You mean besides the gaping holes in my mouth?

Yeah, I feel fine.

I'm not even swollen. I slept a lot yesterday, ate a little soup and watched movies with my husband. My mouth hurt but not too bad, and it feels all right today.

I do remember making the following statements under the influence of nitrous oxide and before the anaesthesia hit:

"I usually talk a lot but I just don't feel like it right now. It's nice." The nurses laugh.

And this, after the doctor tried to get the IV in my hand for the third time, mumbling something about lady-like veins that roll. I said, "That really hurts but I don't care."

That's it for highlights. I think Dove chocolate and tomato basil bisque are a great post recovery diet for anything. Not so much for losing weight, but still utterly delicious.

What's up, doc?

I'm getting my wisdom teeth out this morning and I'll be getting Darvocet. I've never had Darvocet so we'll see how it goes. I can predict, if I have the same reaction to Darvocet that I've had to Valium, Vicodin, and codeine (which have nothing to do with each other), that I'll be giggling a lot.

Yeah, you heard me: even Valium, a sedative, makes me giggle. Last time I got a root canal, my dentist made me take Valium before I showed up. I took it ahead of time like I was supposed to and then for some reason sat down to watch one of our BBC Planet Earth dvds while I waited for my mother-in-law to come watch the baby.

On this particular disc, there's this little black bird that puffs his wings or neck or feathers or something out and all of a sudden he looks like he has a blue smiley face. It's hilarious. By the time my mother-in-law showed up, I nearly fell down the stairs I was laughing so hard, demanding to see the smiley bird over and over again. She was afraid to let me walk the two blocks to the dentist by myself. I explained that I wasn't high. Just happy. Not sure it was a good argument.

But I made it to the dentist just fine.

Maybe that's what I'll do after the dentist today...just lay around slurping soup and watching Planet Earth.

Or you know. Sleeping.

Teaching your children to communicate

Me: So what kind of homework do you have tonight?


James: Uh, some math. I don't think I have grammar, but--"


Me: You don't have grammar butt? (Rolls down window to yell at husband in garage). Hey, Kenny! James doesn't have grammar butt.


Kenny: (Wandering out to the car) You don't have grammar butt? Good.


James: No! I said I don't think I have grammar, but--"


Kenny: Oh, honey, he doesn't think he has grammar butt, but he might.


Me: That's not good.


James: I don't have grammar butt! What I meant is that I might have grammar but--"

Kenny: Now you're just repeating yourself.

James: Shakes head in disgust, slams car door and stomps upstairs.

Kenny and Melanie: Giggling madly.

Surgical weight loss (which title leads thousands of Google searchers to disappointing results)

Only two of you stood up and took your lumps yesterday (my husband and Crash Test Dummy who is well known for banging her repeatedly against the same brick wall. Hello, check out her blogger ID. Just sayin'.) That makes the rest of you either very smart or big ole chickens. You may choose what you'd like to be.

In other news, I can't stop eating c**p. I'd spell it out for you but my faux MIL told me not to say that word anymore so I can't. I was riding the Eating Right Express until Family Night hit and stress knocked me off the wagon. Then I started stress eating. And all the time I had to put into planning interfered with my regularly scheduled workouts so my butt and tummy decide to just take it easy and spread out a little since they weren't being beaten into submission.

Which, you know...kinda sucks.

So I resorted to drastic measures. First, I went back to Weight Watchers on Friday even though it means losing my "Lifetime" status. I got to be "Lifetime" for about a week before the pound pendulum swung the wrong way so it's possible I haven't really internalized all those concepts I was supposed to learn yet. Like "don't keeping putting c**p in your mouth, you moron." Or, "If you do, make it SMALL portions."

Secondly, I went back to the gym. And you know, did more than loiter and make people in the locker room uncomfortable. I pushed some weights around and showed the elliptical trainer who's boss. And then, just as a sure fire way to make sure I kick this ten pound losing spree off the right way, I added a fool proof element to the mix.

Surgery.

You've seen all those commercials for the lap band and gastric bypass and liposuction?

Well, I'm getting my wisdom teeth out on Friday. That's WAY more hard core because it's IRREVERSIBLE, not like those lap band pansies. Once those teeth are out, they're GONE and they ain't coming back. I figure the enforced soup diet for the first few days ought to knock out at least the first five pounds for me. And it will only cost a mere $1200 out of pocket. Which seems like the expensive way to get hold of some Darvocet, but whatever.

