It Wasn't Me!

"It wasn't me, I swear, Mom! I had nothing to do with the Ovaltine heist!"

As I was printing up some documents for my upcoming Holiday Bazaar, the house became strangely quiet. Any mother knows this is a sign of a storm brewing. While I prayed that my kids were just watching the vintage 1983 My Little Pony episode on VHS (the one that just barely rewinds, it's been played so much), I decided that investigation was best, even if it meant interrupting my work.

Then I heard water running. I walked to the bathroom to see my daughter had turned on the faucet on the sink in order to wash her hands. She had telltale smears on her cheeks and hands, which had rubbed off onto the faucet and soap dispenser. "What is it you think you're doing, Izzy?" I asked her. "Washing my hands," she coyly replied. "Where's your brother?" I asked. "Upstairs" was all she said.

I walked slowly upstairs, and on the eigth of thirteen steps I could smell it - the sickly-sweet Whoppery smell of chocolate malt Ovaltine. Eli was covered in it, and was still holding the jar. What was once full was now... EMPTY. All over my son, all over my daughter, all over my light-beige carpet. And it couldn't just be sitting on the carpet, it had to be slobbered on and ground in, too. I actually have to steam-clean it up, not just vacuum. And before I could even get the bath running, Eli had smeared the gooey stuff all over my freshly-printed documents for work.

In order to reach the Ovaltine, Izzy had to have had guts. I found a chair pushed up to the counter. She had to have climbed up onto the counter and onto the microwave to reach the Ovaltine on the top shelf in the cabinet above the microwave. I can barely reach it on my tiptoes. That takes talent.

But hey, at least she shared.

Holiday Memories

I love the holiday season. From Thanksgiving to New Year's, I'm a pretty happy person. I love memories, and creating memories. Holidays are bursting at the seams with memory opportunities.

Most of the time, you don't even have to work to create them. Some are sweet, some are funny. Rarely does anyone (at least in my family) remember the crappy times. I can ask my sister, "What's your favorite Christmas memory?" and I can almost guarantee that it would be the same as mine. Hands down, feeding the cows with Grandpa and Daddy. We would beg and beg him to let us help him feed the cows. We city girls didn't get to do that often, so our yearly trip to the 100+ acre farm my dad grew up on was always a fun novelty. We wanted to experience everything every year, even if it smelled like cow poo.

Bright and early Grandpa would go down and call the cows. I mean, call. Like in the movies, or a hillbilly commercial. They'd come trotting down, and Grandpa would let us climb in the loft of the barn and throw down the hay bales. Then he'd let us cut them open and feed them to the cows (and he'd always let us pet them). He'd tell us each one of their names. As I write this I can smell the sweet smell of hay and alfalfa, and those smells remind me of my Grandpa and the small things he did that meant so much to me as a child. He'd always call us Pasquawlie, or Boy (since he had mostly granddaughters). He'd empty his pockets when he hugged, and apologize if he hadn't yet shaved that day. A good, long, hard hug was the way he expressed his love.

I treasure those memories, and even though he passed away in May, I know my grandfather will forever be in my heart and in my memories. He is connected to some of my fondest childhood memories.

I love how I will be able to create these memories for my children. I can't wait to say to my mother-in-law... "Do you remember the Thanksgiving when Izzy bingo-dotted Eli's head?"

Happy Thanksgiving!

In honor of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd share with the world what I, Jen, Creative Artiste Extraordinaire, SuperMom, and Mary Kay Diva am thankful for this year.

• Cranberry Raspberry Walnut Jell-O Molds
• My son's smile he saves just for me
• Every time my daughter has told me "Know what, Mommy? I love you!"
• Ducks
• FRIENDS!!!
• Ghiradelli Double Chocolate Chunk Brownies
• Family get-togethers
• Naps, infrequent as they are
• Sparkly-Farkly Diamonds
• Girls' Night Out
• A hubby with a sense of humor
• A church I can really call home
• The greatest sister-in-law in the whole world
• And mother-in-law, too
• And mom, and dad, and sis, and all of my family members (they're all great!)
• King-size beds with Egyptian cotton sheets
• Mary Kay's Microdermabrasion Set... my skin has never felt so incredible
• The fact that my children will play together, even if it's only briefly
• God's visible hand in my life
• Blonde baby curls
• Alias on DVD... no commercials, no week's wait
• Havarti Cheese... brings a whole new meaning to soup and sandwich night
• PF Chang's cool manager who sold me take-out boxes

My sister-in-law, the best one in the world, would like to add a few things as well:

• Pretty earrings
• Cute German boys
• Upcoming graduation

I'm sure she'll think of more later, but she got distracted by apple-butter pumpkin pie...

