Why did the turkey cross the road?

I have no idea. And all the on-line turkey jokes are even more lame.

What do you get when you cross 4 lbs., yes pounds of powdered sugar, a pound of butter, and some vanilla? Oh, and milk.

A boatload.

Yes boatload of blue frosting. That's turquoise blue, not baby blue. There is a difference. But that has been discussed already once today.

I don't know if we're going to have enough food, but we have enough frosting.

Bring a spoon. I'll let you lick the bowl.

Give Thanks

So much to be thankful for.

Least of all the turkey. But where is the turkey?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sew cute!

I did it. I finally got rid of my wedding dress.

I have attempted to sell it on e-bay three times and each time, not a single bid. I kept threatening I was going to make something out of it, but who wears white satin except for at their wedding? I obviously had absolutely no sentimental attachment to my dress- until now. Scrunch will be wearing it to the sealing on Saturday. I'm officially sentimentally attached.


On the upside- I don't have to store it anymore. It was a little too puffy for my allotted closet space.
On the downside- Husband will never have his fantasy of me sitting on a '65 Mustang wearing my wedding dress realized.
On the upside- I don't ever again have to wonder each time I go in my closet if that dress would still fit me. It now definitely doesn't.

While the sewing machine was out, I also made Scrunch a pinafore for Thanksgiving. No pattern. I just made what I saw in my head. My favorite new toy is this handy dandy button maker. Move over bows, here come the button barrettes!

If you're looking for a cheap-o cute gift. Applique scraps to a pre-made fleece blanket. Sew cute!

I've decided that my New Year's Resolution is going to be to come up with and complete these kinds of projects the week before they are needed. I figure that by coming up with my New Year's Resolution now, I'm already ahead of the game.

First to set 'em. First to break 'em.

Hello my new best friend!

They call them Spanx, but I'll call her Spanky. Spanky and me. We're practically one.

(I have officially crossed over into blogging about all facets of my life, including my underwears.)

But let me tell you, a friend made me do it. Actually a second friend. Yep it took three of us to pull an outfit off. But it's a long story. Oh? It's been a long day, you say. Then I will tell you.

Enters first friend. Not my first friend ever. Just the first friend in this story. Oh shut up! I'm trying to tell a story. So anyway...We went shopping. I usually do my shopping alone, because when shopping alone I have a fifty-fifty chance of talking myself out of buying something no matter how amazing it is. Rational-reasonable-frugal-budgeting me says, "Don't even think about it Sista! We should just go home." Where the wild and crazy who-can't-count-so-she-couldn't-budget-if-she-wanted-to me says, "If you don't buy that, it's almost criminal." I'm a lot of things, but I'm no criminal.

Well, in the case of taking friends to shop, you can kiss Rational-reasonable-frugal-budgeting me good-bye. She practically made me buy it. I swear honey, she made me do it. She said that if I didn't buy that skirt she wouldn't let our kids play together. So thinking of Scrunch the entire time, and how hot my butt would look in the skirt, I did it. (And I changed ass to butt on request of Husband. Oh how easily I succumb to peer pressure this week!)

Only problem is we went in to one of those stores where the size double 00 is on the racks. Seriously. Double 00? Who wears a double 00? Wait. Don't tell me. I'll hate you more than whining pregnant chicks. So I buy the biggest size they've got and call it good.

I get home and try it on and realize that it fits, but just barely. My butt looked as good as I hoped, but we had little to no growing room. Generally I would just lay off the sodium for a few days, but I realized this week was Thanksgiving. No carbs on Thanksgiving? OK. Right.

Enters second friend. The always rational, reasonable, frugal, budgeting one. Who also happens to be a GI (gastroenterology) guru. As in she writes prescriptions and everything. I ask, "How can one drop the most amount of weight the fastest way possible?" She shoots down all of my ideas. No to poop tea. No to lipo. No to everything that will work fast. Then she says, "Wait. Who is this for? Who is trying to lose weight?" I then have to tell her the whole story about how she made me do it, and this skirt that makes my butt look hot but that I can't breathe for very long wearing it....And after all of that she still says no to prescribing me heavy duty make Mary Kate and Ashley Olson jealous kind of laxatives, and no to poop tea. Fine. You're no help. Then she says, "Get one of those things the stars wear and they talk about on Oprah." OK. You're a help again.

