready for a party.

He's always been a mama's boy with lots of kisses and hugs.

He's a great big brother and loves his baby bro.

Brittan is destined for awesome things in his life.  He has been blessed with a smart mind, an iron will, and great determination.  He is someone who will go out into the world and make his presence known.  We love him so much and are proud of him.  

 And did I mention that he likes sugar?

The Acceptance Speech That Was Never Delivered

I had my speech ready.

You know, the speech that I was going to give to my future BFF who has never met me nor heard of me nor knows that we even exist on the same planet.

Or in the same galaxy.

I had visions of walking up to her, graciously accepting my autographed copy of her sold out book (I had 2 copies waiting for me...prepaid...HA!) and delivering a bouquet of words and emotions so eloquent and articulate that she would stammer to reciprocate a response. Overwhelmed and flustered with excitement and equal adoration, she would grab her camera, snap a picture of me (actually multiple pictures of me and a few of Kennedy and my step mom), and dedicate an entire post to our introduction - the night she met her newest soul sister and confidante in the great state of Utah.

In my mind's eye, it worked out so well.  We hugged.  She even cried a little. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed up the Marlboro Man so that she could share the good news with him. He wasn't bothered with the call being so late (time zones and all). He was just ecstatic for her that this book tour could have given her such a gift.  

The gift of me.

The next call would be made to Hyacinth, her previous BFF.  Words would be exchanged, I would look away pretending I didn't hear the sobs and shrieking on the other end of her conversation, and that would be it.

I would be in the numero uno spot.

I won't boast about all of the details, but just know that they would have included scheduled lunch dates, a planned trip to the ranch (where I'd cook with her pots and pans in the Lodge), and Christmas shopping and baking. Little ol' me and the Pioneer Woman.  

Having such a colorful and detailed imagination isn't always healthy.

Can you tell?

Screeching back to reality (for just a moment), here's how the night really went down.

We enjoyed Brittan's birthday celebration (pictures and details coming soon). Around 7:30 p.m. Kennedy and I headed into SLC to meet my step mom at the King's English bookstore. When we arrived after 8:00 p.m., we saw hoards of fans standing outside waiting to get their glimpse of PW. Accessing the situation and talking to people who had already been there for 2 1/2 hours, we determined that it would have taken us at least 3 hours to get to her.  

Add in a couple more hours for my speech deliverance, lengthy phone calls made (see above), hugging, sharing pictures of our kids, recipe swapping, future visits scheduling, and so on and so forth, it would have been 3:00 a.m. before we got out of there. 

Selfless mother act #9,532, I grabbed my book and left so that Kennedy could get to bed at a decent time.  

Boy, she owes me BIG time.

A Best Friend I've Never Met

She's coming to town.

Wednesday night.

She'll be within 24 minutes and 13 seconds of my home.

8 years ago, when I gave the OK for my doctor to schedule an early induction, and when I was pushing and pushing and so ready to stop being pregnant and meet my little guy, I didn't realize that there would be a conflict in dates.

November 4, 2001 - Brittan James was born

November 4, 2009 - The Pioneer Woman will be in Salt Lake City selling autographed copies of her cookbook (for one night only)

I love him.  

I think she and I could be BFFs.

A good mother would celebrate and honor her 3rd child without even a thought of escaping for an hour to meet Ree.

A bad mother would light the birthday candles, say she was running to the next room to grab the camera, but would snatch the car keys instead.  

Which kind of mother am I?

(Do you think a bookstore is a suitable place for a birthday party?)

We Hope You's Guys Had a Shoot 'Em Up Halloween

Guido and Rosie.

Italian Mafia  - 1930's.

He's the man who manages the funds for the Boss and fellow Mafia members. If you owe him money you better pay up so nobody gets hurt (or starts sleepin' with the fishes).  Capiche?  

  

She owns a flower shop that sells a helluva lot more than flowers.  Call in and order a bouquet of gin and blackjack.

Gettin' dolled up for a night out with the cronies.

You talkin' to me?  I said, "You talkin' to me?"

(Vittoria is wearing a vintage dress and hat from the 1930's courtesy of my dad's family)

Fellow mobsters - Carlo and Vittoria.  Vittoria does magic with hair and make-up.  Thank ya, Toots! 

Guido and Carlo - brotherly thugs workin' for the Boss.  Guys with a lotta batta bing batta boom!