So I'd refuse to blog but previous interaction with prescription painkillers has taught me that NOTHING can shut me up when I'm under the influence, so I expect I'll come wander through some of your blogs this weekend and babble. How fun for all of us.

Oh no, you didn't!

NEVER cross a writer.




Check this out.



You've been warned. You want to test me on this? You shouldn't.



But let's say you do. Let's say, for example, that in our pathological desire to become more like Kristina P., Crash Test Dummy and I each dive for the last Snuggie on the sale table and SHE gets it.



Guess what happens to Crash in my next novel. Go ahead, guess. Did you guess someone looking an awful lot like Crash named DEBBIE gets busted as the mastermind behind an international smuggling ring? And you know what she smuggles? Exotic pets. Like this guy.

Except she tries to smuggle spiny hedgehogs in her pant legs (in my book, I strip her of any kind of common sense) and it ends badly.

So go on....confess. Have you crossed me? Will you cross me? Tell me how, and I'll tell you what will happen to someone who looks exactly like you in a future book.

Here it is, at its peak and in all its, um. . .glory. Rock and Roll Family Night. Half of the tables are full of themed baskets each classroom put together and raffled off. The other half are full of donations from local businesses solicited by a team of volunteers for the silent auction. That team included, me, me and also, me. Only me.

I will never do this job again.

This is my rock star husband in the middle, striking a rock star pose. He sleeps with his groupies. I'm the only one allowed to be his groupie.

This is the inside of the video game truck. The outside screens had a Guitar Heroes tournament going on.

This is the rock and roll hairstyling booth. You should see the picture of what they did to me. It comes later. If you're lucky, MUCH later. If you're really lucky, you'll blink and miss it.

These are the carnival games, just getting started. It was hopping all night long. I kept losing my mind and darting in front of people while trying to run around and get stuff done. I think I must have thought I was invincible and therefore impervious to flying softballs and bean bags. Fortune smiles on the stupid and I did not receive any concussions. Incredulous looks from adults who clearly thought I should know better, yes. Concussions, no.

The craft table. The kids could make guitar shaped magnets or decorate cool wooden stars to use as zipper pulls. My husband cut out everyone of those stupid things.

Stadium seating for all the adoring Johnny 99 fans. Remember, I'M THE ONLY GROUPIE. Don't forget or I WILL CUT YOU.

My son and his usual photo robot expression.

A close up of some of the loot.

What happened when I accidentally stopped for a rest in the chair near the rock and roll hair booth. Then I had to announce several things with my hair like this all night. Then my brother took pictures of me with the fish eye lens on his camera. I buried his body beneath the olive tree in the school yard.

Photo taken two days ago as proof that I'm normal looking.

And here's the rest of the story...

So I fretted. And fumed. And fretted. Much like most of you did in my comment trail when you discovered my inadvertent cliffhanger in yesterday's post. I didn't mean to leave you hanging, I promise. I was sooooo tired and that's just how it ended up. But the outraged reaction was worth it, I have to say. (Evil, much? Mwah hah hah hah!)

Anyway, I fretted and fumed. I fumed because I didn't agree with the suggested changes. I fretted because I wanted to make the smart decision.

I thought about it long and hard. The first company loved my manuscript. They offered me the contract without going to committee and they were excited. But the second company...they're the big boys. They've got some serious distribution and based on everything I've read from them, good editors. And that made me think: maybe there's a good reason for the changes they requested.

I took a deep breath and a huge leap of faith. Based on my gut and some advice from two author friends, I informed the first company that I would have to decline their offer and pursue a different opportunity. I dreaded sending that email, but I finally did.

I had to reread the evaluation the second company sent to me a bunch of times to take it all in, to get what they wanted fixed. There couldn't be anything wrong with MY-absolutley-perfect-the-first-time story, right? RIGHT?! And then I began to see it, to understand their point-of-view. So over the Christmas holidays I thought about it. All but one of the changes made sense and eventually, that one fell in place, too. I dug in and made the changes.

Now I'm making it sound like there was a ton to change. There wasn't. I had to write more instant messages into the story, tweak two scenes, and add one chapter. The thinking about it took a lot longer than the writing did.

Finally, mid-January I sent it in.