Enters Spanx. So, that is how I met Spanky. I loved her before we even met. The reviews say a good 2-10 lbs. Hello. Now that's what I'm talking about! What's good enough for Eva Longoria is good enough for me! Thank goodness for friends.

So what would make me consider fad dieting and almost considering saying bye-bye to mashed potatoes on one of the most blessed holidays of the year?

Two words.

Bebe. Crushed velvet.

OK. That's three words, but whose counting.

4x4

Got tagged but I can't link to who because their blog is private. Too bad too, because she's a funny chick.

Anyway, the name of the game is fourth picture in fourth folder.


What the?

I don't even know. You should probably ask my Husband. Ebay goods maybe? What can I say, he's an engineer.

Now I'll never be tagged again. Too bad too because Alisa had impeccable timing. I don't have time to write anything interesting. I got my sewing machine out and I'm covered with little bits of white fabric. I hacked into my wedding dress this morning. Don't worry you'll hear about this one.

I tag anyone who thinks it is annoying to have to go to Wal-mart at 8 am for sewing machine needles. Actually I tag anyone who thinks it is annoying to have to go to Wal-mart for anything. I was desperate. I can't stand that place. You may or may not hear about that one, depending on how my little project goes.

Uh oh!

Just goes to show you, God loves all his children. Even his sinner Red ones.

Husband? He doesn't even want to talk about it.

I'm just relieved I don't have to name my future son Bronco Max Collie Unga Pita T. With initials that say B.M. C.U.P., that would have been sad. No matter how you look at it the kid was going to be a nerd anyway, but to curse him with potty initials would have made him the butt of every elementary school joke. And his mother's. He he.

Another lesson learned... there are hidden blessings in all life's challenges.

I'm also thankful we didn't shell out the entire car payment(s) on Fiesta Bowl game tickets. How ticked would I be right now?

Come on, honey. We've got to laugh or you're gonna cry.

He's taking this one hard.

Does God care about football?

Who is lighting candles for the football Gods?

All I know is that my Husband has added it to his prayers, FOR LIKE THE LAST THREE DAYS!

I'm thinking I should wear purple. Purple for a nice blend of Blue and Red. Just to irritate. Cuz I'm wicked like that.

If you're righteous you'll wear Blue.

It's a big day in College football.

Does anyone care? Yes. No? Maybe so?

Some things I thought about while I cleaned the house yesterday.

1. This bites.

2. Shouldn't Scrunch's daily habit of dumping out the dogs bowl of water and me wiping it up count as mopping?

3. Is Holly working today? I want to call and bug her.

4. What day is it anyway? I only know when I go to work.

5. I bet the maracas I bought at Target yesterday were painted with lead paint.

6. Why are the dollar toys her favorite toys? I mean cool, but I've spent some dough already on Christmas. I should take it all back and go to the Dollar Tree.

7. We should have pizza again tonight for dinner.

8. Nope. Sushi.

9. Is is time for dinner?

10. I've got to remember to blog this.

Everything I know, I learned from my mom.

When I was little and we would sit coloring I would ask her, "Mommy does this color match?" "What color should I color this part?" And I would listen and color it the way she told me to. I learned the color wheel without even knowing it.

When the x's of the cross stitch weren't in the right direction she taught me how to unpick days worth of work so it would be just right. I finished my first two large stitching projects when I was eleven. They are Hummel's and they hang in my daughter's room. I can point to you the exact spot where on one of them I didn't cross the x's the right direction and decided not to show Mom.

She taught me that if you want to do something, learn something, be something- you just do. When I was twelve we drove all over Southern Utah, the Grand Canyon, Four Corners and Colorado on a road trip. I wanted to learn to crochet so she got me a book and I did. Later in college I wanted to learn how to knit, so I bought myself a book and did.