Surprise!!!

I have to brag a little bit...

November 18th marked my hubby's 31st birthday. And the first time I think I've ever really surprised him! I can't take full credit. I know that if he didn't have so much on his mind he would've figured it out long before the party took place. But God favored this surprise for him!

I sent out hand-made invitations beforehand. I was doing an Asian theme, so the invitations were on black cardstock with a white strip of paper on a red mat that had the Chinese characters for tranquility, wisdom, and harmony on the front in a vertical line. The inside had a red Chinese lantern photograph faded into the background with the information about the surprise party printed over it. Oh, and all of the things like Date, Time, Place, etc were all in Chinese characters. There was a line of Chinese characters on the bottom that said "God bless you and your family."

Just so you know, I don't know Chinese. Thank God for dictionary.com.

I decorated the table with a black tablecloth, and red serving platters. I had chopsticks set out. I made from scratch the menu, which consisted of wonton soup, cashew chicken over rice, eggrolls, apricot beef, and ginger beans and snap peas. It was quite a spread, and everybody loved everything. I was trying to pick things that would probably be universally edible. For desert, we had the birthday cake (see picture below) that had "Happy Birthday" in Chinese on it. It was french vanilla cake with homemade vanilla icing. I also served strawberry and chocolate Pockys. Pockys are so cool.



We also had live music, thanks to our good friend Gib. As a birthday present, he played music for the party on his guitar. He even took requests. He is so cool.



And, of course, let's not forget the party favors... complements of PF Changs (THANK YOU). They sold me the boxes when I couldn't find them anywhere else but the internet. And I didn't have two weeks to wait for them. I stamped them, then filled them with a fortune cookie, a cinnamon stick, a bag of chai tea, and a pair of chopsticks. Chopsticks are so cool.



I am such a good wife. I've been patting myself on the back all week. I even bought my hubby a lasertag set for his birthday, instead of something practical. I am so cool.

I Hate Shopping

I hate shopping.

I rephrase that. I hate shopping for clothes for myself. I can shop all day for nicknacks, toys, scrapbooking supplies, clothes for my children, books, etc. Not for clothing for myself.

I went today to buy a new pair of jeans. I own two that fit. One is a pair of capris... that doesn't work in cold weather. Yes, it's actually cold in Houston. But of course, cold for us means under 75. I would wear the capris, but my husband thinks I'm silly for wearing sandals when it's cold, and you just can't wear socks and sneakers with capris and really get away with it. The other pair I ordered through Old Navy's website. I should've gone in the store. I ordered the ultra-low rise boot-cut jeans, thinking that because I have a short torso, it would do me good to create the illusion of normal-looking pants, considering the waist of normal jeans hits right under my chest. I won't go into great detail, I'll just say I should've ordered just the low rise instead of the ultra-low rise so everyone wouldn't think I just graduated plumbing school every time I sit down. But it's my only pair that I can wear this winter. I have some jeans that would look great if I lost 5-7 pounds, so until my exercising pays off... well, you get the picture.

So I go and pick out a few trial pairs of jeans. They make it so complicated! After finding an ultra-low-rise-straight-leg-medium-length-button-fly-stressed-washed-ripped pair, I decided to just grab some that had my size on it and head for the dressing room to avoid being committed. On the way I grabbed two shirts to try on with it. Both looked exceedingly cute. One was a silk tank that was to be worn under a jacket, either business or casual. The other was a seamless tank that had some sort of ribbed design. Now it's going to bug me until I look up exactly what they term that particular kind of ribbing.