Vinny the Boss and his Sweethawt.  

Guess who dined with us at Buca Di Beppo?  It's not everyday the Pope watches you eat your rigatoni.  It's a little unnerving,  so we rotated him all evening long (he currently resides on a lazy Susan).

14 Mafia members.  Guests at one incredibly fun Halloween party.  Can I wait until next Halloween?

Forgetaboutit!

*****

Can't forget about the kiddos -

Plan on an Extra 41 Minutes at the Gym

Welcome to October in Utah.  The crunchy leaves Shaw and I enjoyed 2 days ago are now a sloshy, sloppy mess on the lawn.  Hopefully, they will dehydrate again before Halloween. Walking through crisp leaves is a big part of trick or treating.  At least it was to me.

Yep, that's snow.

One of the many things I love about living in the Beehive state, is that we enjoy all 4 seasons in their truest form.  Although winter is trying to snow on fall's parade this year.  Yes, it seems a little premature to be thinking about skiing and sledding and snowmen, but it is what it is and I won't complain.

Sorry folks, but I like the snow.  I think it's a bit rude of it to arrive a good month early, but it is usually temperamental and shows up without asking permission.

(Totally disregarding the leaves still on the trees and covering my yard.)

With the colder temps comes my reunion with warm comfort foods.  I've said good-bye to the cool salads of summer.  Chilly weather makes me crave earthy spices and creamy textures and things that stick to my ribs (and my bottom and thighs).  The kind of foods that promise warmth and security and comfort from the elements outside.

The kind of foods that make me want to curl up, read a good book and hibernate for awhile.

Here are two recipes to start the season off right.  This first one I found in November's Better Homes and Gardens. I think it was the only redeeming thing in the entire magazine (it was a snoozer this month).  This is technically a comfort drink but I swear on all of my kids' Halloween candy that this will knock your socks off.  I made some tonight and my family was swooning over it. I even took some to my friend (who wasn't sure she was going to like it) and she didn't leave a single drop for her husband.  

Trust me.  I would never lead you astray when it comes to a good recipe.

Coconut Tres Leches Hot Chocolate

3 c. milk (called for skim but I only had 1% so that's what I used)

14-oz. can unsweetened coconut milk

1 can sweetened condensed milk (can use 1/2 can if you want)

2 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder

1/2 tsp. vanilla

sweetened whipped cream (optional)

chocolate shavings (optional)

Simmer all 3 milks (see - tres leches) in sauce pan over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Add cocoa and whisk well.  Take off heat and add vanilla.  Serve in mugs with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Makes 5 (1 cup) servings.

***

The next recipe is one that I posted on my sidebar under May We Suggest... last year.  Many of you may not have caught it, so I'm putting it here.  Pumpkin screams "edible warm fuzzies" to me.  I love pumpkin.  This muffin recipe is easy and makes a large batch - at least 2 dozen.

Pumpkin Muffins

4 eggs

2 c. white sugar

1 1/2 c. oil (or use 3/4 c. oil and 3/4 c. applesauce...texture will be slightly different but still good)

1 small can pumpkin

3 1/2  c. flour (slightly less if you're using applesauce substitution)

1 Tbsp. cinnamon

2 tsp. baking powder

2 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

2 c. chocolate chips (or raisins if you prefer)

Beat eggs slightly.  Add sugar, oil, pumpkin and beat thoroughly.  Add dry ingredients and mix until smooth.  Stir in chocolate chips.  Fill muffin cups 3/4 full. Bake at 375 degrees for 15 - 20 minutes or until completely set.  Don't overcook.

***

It's here that I have to admit that the title of this post is a little bit deceiving.  The 41 extra minutes at the gym is actually more like 57 extra minutes.  And that's not just for one day. That's probably everyday for an entire week.  But these recipes are worth every single extra calorie you have to burn off.

So, grab a good book, sip your coconut cocoa and nibble on a warm muffin.  

Winter is coming early in Utah.

And my kitchen's ready.

Fight or Flight

My memory is much better than my husband's.  So when I say that the story I am about to share is accurate, precise, and undoubtedly 100% truthful to the actual events that took place (without even the slightest exaggeration), you have to believe me.

You will believe me, right?

Pinky promise?

And don't ask Jeff about it.  He probably won't even remember that it happened and if he does, please don't believe his counter offer of details.  