Now, mind you, the first time I submitted, their evaluation took five weeks. That's it. They knew I had a contract offer from another company and they were hustling to make a decision. Now that I had willingly given up that contract, this company was under no pressure to rush through a re-evaluation. They could afford to take their time.

And boy, did they!

A month went by. Then another one. Then another one after that. By Storymakers conference time, I still hadn't heard from them. But I had a pitch session scheduled with one of their editors. When I sat down and mentioned who I was and that I had turned in a resubmission at their invitation, the editor's eyes got really wide. And the editor said, "Um, I can't go on the record with this, but I'm pretty sure you're going to be getting some good news soon."

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

What?!

Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!

Turns out, Click cleared committee and they were working up a budget on it. (I don't actually understand what that means yet). The editor said that if the numbers looked good, the managing editor would be in touch to let me know they were accepting the manuscript and that I was supposed to ACT SURPRISED.

So I went, "Squeeeeeeee!" really quietly on the inside, told almost no one about it, and went home to wait impatiently.

A week went by. Nothing.

And then the Family Night fundraiser craziness heated to boiling point. I had no time to write or do anything except the Family Night stuff. And when I didn't hear from the publisher after another week, I thought maybe the budget numbers didn't work and it wasn't going to go my way. I just couldn't deal with that in the middle of all the stress I was under, so I made a decision that as soon as the Monday after the event rolled around, I would email them and follow up.

So I did.

It was just kind of a, "Hey...remember me?" type note. "I sent you guys something in January...you kind of liked it...do you remember that? Because I totally remember that. Just wondering if you remember that."

And then I sent it.

Tuesday, I pulled out my laptop to pick up on my new manuscript that I hadn't touched for three weeks. And I checked my email. And there it was.

A message from my new publisher saying they had accepted my manuscript and that I had "official permission to celebrate. :)" It was even their smiley face.

It isn't even close to matching my smiley face. My smiley face is HUGE. The smile part, anyway. My face is actually normal-ish size.

When I sign and return the contract and do a thousand happy dances, I will tell you exactly which company and when the book is coming out. But let me just tell you, I'm thrilled with this publisher. They put out such GOOD stuff. GREAT stuff. And I get to be a part of that.

Tomorrow. . . .I'll tell you a teensy bit about my UPCOMING BOOK! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

You asked.

I've had three dreams come true in my life:

1. Becoming a teacher.
2. Marrying my husband.
3. Publishing a book (soon!)

That's the order those things happened, not the order of importance, by the way.

Okay, you wanted details...

Here we go. I'll interject a few delirious and ecstatic "Aaaaaaahhhhh!"s randomly, just so you can feel like my husband when he picked up my phone calls every twenty minutes after I got the email.

I'm trying to think how far to go back on this story. Um, I'll tell it all. Just skim if it bores you. It's not like I'll know. Unless you fail the quiz at the end.

I wrote and told all kinds of stories as a kid. That lasted all the way until college, and then it all became expository essays and literary analysis. Blah.

When I started teaching 8th grade English, I also got to build a creative writing elective curriculum from the ground up. As I wrote with the kids, I rediscovered that love for fiction and got some practice flexing my creative muscles. Every summer, I swore I'd start that novel I meant to write, and every summer I just spent recuperating from another year of teaching middle school and trying to gear up for the next one that always came too soon.

Then I got married, and then I got pregnant, and then I had a few months to sit around growing a baby and not going to work. And I had the kernel of an idea that never sprouted.

Baby G was born 18 months ago, and shortly after, I tried to lay down for a nap and I got this idea stuck in my head. I wanted to sleep soooo badly (I had a newborn. Remember that exhaustion?) but this little image wouldn't go away...a redheaded girl named Sandy. Something struck me as so funny about that. After fifteen minutes of that nagging, I gave up on my nap, dragged myself downstairs, and started my novel Click.

What a learning experience. I'll bore you with the details another time, but ten months and countless online classes, conferences, edits, forums, books, articles, drafts and more drafts later, I birthed a book. I sent that baby out to two publishers with fingers crossed, and...

Something crazy happened. I got two offers.

The first company, one I really like and respect, offered me a contract immediately. And I soooo badly wanted to take it. The other company asked me to wait on a decision about that contract so they could finish their review. And it's a really good company. So I took a gamble and agreed to wait. One verrrrrrrry long month later, Company B came back with their offer: they liked it, but they wondered if I would consider soem revisions and resubmitting.