And then I felt led by an invisible cattle prod to go to a small torture chamber enhanced by horrible lights that pick up and enhance every flaw in my body in its full-length mirror. And then I'm forced to strip down to try on these clothes, and no one can resist the urge to look. And it's just horribly depressing. I'm sure I could look like Angelina Jolie and still become horribly depressed in Target's dressing room. I would much rather shop from a catalog or online, where I am not subjected to this inhumane treatment people call "shopping." Or, if I must, I want to walk in, pick out some clothes, and pay for them. I don't want to have to spend two hours in a dressing room trying on twenty pairs of jeans and fifteen shirts to leave empty-handed because of the humiliating lighting and my crushed self-esteem.

I vote to have a new tagging system for all jeans. And hey, why stop there? Let's just do all clothing in general. This tag will be sort of like the Surgeon General's warning on cigarettes. "This pair of jeans will make your butt look big." "This shirt will enhance your bust." "This pair of slacks will hide thunder thighs." And clothing companies must disclose all pertinent information about their products. Then we could walk in and just pick out whatever features we wanted. I would go for the ones with tummy-tucking ability.

For instance, the first pair of jeans I tried on should've had the butt tag. I looked more than a little like J-Lo. It would've been kinda sexy if the ribbed-design shirt wasn't clinging in all the wrong places, making it obvious that my workout regime hadn't earned me a flat stomach yet. I just looked like post-pregnancy J-Lo. So I tried the other shirt, and THAT one did more for my stomach but much, much less for my chest. As in, even the size I grabbed was built for a preteen. And this shirt was in the women's section, not juniors! I swear they're designing all clothes around a hopeful, clubbing teeny-bopper, 'cause that's where they make their money. It's been so long since I've found a great-looking shirt that I just want to scream. I want clothes for REAL women! That shirt should've had a big red tag that said, "Caution: May cause severe damage to the chest of any woman past puberty."

And so for another day I commit to catalog shopping, where I can try on clothes in the normal lighting and safety of my own home. And just for expedience, I did buy the mid-rise-boot-cut-stone-washed-medium-length pair. Although now I'm considering if I should've gone with the long-length.

The New God

As I started this post, I realized what a small thing ticked me off. It got my mind rolling on such a long train of thought that I think I may have blown the whole situation out of proportion.

As I was driving home in inhospitable weather, I let a guy over who needed to turn left. Less than a minute later, the same guy I let over cut someone off who was trying to get over to turn at the next light. I don't mean without cause, he actually sped up and almost caused a wreck because he didn't want the other guy to come into his lane so badly. What a jerk! Forget the whole Golden Rule thing, he threw that out the window at the same time as his cigarette butt. It probably got crushed by my tires in much the same way.

So I should just write this guy off as a jerk, I know, but it led to this whole thing about how this world has slowly evolved into such a selfish society. I mean, utterly and unashamedly selfish. The media and all of popularity encourages it. Our society, especially American society, has created gods out of each and every one of us. I know this isn't a new idea, but it just floors me every time I think of it. Everything is always me, me, ME. It's an excruciating circle of selfishness, and no one gets to go anywhere. People take everything personally if they don't get their way, and somehow they're being discriminated against, whether it's about their age, race, background, religious, or sexual preference. It never can be the fact that they weren't qualified. Or that they were doing a poor job.

Think about it... a servant's heart is reserved for the Christmas season. We reserve our goodness and our giving for a time when we would become conspicuous NOT to give. For some reason the smell of pumpkin pie triggers a giving reflex. Well, hungry people are hungry all year, not just during Christmas. Bring the guy on the street corner a lunch sack in June, not just in December. Help out a friend when they need it, not because you have some guilty urge to purge your selfishness for one month out of the year!

I know a couple of true servants (I am not one of them, but I'm working on it!). They are there at every turn, helping in whatever way they can, giving and going without so that others may have. They have such hearts in them that I know Christ is smiling. I am stunned by their generosity. I can only hope I can learn to be like them. And you know what? They have no enemies. They only have friends, and everyone they meet is a new friend. This isn't to say that they are always happy, but they are always looking for the positive, and for God's hand in their lives. I want to be like that, don't you?

Razzle Frazzled!

I know I'm a busy person. Anyone who knows me knows that. I think if one of my friends were asked to describe me in one word, it would be "busy." I would hope for "perfect," but I know they would probably choose "busy."