She is self taught in floral arranging, home decorating, just about anything classified as crafty or homemaking. My mother knows everything. It comes as no surprise that we are on the phone all the time.

I call her to ask, "What color should I make this quilt?"

"Where would I go for that?"

"Is it normal for Scrunch to...?"

"Go online. Look at this. What do you think?"

My relationship with Mom has been on my mind a lot this week because she is off traveling the world. She went to Singapore with my Dad for a whole week! No cell phones. I only get occasional blurbs here and there. A text message about a tat that I misinterpreted as cat, but that's about it.

I've been crafting like crazy this week and it's weird to not to have Mom a phone call a way.

"Mom, what is this missing?"

"What color should this be?"

When I would have just called her from the baking aisle in the grocery store, this week I had to stand there for almost 15 minutes, ultimately coming home with four different boxes of sugar- none of them labeled confectioners sugar, which is what I was looking for. (I learned later from my sister who ironically learned her cooking from Dad, that it is powdered sugar. I already had that.)

A few months ago I was standing in the mirror with my sister and said, "Gosh, I look just like Mom."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," was her response.

My sisters and I often tease each other of who is turning into Mom more.

In Sleepless in Seattle there is a line Tom Hanks uses to describe his wife Maggie. "She made everything beautiful." I think that is the greatest compliment ever paid. Except lately I'm thinking it is, "You're just like your mom." Except I want to be the younger brunette version.

Grami, we want you to come soon. I need you to tell me what you think of this.


She also taught me to win all Ward Thanksgiving Dinner centerpiece competitions.

Well I'll be!

Say it with a drawl. It sounds better.

Anyway...

Sometimes you have a mental picture of how things will work once you make them. Sometimes it comes out just how you planned, and other times not so much. In this case, not so bad.

Paper crafting is growing on me. I am by no means a scrapbook-er, but I now own a circle cutter and I dulled my paring knife scoring a hundred paper circles.

All this stuff is for a party for Scrunch. If you don't know what we're celebrating then I guess you weren't invited. Just kidding. It means I probably don't have your current address (the last batch went out today), and you should send it to me so you can come see this stuff in person. Way cuter in person.

Families are Forever Banner


Initials booklet to write cute messages and notes in.


Paper globes for the tables.

And party favors. Cuz it isn't a party without favors.



For pictures. Obviously. (This one WAY cuter in person.) But now you know my child's first name. Don't tell any weirdos on the internet. I'm teaching her not to talk to strangers just in case.

Speaking of Scrunch, what was she doing while mommy was getting paper cuts and paint all over her hands and the dining table? Don't worry. She was just fine.



And gum paste flowers. How could I forget the gumpaste? My palms are pink from making flowers for cupcakes because Micheal's is less than two blocks away, and I can. Seriously. If I had to, I could walk to Micheal's. I just don't know how I would get all my stuff home.


Now you want to come don't cha?

Time (and money) is of the essence.

A couple of weeks ago when the time fell back and we gained an extra hour, I did nothing with it hoping to save it for a day when I could use it. Today I'm hoping to cash in my extra hour to get something done.

Don't you wish time worked like that?

Oh, and I will pay you a million dollars if you will make it so that my laundry is done permanently. In fact, if I had a million dollars I'd give it to you just for getting my current laundry done right now. I don't.

Don't you wish money worked like that too?

Neener! Neener! Neener!

Husband had a one and only chance to do away with Ani, the damn dumb dog. One shot, and one shot only, and he blew it.

Last night he woke up hot and opened the sliding door without checking that the screen was shut. It wasn't, and this morning we woke up to Ani barking. Not totally unusual, except that it sounded like it was coming from outside. I panicked, jumped over the porch (which is what she must have done) and was frantically calling for her. Luckily I was wearing pajamas because I didn't stop to check before high tailing over the wall which divides us from the rest of the world. While I'm out there looking for my dumb lost dog, Husband comes to get me. She was on the front porch- barking to be let in.