So there was my choice: take the contract in hand from a company with a proven track record and a staff I really like, or rewrite and resubmit to my dream company at their invitation.

Oh, boy.

And I just realized how long this post is so I'll finish up tomorrow. . .

Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!

I SOLD MY BOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just found out, like, thirty minutes ago.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

Hahahahahahaha!

I'm delirious with happiness!

Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!

Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee!

I made it.

To all those who have been asking...

Yep, I'm still standing.

We survived. Possibly even thrived.

Rock and Roll night went well, everyone was really happy, and I have been in a hidey-hole for two days recuperating.

I'm going to spend a few days getting my writing back on track and more importantly, taming the raging piles of neglected laundry and dust bunnies, and then I'll be back. Let's say...Wednesday? That sounds about right.

Thanks for all the prayers and positive energy. You guys are ALL my besties. You can each have my next born child--that's how much I 'preciate you.

Breathing Deeply

Today's the day.

It all goes tonight.

If I survive, I'll post pictures.

This is not a request.

If you ever write a book, don't do this:

Make your character do something stupid just to ratchet up the tension.

Your readers who are NOT idiots will be very annoyed and know you did it just to drag the story out.

Your readers will think that you suck.

I will give your book the stink eye.

You have been warned.

P.S. Same rule goes for movies. Let me repeat: I'm not dumb. Neither are my friends. I can't speak for the general public. But they're lining up for Fast and Furious Part 17, anyway. Make something for the rest of us, 'kay?

P.P.S. State of Play was a really smart thriller. Check it out.

Just wondering...

So I meant to blog about something else today, but then I got distracted by a question.

Why do overweight people who lose weight look older? Does dropping the fat deflate their wrinkles and make them look deeper? I guess in the end it's a good trade for being thin. Maybe?

But I was watching The Biggest Loser finale last night and I just got distracted by how the older contestants actually looked even older when the pounds came off.

Which I guess just goes to show that eating excessive amounts of chocolate keeps you looking young. I must look like I'm about 22, then. I knew eating all that chocolate meant I was doing something good for myself.

Don't judge

I am SOOOOO tired that linking is beyond me. Please forgive me! But I have mustered just enough energy to tell a story.

Kimberly at Temporary Insanity blogged not too long ago about being stupid. I related not because I have those days but because I have PERFECTED them.

Scene: It's Friday night. My husband and our nine-year-old are at the father/son camp out until the next morning. In half an hour, the baby will be asleep, and IT WILL BE HERE...the moment I have lived for all week, the night that has given me a reason to get through some stressful days. I have laid by supplies for the evening: A Hershey almond bar and a Cadbury hazelnut bar because I wasn't sure which one I'd be in the mood for, a bag of jalapeno potato chips, two root beers, and some cherry licorice Nibs to break up the chocolate. Oh, and some chocolate covered donuts, a huge slice of lasagna, and a snack size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. You know, for variety.

I also have a library bag full of books I've meaning to read, freshly checked out and stacked on the coffee table, and the DVR is set to record Sixteen Candles, Miss Congeniality 2, and Poseidon.

I have looked forward to this moment for days, the moment where I can put the baby down and DO WHATEVER FORM OF NOTHING THAT I WANT TO.

Except I need to put his eyedrops in for the raging case of pink eye that he got on Thursday. So I go to get them. But I can't find them any where. And that's when I realize...I left them at the dentist office where I dosed him while waiting for my older child to finish his check up that afternoon. And it's 8:00 at night. And I have to figure out what to do because Baby G just started this antibiotic course and his eye is still swollen. Very swollen.

I call and leave a message at the dentist's office. Sometimes they have Saturday hours. Maybe the next morning will be one of those days. Then I call the nurse line for my HMO. I hold for over thirty minutes, keeping my child awake in case I have to stick him in the car and drive to a pharmacy. Finally, I put him down. The nurse says he can skip one dose of his medicine and tries to help me figure out how to get him more the next morning. The pharmacist can't do it without a new prescription which means a new doctor's visit. The appointment center is closed. I run through all my options and figure out a game plan for the morning. It will no longer involve lounging around and doing nothing.