It all started when I was young. I remember my Mom encouraging me to do whatever I was interested in, whether it was Girl Scouts, dance, piano, band, art, sign language, Spanish, flag team, or whatever else I had the whim to do. And yes, I did all of those things. I ran my poor mother ragged dragging me across town to all of my hobbies.

Not that I'm complaining! I really enjoyed growing up well-rounded with the opportunity to explore my interests. My mother was one heckuva cool Mom! Everyone was jealous of me. My mom still gets called "Mom" by my old friends.

And some of my new, too...

Well, this busy-ness continued into high school. My senior year I took Calculus because I was in the advanced placement program in Math. I figured if I had gone all this way, I wasn't going to skip the opportunity. And no, I wasn't smoking crack. I was also in the honors program, so I was taking an advanced-level English and Literature course. On top of the academics, I was also taking a college Spanish course to meet a requirement for a scholarship, and it was located about 45 minutes away from my school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. On Tuesdays I'd student-teach a second grade music class at my hometown's elementary school. On Thursdays I'd work as a student aid for a teacher-friend of mine who taught middle school. So after my classes I'd trek to college, then back again to lead our wonderful flag team, since I was the captain. I'd then proceed to work, where I'd stay until 8 or 9. On Wednesdays I'd have piano lessons. I'd take the occasional clarinet lesson as well, especially right before competitions. I also was in ROTC, a flight commander and lieutenant. I also held both chapter president and district parliamentarian positions in the FTA, and was a member of several other hoity-toity honor societies. I was "busy"...

So, this has been my life as long as I remember. I thought I'd get a little down time starting at the beginning of the year, but I think that every year. And then I was thinking about the semi-commitments I've made for January. I'm Publicity for our MOPS group. I was going to take the last 2 classes I need for my Associates, Biology and Government (anyone know an easy-A science class for someone who isn't good at science?). I committed to lead a Crown Financial Ministries class every Sunday for 10 weeks, plus follow-up during the week. A friend is running a stamp club I'd like to attend, I have my Mary Kay meetings on Monday nights, and I run a playgroup every other Wednesday at our church that takes a little preparation for the discussion.

I hope no one is wondering why I'm so frazzled...

I haven't had time to scrapbook in a year. I don't have time to just sit down and relax. This blog is the closest thing I come to, and a post usually takes me a few days to put together because I get interrupted so much. I have 2 kids that I feel that I don't spend enough time with. I have a husband I'm sure feels neglected. I have a house I can't get clean and a to-do list a mile long.

Are any of my readers efficiency experts? Relaxation experts? I really need to cut out something, but I don't know where to even begin!!!

HHHHHEEEEEELLLLLLPPPPPP!

Thoughts of a Terrier

Sometimes I swear my dogs are the dumbest things on the face of the planet. Sure, they're cute, and they've got the little sad eyes on them that make you just want to squeeze their little faces, but ultimately it's obvious why we're higher up on the food chain.

Today my fox terrier got up on the dinner table for the forty millionth time. Each time she gets in trouble, and that never stops her. I've tried all kinds of stuff. I have two kids and she and my other dogs are normally my barkuum cleaners. They love that job, too. Especially because my 1-year-old son loves dropping his food onto the floor and watching them eat it.

I wonder if she thinks she's helping me out? Sort of like, "I'll help her clear the table."

The only problem is that she normally does it when we're not done eating yet. When you have kids you don't get to sit through a meal. You get up about five times chasing your 3-year-old who won't sit down and eat, picking up the cup your 1-year-old threw, rewarming your leftover pizza because it's still frozen in the middle, having a child cling to your leg screaming at the top of their lungs because they got hurt while jumping head-first into the couch from the ottoman...

They need to make a Martha Stewart for dogs. Miss Manners, the Poodle Edition.

Prop 2 - Get out and Vote!

We as Texans have an opportunity to shape our government today. Get out an vote, today is voting day! Pay particular attention to Proposition 2 - there have been many campaigns trying to make this confusing so they can hopefully alter the course of the voting. Why? Because they are scared. A lot of us are scared.

Here's how to vote:
Get up off your duff.
Go to your nearest voting center.
On Proposition 2, vote YES if you think that a marriage should only be between the man and the woman. Vote NO if you disagree with the previous statement.

It really is that easy.