It was the same October that the scandalous pseudo-prego nun and priest stunt was pulled. Jeff and I were dating and went with some friends to the Haunted Forest in American Fork.  We wanted to pay good money to be scared......really scared......like, almost piddle on yourself scared.

Which brings up a good question:  Why did we do that to ourselves?  We're taught from childhood to be careful and cautious.  We buckled up our seat belts and looked both ways when crossing the street.  We didn't talk to strangers and had our Halloween candy X-rayed to make sure that the old geezer down the street didn't slip anything sharp into our Snickers bars.  But we sought out opportunities to be put into confined spaces with Jason-masked faces carrying loud and ferocious chainsaws, and we got a thrill out of it.  We couldn't get enough. My friends and I went every year to the scariest and creepiest and most intense haunted houses and screamed until we were hoarse.  We watched scary movies knowing that they would give us nightmares.  Where is the logic in that?  

I guess that fear, being a very real and raw emotion, is only truly enjoyed when it is in a controlled environment.  When your subconscious knows that you aren't really going to experience any true bodily harm or damage.  We get a rush from the adrenaline. We like to tap into that part of our psyche that doesn't usually surface.  Thanks heavens!  My heart couldn't take it nowadays.   

Back to the story......where was I?......went to the Haunted Forest with friends.......hoping to be piddle scared.......oh, yes....... So, the Haunted Forest is, obviously, outdoors.  Being outdoors in wide open spaces gives a much higher register on the Richter scale of scariness.  Perfect.  That's what we were hoping for.

Tightly holding hands in the cool night air, we made our way through gory fields of corpses and tombstones.  There were your typical zombies and creatures jumping out at us while strobe lights flickered in the background.  A few howls of pain from half eaten carcasses that caused us females in the group to snuggle in a little closer to our dates.  

Being scared does have some advantages.

Here is where the acuity of my memory is so vitally important.  I remember making our way through a large corn field and coming into a clearing.  There was a kindly old gentleman, we'll call him Farmer Joe, who invited us over to sit by a crackling campfire.  He said he wanted to tell us a story.  We sat on the logs surrounding the glowing fire and sighed at the chance to warm up a bit. He proceeded.  I can't give you any real details from the tale he told but that doesn't have much pertinence right now. What is important to know is that no more than 3 minutes into Farmer Joe's captivating trap, some masked crazy man with a massive blowtorch came rushing out of the cornfields headed straight for us. 

Let me pause briefly here to remind you that we females were with our dates. Our boyfriends, no less.  Most of us ended up marrying these "men" who, minutes earlier, had enjoyed close proximity to our startled nerves.

Carrying on, the crazy nut job with the blowtorch came running towards us.  I have to hand it to the set up.  We did not see it coming.  We should have, but we didn't.  We had trusted Farmer Joe, in fact, I think he reminded me a little of my Grandpa.  Those twinkling blue eyes (see....the details....Jeff could never give you such depth) were so calming and endearing.  Never would I have thought that that old turd was lulling us into a ruse so that Mr. Psycho Blowtorch Dude could ambush us and get a hefty gain on our tracks.

What happened next is, I admit, a big blur of chaos and confusion.  I remember receiving an elbow to the chest and having the wind knocked out of me as the person next to me was using my being as a spring board to catapult himself to safety.  I looked up to realize that it was Jeff. There was a dust cloud forming as frantic feet were leaping over logs and various obstacles.  I looked down to see what those various obstacles were and realized that some of them were my girlfriends.  I looked up dazed, trying to catch my breath amid the stampede thickened air, and saw a scene that was so astounding and unbelievable that I thought surely I must be wrong. ALL of the guys in the group were gone.  Running for dear life.  Not one of them had stopped to assist us or rescue with outreached hand.  It was survival of the fittest out there in the Haunted Forest of American Fork and the guys were winning.  

As my buttocks were being singed from the lapping flames of Senior Raving Lunatic's weapon of death,  Jeff and his fellow yellow bellies were far ahead of us and there was not a chance of them looking back.  I couldn't stop to converse with my girlfriends about whether or not they ever saw this type of chivalrous behavior coming from their significant other, because one missed step and our highly flammable 90's hairdos were toast.