The next morning, I page the dentist who does NOT have office hours that Saturday but being a mom herself, drives in from another town to her office to look for the drops. No dice. While I wait for her call back, I polish off my leftover chocolate and potato chips, providing the baby with the same nutritious breakfast (don't judge). When the dentist says the drops aren't there, I call the one clinic thirty minutes away that has Saturday pediatric hours. They have an appointment in twenty minutes or one in the later afternoon. We're already verging on missing two doses so I have to take the one in twenty minutes.

I am dressed in a bright green skirt and a bright purple shirt that I only threw on so I could check the car for the drops first thing and not shock the neighbors. There is no time to change. I haven't brushed my hair or teeth or put on make up. Don't judge. The baby is still in his pajamas (which are actually just yesterday's romper, don't judge) so I wrangle him out of the high chair and brush off the chocolate and potato chip crumbs as best as I can. I grab a clean diaper (because somehow I forgot to even change him for the morning, don't judge) and fly to the car. I make it to the clinic in the fastest legal time possible which still makes me fifteen minutes late. I hand over the medical insurance card and then go to pay the $30 co-pay when I realize...

I don't have my wallet. It's in the library bag where I put it after using my library card. I nearly melt down when they won't let me use a check without ID (it's in the wallet) but then they say they'll bill me. Wait an hour to see the doctor. She says he's fine. She gives me a new prescription for an ointment instead of drops. I fill it after Baby G entertains the entire pharmacy waiting room with his silly toddler antics, and we get home just in time to welcome back my husband and other child, two office and pharmacy co-pays later.

So the point is, I screwed up my own night, and fell asleep two chapters into my book.

But I made an important realization about myself, and actually about my husband, that has a lot to do with why we've never fought once. And I'll share it tomorrow, because this is an awfully long post for being as tired as I am.

I Made People Eat Pie For Breakfast

I had just resigned myself to not posting today in light of all the stuff still left to do before Rock and Roll night on Friday. And then, out of the blue, my awesome husband sent me a little guest post today. Enjoy...

Most people in the office who have candy dishes, don't put them out until after lunch. I once inquired about this after not being able to satisfy a 10:15 AM Mini-Butterfingers craving.

"People shouldn't be eating candy in the morning," was the response I got.

My gut reaction was, "Who are you to regulate my candy addiction?!?! I mean, don't get me wrong, I do appreciate the afternoon candy and all. But as a contributing member to your replenishment/tip jar, I believe I deserve a little input into the candy disbursement procedures."

But I didn't say that.

Instead I brought the three quarters of a Key Lime Pie that was left over from Mother's Day, and put it in the break room on the "anything goes" table...at 10:30 AM...by 11:00 AM it was completely gone...and the disposable pie tin thrown away...and table completely cleaned up.

Though no one will admit it...everyones love pie and candy for breakfast.

Freeze Tag

We play the best game at our house when the kids go to bed. This is because they think we're grown ups and I don't want us to blow our cover.

We watch TV on the DVR and whoever is in charge of the remote will randomly pause it and the other person has to immediately imitate whatever face the person on the screen is making.

It's awesome.

I know most of you are just going to take my word for it and not try it yourself, but I'm just saying.

It is. Awesome.

And I think I'm better at it than Kenny. He just doesn't have quite as much dork in him as I do.

THIS flu steals swine flu's lunch money.

I've contracted the latest flu virus called I1O1, characterized by headaches, sleeplessness, increased appetite and word vomit. I1o1, also known as In One, Out One (or in one ear and out the other) afflicts moms who don't listen when people tell them to hide from the PTA.

I've pretty much had a 30 hour week job for the last month and it's been eye-opening.

I forgot I was a total freak. Or that I am when I'm a stress case.

But I live a pretty blissful life and I haven't had to operate under a huge stress load since my parents died two years ago and I got married. Things have been happy and peaceful since then.

Then the PTA screwed it all up.

So I may have mentioned a time or two thousand that I'm in charge of this fundraiser. This is the really boring paragraph explaining what it is. Feel free to skip to the next one. Basically, Family Fun Night is the PTA's biggest fundraiser of the year, which I did NOT know when I agreed to run it. Next Friday, it all goes down. I picked a rock and roll theme and convinced my husband's band to play for the bargain basement price of free pizza and some other favors for my husband that we won't discuss here. (No, Debbie. Not that! I was just talking about doing the dishes for him and stuff. Sheesh). Anyway, they're playing in the school gym which will have tables lining the perimeters full of raffle baskets and silent auction items. Items I have worked about three hours a day getting ALL BY MYSELF since the end of March. I have shoved my baby in a stroller and pounded the pavement for hours each day, talking to total strangers and begging for stuff. I have scored thousands of dollars in merchandise.