Exercising is Pointless

I'm in kinda a cruddy mood today. I've always told myself... "You know, Jen, if you decided one day that you would get up off your butt and exercise, you'd probably lose some weight." You know, as if I sit around all day and do nothing. Well, I did decide to exercise. And after the first week, I am extremely disheartened.

I worked out a great plan. I would do a latin dance workout tape I already have (Zumba) on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Then on Tuesdays and Thursdays I would use the stairstepper (thanks, Rin!) for 20 minutes, and take a 10-minute walk around the neighborhood with the kids. 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week. It should have worked, and I was pretty faithful to it. Ididn't end up doing the walking part, but the rest of it I did!

I worked my butt off. I Zumbaed until I plopped. My legs ached every day. And I GAINED three pounds.

SAY WHAT??!!

I knew I shouldn't have had the ice cream. But seriously, I was only trying to get it out of my house, and I didn't want it to be wasted. Neopolitan ice cream and Magic Shell is a horrible thing to be thrown away. And now I don't have anything sweet left in the house that I'd actually eat, so I think I'm safe. That's only because I still haven't gone grocery shopping. I think I'm avoiding it, 'cause I can hear the KitKats calling me all the way from Kroger. I guess the pizza didn't help either.

And then there's water retention, another wonderful thing about being a woman...

And then there's the fact that my son quit nursing, so I'm not burning those extra calories anymore. :P

Oh, well. I know I should just be chipper and keep going. Today is my day to Soooh-mba (as Beto puts it), and I just can't muscle up (no pun intended) the motivation to go do it. I think I could've handled my weight staying the same, but gaining three pounds??? That's almost like a kick in the face when you were expecting a handshake. Bologna when you were expecting Fuddruckers. Here, let me set up a table to demonstrate.

Losing Weight ......... Weight Staying Put ......... Gaining Weight
Hug ...................... Handshake ................. Kick in the Face
Steak .................... Fuddruckers Burger ........ Dry Bologna
Sex on Valentine's ..... Roses and dinner ........... Dear Jane Letter
Ghiradelli Brownies .... Betty Crocker ............... Week-old Toast
Oscar .................... Ever After ................ Napoleon Dynamite

(Note: Please don't get into the Napoleon conversation with me. You either loved it or hated it. I just happen to be on the OTHER bandwagon. No amount of "It was supposed to be lame and stupid" will change my opinion that it was lame and stupid.)

My National Director's daughter said that there were days that she wanted to burn her starter kit. I am having one of those days, only I just want to burn my scale and my exercise video. But hey, now she's a millionaire Mary Kay National Director, so maybe one day I'll be my ideal weight, right?

"Steady plodding brings prosperity..." (Proverbs 21:5) Okay, now I'm preaching to myself.

Lift your sparkling spring water with electrolytes to toast steady plodding!

Weddings, yay!!!

Last night my husband and I went to the wedding of our friends Jack and Sarah. Well, I went, my husband was the best man, and my daughter was the ring bearer/flower girl at the tender age of three.

I was really worried about this, because for any of you who don't know my daughter, walking in a straight line and following directions are not her strong points. But she was absolutely intrigued by the "princess dress" she got to wear, along with her "crown" (a circlet of berries with a bow in the back, fitting the autumn theme). She told me she was Belle. If she had to pick a Disney princess, Belle would certainly be the one she looked like, considering the off-the-shoulder gold-tone dress with poofy skirt. I guess that's what kept her in line. I'm going to file that one away for later.

The wedding was absolutely gorgeous, and the ceremony itself went off without a hitch. The bride was stunning, nobody gave any reasons why they shouldn't be married... That's a good wedding if you ask me.

The reception was absolutely unbeatable, held in Sarah's parents' house. A full dinner was catered, and there were even alcoholic drinks (yay for pineapple juice with a kick!). The problem with this is that the "kids" (teenagers) could drink if their parents gave them permission. I didn't think this was a bad idea until some of the teenage girls started fighting. It just reminded me of how unstable I was as a teenager (and I was more stable than most). Adding alcohol to that mix is not a good idea. There's a good reason that the legal drinking age is 21. At that age, the hormones are raging, they haven't learned to take things anything but personally, they haven't learned respect for others, they haven't learned respect for themselves, and they're sometimes downright vicious. And then they want to add things like nicotine and alcohol to the mix. Yeah, great idea.