Eventually, the boys did stop running, we caught up to them, Sir Burn-A-Lot left us alone, and we all had a really good laugh.  The impression of Jeff's footprint on my forehead eventually did heal and go away.  I also forgive him. He has never exhibited behaviors like that again.

But, that was also the last haunted thing we went to.

All of This Because I Was Hungry

Who knew that standing in front of my toaster oven, fully decked out in my early morning gorgeousness, could be so enlightening and soul searching.

Believe me folks, if it can happen to me, it can happen to you.

I'd like to make believe that moments of epiphany happen easily and frequently to me.  That my day is dotted with sparks of light and wisdom.  But it's just not the case.  I'm too foggy in the brain most of the time for such things.  It's usually when I'm least expecting it that moments of heightened personal awareness come washing over me.

This particular morning, it came washing over me before I'd even had a chance to wash the sandman's dew out of my eyes.  

This is what the universe (actually let's narrow it down quite a bit - it was the Spirit) was trying to tell me. Simplicity is peace.  Simplicity is tranquility.  Simplicity is order.

And I don't have peace or tranquility or order in my life because I do not have simplicity.

I was making cinnamon toast.  Not the most notable of morsels nor the breakfast of champions. Simple cinnamon sugar, thrown together with the utmost randomness, sprinkled over Grandma Sycamore's Honey Grain bread that had been thinly smeared with butter.  Simple. Easy.  But as I bit into the first piece (I always eat my cinnamon toast in pairs) I thought, "Boy this is good.  Really good."  And that's when it hit me.

Life doesn't have to be complicated to be good.

So much of the time I feel like I've forgotten how to take a deep breath.  How to relax.  How to sit in the quiet of an afternoon, with only the soft sounds of a sleeping baby whispering through the stillness, and just relax.  Uncoil. Decompress.  Just be.

Instead, my mind cycles through the agendas that I must climb through later today, and tomorrow, and next Saturday, and 2 years down the road.

Why can't my mind turn off?

It's like somebody pushed repeat play in my head and a calendar of chatter never stops.  

As moms, I think we sometimes feel like we have to fill our lives and the lives of our kids with opportunities, and events, and activities, and goals, and lessons, and clubs, and teams, and developing of talents, in order to prove or feel like we've achieved something.  It's as if we believe there is some imaginary mother resume that we must be able to hand in at a moment's notice.  "Mine sure as heck better look good," we tell ourselves.  It is such a juggling act. We know all of the above mentioned things are good and wholesome and worthwhile.  

But when it takes away from the delicate balance that is the family, a balance of doing what truly is important and still finding time to breathe...slowly...in and out..., I've decided it just isn't that worthwhile anymore.  If all of these things start affecting how the people doing these things are enjoying life, their childhood, their memories, their interactions and time together, then it definitely is not a worthwhile part of life.  

We've heard this counsel from the Brethren repeatedly in conferences throughout the years.  I remember hearing in one address that Satan's greatest tool against mothers nowadays is distractions.  That doesn't just mean shopping, and reading vampire books, and surfing the web, and sultry soaps. It can also mean filling our time and minds with too many things - distracting us from quality time with our kids, husbands, and our Heavenly Father.  

As we try to measure up in our minds of what it takes to be an excellent mother, we will always have areas in which we fall short.  Our houses can't be immaculate all day.  Our kids will have runny noses and messy clothes from time to time.  We can't serve gourmet meals, packed with the perfect combination of vitamins and flavor, every night of the week.  We can strive for cultural experiences for our kids, but sometimes that may mean just stopping by the library for story hour.  We can't do all, give all, and expect all from ourselves or our families.  There will be gaps.  There will be holes.  Sometimes, there may be huge voids that look back at us ominously and we'll feel overwhelmed.  But that is when we must reach for our scriptures, kneel in prayer, and ask for help from our Father in Heaven and our Savior.

They will fill in those gaps.  Fill them in with peace, and tranquility and order.

And They will help us practice the art of breathing again.  Even if we've forgotten how to do it efficiently on our own.

Because oxygen does a body good.

And so does a simple piece of cinnamon toast.

Sister Kristen

The year was 1992.  I was 20.  At the time, I had no thoughts or conceptions that someday I would be a mother of 4, blogging for sanity, and recovering from a nasty case of the swine flu.

Back then, I probably would have thought the Swine Flu was a new grunge band.