But my kid hates his stroller now.

This paragrpah is still all the boring details. You can skim this one, too. So now I'm not only getting donations, I'm going back to pick them up (which is slightly more gratifying) and tracking down decorative stuff to help out the girl who's in charge of all that. And I'm selling tickets every morning and afternoon at school. And coordinating the calss decorations because the woman who is supposed to do it is a TOTAL flake. And I'm totaling the cash and ticket sales every day. And I'm trying to chase down ice chests, empty baskets, and a bunch of other stuff. Oh, and I still have to find people to make bake sell items. Anyway, also that night, we'll have a video game truck with a Guitar Hero tournament, rock and roll crafts, and about ten different carnival games. Guess who set all of that up? Go on, guess. YEAH. You guessed right.

The PTA loves me right now.

It's an unrequited love.

BUT....I've learned a couple of interesting things about me when I'm stressed. I operated for so many years under such extreme stress that I didn't realize I did certain things until those habits left me and then came back.

1. When I'm extremely stressed, I suffer from severe word vomit. At least five total strangers this week have learned about my and my husband's future pregnancy and childbirth plans. I have vomited out long, winding tales of my life. I have vomited thoughts that nobody needed to know I was thinking.

This is not strictly normal for me.

2. I cry easily over things that have nothing to do with the fundraiser and are not a big deal and yet I have shed not ONE tear about the fundraiser when things go wrong. Except for one wildly dramatic moment when I ran upstairs and flung myself across my bed, sobbing because I was so fed up.

3. I am guilty of inappropriate uncontrollable laughter that doesn't stop and occurs at totally inopportune times.

4. Being stressed ramps my energy level up extremely HIGH.

None of these things happen when I'm in a normal, non-stressed groove.

I've also figured out a couple of other things.

1. I'm awesome. I'm an awesome force of nature.

2. If I pray to be patient with my family even when I'm stressed, that prayer is answered.

3. I can sell just about anything.

So...it's not all bad. Every time I'm about to totally lose it, someone with a kind heart unexpectedly steps up with an offer of help, an idea, a small or a word of thanks. It makes it possible for me to pull myself together and soldier on a little longer.

I'll survive. I've got barely more than a week to go. I might even make it through without punching anyone.

No promises on that, though.

P.S. Please don't tell me to delegate. I KNOW that. But even when I delegate, people either get appendicitis or new jobs or divorces and I'm left to do it myself anyway. Enough people are doing their part well enough to keep me from going completely ballistic but the reality is, it's on me, and quite frankly, I refuse to have a crappy event. (Sorry, Nancy.)

Impending disaster

Dear Mind,

Please come back. I miss you.

Love,

Melanie

P.S. If you see my cell phone, will you bring it back with you?

A gift to me, from me.

The best thing I've done for myself lately is...

not the mani/pedi I got two weeks ago.

Or my my cool new red shoes.

Or even ignorning the kitchen mess to finish reading a book. Although that was pretty cool.

Nope.

The best thing I've done lately is move my "Followers" box down on my blog so that I'm not reminded every day of how I stack up (or down) to everyone else. I don't notice when I lose a follower and each time I gain one and I figure it out, it's a happy surprise.

But the thing is...I have to go looking for those changes to even know that because it's not right in my face any more. Which means I more or less get to function in blissful ignorance, and I can't even tell you how much happier a place my blog is for me now that the box is out of sight and pretty much out of mind.

And sure, I could remove it completely, but...that's a whole 'nother post.









(That white space is for you, Eowyn).

A parable. Maybe?

The nursery leader from church emailed this to me yesterday.

It's my husband doing a puppet show for the toddlers in the nursery. Sweet, right? It's kind of a cute way to teach scripture stories.

Except he didn't tell them a scripture story. In the nursery. At church.

Oh, no. He told them the story of the boy who cried wolf. A good moral story, one that's perfect for a church nursery. Good job, Kenny.

Then the kids started getting bored so he did a re-enactment of the light saber fight from The Empire Strikes Back when Darth Vader reveals that he's Luke's father.