Moral of the story: When your teen asks if it's okay if they have a drink, tell them NO. Unless you're in your house and your house happens to have padded walls and all the breakables have been removed.

Congratulations, Jack and Sarah, and God bless your marriage!!!

Hock One for Me

So I'm having a conversation with my father, and the subject of loogies comes up. I'm still racking my brain trying to figure out how we got on the subject of snot, but there you go. I think it all started with talking about my son's allergies.

My dad told me that guys just hock loogies. Period. And girls are silly not to. But I'll tell you this, there's a reason why girls don't hock loogies.

You know the whole saying, "You throw like a girl?" It's an instinct for women to play submissive to men. We purposefully don't practice strength and aim, making it seem as if we need a big, strong man to protect us and help us. (Notice I didn't say club us over the head and drag us off by the hair.) But, this puts us out of practice and we end up throwing like a girl anyway. The things we do to catch a guy...

Well, it's the same deal with loogies. I am certain that girls don't hock loogies because if we did, not only would we lose the oh-so-valuable impression we've worked so hard to create of gentility and propriety, but we would miss and it would end up clung to our significant others' brand new Doc Martens. Or even worse, his ear like in Something About Mary. Ewww.

Think about that next time you and your sibling are playing "S-not S-too."

Bratwurst Surprise

It's that time again. Pull the belts tighter, Jen hasn't gone grocery shopping. That means that tonight for dinner, I had to shoot from the hip.

(I don't recommend trying this from home. Usually when I shoot from the hip, I break something valuable.)

So, after perusing the fridge for a while, I decided a casserole was my best option. I had leftover sausage and bratwurst from a cookout a few days ago... but what to go with it? My options were limited, but I figured I could easily scratch cream cheese and yogurt off the list. The pineapple looked promising, but I wasn't sure how it would go with cheese. You HAVE to have cheese on a casserole.

I stewed up some noodles, cut up the remaining bratwurst, and put together a "special sauce." This special sauce is a combination of pizza sauce and onion soup, so I'll let you know how it turns out. I'm not sure, I'm not brave enough to try it quite yet. I figured I'd let the baby be the guinea pig, he'll eat just about anything.

If I don't post tomorrow, you'll know it didn't go so well...

Permanently Surprised

Have you ever noticed that plucking your eyebrows is a pain in the butt? Even if you do it every day, you'll still find the stragglers. And then you'll spend a half hour trying to get a hold of that one hair with your tweezers that just won't budge... pulling your eyelid in various and sometimes random directions to get "just the right angle." It's worse than the faces I make when putting on mascara.

And THEN if you pluck one by mistake... You look permanently surprised for two weeks. :P

If you wax them off and draw them in, everyone can tell, and sometimes that's even more of a hassle. Especially in Texas where you sweat so much that penciled-in eyebrows last for about two seconds. I can just imagine introducing myself to a new client while my permanently surprised look collapses into a psychotic glare.

I can think of about three million things that are more productive to do with a half hour than plucking my &%$# eyebrows. And yet I sit here every day and do it because it's a sick fascination. Like an addiction, once I did it I couldn't stop.

Okay, okay. So maybe it's not a half hour. But it certainly feels like it.

It all started when I got my eyebrows waxed as a total makeover for my birthday. Once I saw those perfect eyebrows, I couldn't imagine going back to my Bert-reminiscent old ones. It's all what's-her-name's fault. I could get more mad if I could just remember her name...

My advice to you is to find someone whose eyebrows you admire very much. Then ask her who her waxer is, and budget the money to have them done regularly. I'll let you know if I ever start doing so myself. Don't let them talk you into waxing anything else, though...

Dear Diary

Welcome to my blog! I know it's a first for me, and if it's a first for you, too, then we can walk the blogging world together as newbies. You'll find out very quickly that my life is a tornado, and I love to get people carried away with me! That is, if I can figure out how to do this whole blogging thing!

If you don't know me, I'm a wife, mom, student, lipstick-slinger, housekeeper, scrapbooker, musician, and above all, a Christian. I am married to the love of my life (yay for me!), and you can check out his blog by clicking on the "Bryan's Blog" link.

Enjoy the blog!