I had no worries about gravity's toll on my sistas.  No thoughts crossed my mind of the fact that, one day, my epidermis would betray me with it's candid age telling abilities.  In circa 1992, I ate muffin tops and didn't wear them.

Basically, I had no worries in the world.  All I cared about was having as much fun as possible while enjoying my time at the Y.  I had a great boyfriend, Mr. Jeffrey Jay, and he had great Brandon Walsh hair.  I cooked for him and he helped me with the dishes.  He also made me continually laugh.

Life was easy and carefree.

Back in the early 90's, I had a touch more adventurism within me than I do today.  When you have the time, call me and I'll tell you the stories of hanging bras on BYU statues and getting caught trespassing in the old abandoned BYAcademy (complete with sirens, flood lights, and a visit to court).  

And to think when I pulled these shenanigans I did so without a drop of liquor in me! 

This particular Halloween, I hosted a party and invited 15 other costumed couples.  It was an evening of good eats, a massive scavenger hunt, and ended with one couple getting engaged (we didn't find out about that until later).  Jeff and I, in our clever and mischievous minds, thought it would be hilarious if we dressed up as a couple (of sorts).  We decided to dress formally and go with a black and white scheme.  Classic.  Elegant.  Very sophisticated.

I was his perfect waddling sidekick.  Estimated due date?  Any moment.  I was great with fluffy pillow totally wearing a 3rd trimester glow.  We thought we were cute, and funny, and sure to spark a conversation or two.

Oh, yes, conversations we did spark.  2 days after the party, there was a huge write up in the campus newspaper.  Someone wrote in and went on and on about how they had seen a pregnant nun and priest running around campus.  The writer was fired up about how irreverent this particular couple was and how appalling it was that such a thing could happen on BYU's campus.

Oh, to be young and so offensive.

Such unbecoming, or should I say unbenunning, behaviors.

Good thing that habit didn't stick.

Oink! Oink!

It's official.

I am now a statistic of the '09 swine flu epidemic.

Yea, for me.

And Jeff.

And Shaw.

And Brittan.

Thanks for the chocolate, Alysa! 

To Colorado With Swab They Go

Apparently, my insurance company wants fewer customers to deal with.

And what is the quickest way to have fewer customers?

You kill them off.

My H1N1 test results were supposed to be ready yesterday.  So I called in to find out if, in fact, I have the dreaded piggy flu.

"Oh, because you have the insurance that you do, your labs have to be sent to Denver to be tested and not to our local hospital," the nurse informed me. "That will take 4 days."

4 days, people.  Long past the time in which appropriate medications could be an option.

I could be dead by then.

(Not really, but I will probably have bed sores, an overabundance of teeth fuzz, and will most definitely be stir crazy from being on my back for so long.  Oh, and the possibility of sprouting a snout is always a concern.)

I'm sick of being sick.

And it's only been 60 hours. 

***

And just in case you were thinking it would be fun to go get tested for the swine flu, perhaps for kicks and giggles or after lunch with your friends, let me forewarn you.  It is an awful test. Horrible.  Miserable.

I was expecting to have to have a throat swab done.  That test is never pleasant, what with the gagging reflex and all, but a throat swab is child's play compared to what they did to me.

See, the H1N1 test has to be done through the nose.  A flexible Q-Tipy thingamajig goes into your nasal passage until it reaches your throat. Then it has to sit there for 10 seconds.  Then it has to exit through the, now, irritated nasal passage.  It was icky and painful and so not expected.

I'm just hoping that whoever the medical lab transporter is, that they like their job and take it seriously.  I'm really hoping that they didn't take too many pit stops on their drive to Denver. That he/she didn't stop and slowly enjoy a Slurpee and snap into a Slim Jim and leave my test sitting out on the dashboard in the sun.  I'm thinkin' that might make test results inconclusive or invalid.   

That would not be good.  I would not be willing to take that test again.  

And by then it might be too late, heaven bless my (overreacting) special spirit.

Would you be willing to take it again for me?

***

Perspectives from the couch:

"Mommy, it's 5:00 p.m.  Is it safe to assume we're not going to get changed into regular clothes today?  Not that I'm complaining about wearing my snugly warm footed pajamas all day, but I was just wondering."

He's actually been sick too.  Sick patients in our house go regular clothes-less.