And he finished it off with a little Donny Darko re-enactment. That's pretty much where he lost the last of the kids. They're not quite ready for that, I guess. Maybe he'd have had better luck with the Sunbeams on that one. You know, playing to an older crowd.

I love my husband.

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner! Except for the chicken dinner part.

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you're totally not going to believe this but...

My son picked a random number (eyes closed) out of a plastic Gladware tub and the winner of Aubrey Mace's book My Fairy Grandmother is...

NUMBER 19. Out of the actual entries who listed a castle, if I'm doing my counting right, that's...

HEATHER OF THE EO.

Again! This is the third time she's won something. Now, I'm thrilled because she's a great blog friend but I worry it's just a mite suspcious to all you conspiracy theorists out there. However, I questioned my son closely because he does all the drawings. I haven't switched to the random number generator because he feels strongly that drawing winners for my blog is HIS job. And although I haven't done that many giveaways, Heather wins a lot. So like I said, I questioned James closely and he insists (adamantly) that he does not have a secret crush on her and that's NOT why he keeps picking her number. I think his exact words were, "I'm nine, Mom," which in his world view is sufficient explanation of why girls aren't that interesting. Especially grown up girls who comment on his mom's blog.

Anyway, James insisted I had to have a second place winner since he's picked Heather before, and so he drew again, this time pulling number....


26!

That's Zina at My Imaginary Blog. And Zina, you get to pick between a roughly pound-ish sized serving of either homemade pecan praline fudge or homemade mint chocolate fudge.

You guys send me your addresses and I'll get your prizes out to you soon! Ish.

The shoes were (not) made for walking...

There's still time to enter the giveaway. Just go to the comments of Wednesday's post and tell me where you would want your castle and you're entered to win Aubrey Mace's book, My Fairy Grandmother.

Just know before you even read further that 90% of the time, this is what I wear. My good ole brown Reefs. Or my black. I'm not a Rainbow flip flop girl because the straps are thin and hurt. I will kick anyone who says differently. But it won't hurt much because my flip flop will fly off. Of course, it could fly off and smack you worse than what the kick would do to you. But probably not, because my aim is terrible.

These pictures are courtesy of Kenny and his mad Photoshop skillz, by the way. He took an hour out of his life that he can never get back just to take pictures of my shoes at my request because he loves me. I ought to cook for him. Or something.

Now, I went to Utah for four days last weekend. Clearly, this necessitated six pairs of shoes. I actually wore every one of these pairs at some point during those four days. The math makes sense if you use Chinese numbers.


I love those Converse slip ons. I just got some in brown.


These were my all day Thursday shoes. In them, I am super tall. They're also super comfortable. I can throw these on with jeans and a black shirt and make a statement just with my footwear. That's a good shoe.

These were my Whitney Gala shoes. I forgot to bring the ones I meant to, so I bought these in Utah for $22.They hurt, but they work. This is the shoe boudoir shot. This shoe is a little burlesque, I think. You know, when the closet lights are off and human eyes aren't looking? Don't act like stuff doesn't happen in your fridges and closets when the you aren't there. Surely you've seen Toy Story. I'm not making this up.

These are THE shoes. I had to use this pic instead of the fantastic one Kenny took because this one looks properly pink. My toe nails are this exact color right now. And by three o'clock on Saturday, I couldn't take them any more and I slipped them off underneath a table every time I sat down.

I have a lot of shoes. Kenny, don't read this part. I have about 45 pairs.

Okay, Kenny you can read now. I'm convinced this is average. I know people with far more and far less. That number is now fixed, not because I'll never buy more shoes but because two years ago I made a rule for myself that any time I buy a new pair of shoes, I have to give one pair I already own to Goodwill or D.I. It's amazing how many shoes I suddenly DON'T have to have now. I got that from an Oprah show. She's good for something besides making me cry.

Anyway, my coolest pair of shoes is actually a pair Kenny bought me two birthdays ago. He picked them out all by himself. How cool are these shoes? How cool is my husband?

And there you go. I know you wish I had the other (Kenny, don't read this part) 39 pairs (okay, you can look again, husband) to read about but if it's okay, I won't post them all. You're all okay with that? Cool. Thanks.

Friday Favorites. Shoes, shoes, shoes.

Yep.

Shoes.