(Notice the play kitchen in the background.  Jeff thought it would be fun for Shaw to have it downstairs rather than in the playroom where it normally is. For the last 3 days, everyone has tripped over cutesy miniature foods in a wide array of primary colors.  And I've been planted where I could see it but was too weak to do anything about it. Delightful, I tell ya!)

When mom is sick and stationed on the couch, toddlers make long distance phone calls to various parts of the world.  First it was Morocco (I think he was trying to contact that belly dancer).

Then it was somewhere in Australia.

Now he's loading a potato shooter...

...and wrestling with his brothers.

Lovely.  Now they're all shooting at me.  That's the kind of tender care a mother with mostly boys receives when she's down and out.  They also won't come within 10 feet of me.  Suddenly they're concerned about germs?

More arsenal training.

(I'm just now noticing how filthy my TV screen is.  Yummy.  No wonder I can't see Oprah's face clearly.)

Great.  Now they gang up on the baby.  Nice work, boys.

"Um, Mom....even though I really don't want to be seen with you looking like you've just downed too many teaspoons of your prescribed cough syrup, could you drive me to scouts? Just drive by the church slowly and I'll jump out so nobody has to see us together."

Harmful to a Landfill But a Blessing to My Hips

This is the only kind of cake that is allowed in my house at the moment.

One that is cute and festive and calorie free.

100% calorie free.

This one is for baby Seth.  Apparently he is fashionably set and in no need of clothes for the next 15 years.  BUT, he does need an abundance of paper underthingys.  Paper underthingys to go beneath all of those clothes.

For his mother's sake, I hope that's not for the next 15 years.

 

The chocolate is for his mum.  To help with those late night feedings or hormonal down swings.

'Cause we all know that chocolate sings to a woman's soul.

Oh, sweet visions of chocolate bliss.

That makes the onset of lactation latching more tolerable.

***

* Post Note:  Before you start leaving me comments about how you shouldn't ever eat chocolate while nursing, and how nervy I must be to suggest such a thing, let me state for the record (while raising my right hand) that I never had trouble with any food while I nursed 4 babies.  Never.  Not chocolate.  Not jalapeno peppers dipped in chocolate. Not jalapeno peppers stuffed with horseradish-anchovies dipped in chocolate.  If Baby Seth's mum can't eat the above mentioned confectionery, she will know to not feel pressured to partake.

And will be encouraged to use the (provided) return to sender self-addressed stamped envelope. 

***

*Additional Post Note:  I'm certain I have the piggy flu.  It hit me like a ton of bricks tonight (or maybe it's because that's all they talked about on the 10 o'clock news).

If anyone is willing to delurk for the benefit of my welfare, I'd much appreciate it.  I'm sure it will make me feel so much better and help minimize my symptoms.  All you mysterious people out there not ever stopping to say, "Hello there, Kristen!"  "Top of the mornin' to ya, Kristen!"  "We'd love to send you chocolate, Kristen!"

So, please, just this once...for a feverish woman?

Bless you.

  

A Sunny Ditty for Today

Don't know why, but this song cheers me up.  It's Kennedy's latest iTunes download and it is oh-so-perky-and-cheery-with-a-touch-of-playful-curiosity. Not the deepest of songs lyrically or advanced musically, but it's clever and peppy and I like the imagery the words give.

When I hear the melodious whimsy, it makes me want to run out into an emerald green meadow somewhere and dance my little hidden childish heart out while wearing glittering butterfly wings and a polka dot tutu.   

Doesn't that sound fun?  

(blank stares)

(crickets chirping)

OK, doesn't that sound kinda fun?

(the sound of a pin dropping)

Well, I'm going to find that magical emerald green meadow somewhere (maybe I'll go to Ireland to find it) and I'm gonna dance without a care in the world.  Maybe I'll take some ribbon streamers to really give it my desired effect.

(I promise you won't have to watch.)

Click here to start the humming fest.  If you want to read the words, click here.  Enjoy!

(That goes out to you too, Ry-Ry.  Try to give this jaunty and bubbly song a chance.)

Celebrating My Inner Goth Again

Seriously, what is it about Halloween?

If you're bored out of your gourd and have nothing better or productive or worthwhile to do with your time (really, you too?), you can see and read more about the Gregson family's Ode to Halloween here.  In case you're wondering - No, the potion items are not on display this year.

I'm afraid my little monster would eat the witch warts and snake venom.