Guess she's not that dumb after all.

Even though he started out the morning feeling bad because he might have lost my dog, now he's more disappointed that he couldn't lose her if he wanted to.

Hah-ha. (Insert best Nelson Muntz imitation here.)

How has the Lord blessed your life lately?

Excuse me? The question took me totally off guard, in a recent recommend interview with the Stake President. He didn't ask me if/how I would vote on Prop 8. He asked me the basic questions and then this.

I cried.

The answer was obvious.

But those answers aren't always as obvious.

So again, I ask.

How has the Lord blessed your life lately?

When he could ask me anything, he asked me this. And I knew I would have no problem holding my arm to the square in support of this man.

Yeah, I'm going all churchy on you. Nobody wanted to talk about the new James Bond movie.

Details People! I need details!

While I'm holed up teaching some crazy lady how to clean and take care of her butt wound, I want you all to go out and show some love to Daniel Craig. Then come back and tell me how he's worth the wait, and even though I couldn't make it on opening weekend he's worth seeing on the big screen and not just waiting to rip off a free code on Redbox. But be nice about it, I don't need you all to rub it in.

A new level of productivity.

I've wanted a nap since the minute I woke up this morning. And I wasn't alone. Scrunch went right back to bed after chowing down. Peace out, my child! But, I really couldn't justify a nap first thing Friday morning. Yeah, yeah. Since when do I need a justification?

The next best thing has been lazying around in my scrubs and cruising the Internet. It's almost been productive.

Favors for a party have been planned.

Christmas for Gramps decided upon. I so wanted to do this, but when the first line said cast on 227 stitches I said, "Peace out!" for the second time this morning. Maybe next year.

Peace out is my new phrase of the week.

Planned cheap-0 menus into the middle of next year.

Ordered the pattern for Scrunch's Thanksgiving outfit.

And told myself that if I'm a very VERY good girl and get all my Christmas projects done, I will cast this on Jan 1 just for me.

I thought about ordering my groceries on-line, but delivery isn't available until next Thurs. Drats! It looks like I'm going to have to change out of these scrubs after all and drag myself to the grocery store.

Peace out!

Learn to keep yer yap shut!

I hear myself say, "I would love to donate a quilt top for a the Humanitarian Project." While in my head I'm saying, "Shut up Yannette! Shut UP! SHUT UP!" I have a habit of opening my yap on a regular basis. And along with unsolicited free advice on everything and anything, I also volunteer myself for projects for the sake of having a project to work on.

My mom had leftovers from a quilt she made, so she sent them to me. I used the leftovers to cut out a picnic quilt for us, and then the leftovers of the leftovers were used to make this. If it wasn't fabric, as a general rule I would NOT recommend reconstituting left overs that many times. Yuck. See? Free advice.


I think I'll use the leftovers of the leftover leftovers to make a doll quilt for Scrunch. Everyone should have a cozy quilt so bright it's blinding. But it'll be super cute when the border is on and it's tied with bright yellow yarn. It's flannel and husbands old jeans-making it super cozy.

They wanted a quilt top to tie; they got one. It's for a good cause... blah, blah, blah.

I don't really mind. I'm just mad because I want to keep it.

The Greatest Compliment Ever Paid

The second greatest compliment ever paid me was when a Grandma who knows the dirt, the nasty, has seen me without make-up in all of my imperfections, and knows many of my secrets said in front of a crowd, "When I come back in my next life, I want to come back as Yannette's daughter." It was random a thing to say. I had just finished saying to my two year old cousin, "You get a choice. Would you like some vegetables or some fruit?" Wicked parenting skills, eh?

I had to turn my back so I wouldn't cry. I won't ever forget it, and the person who said it probably doesn't even remember.

It was one of those statements that came at just the right time.Given a choice, someone would choose me as their mom.

I had heard many a new mom stand up in Fast and Testimony meeting following the blessing of their baby and publicly proclaim how grateful they were that "God had chosen them to parent". It wasn't their fault, but each and every time it was a slap in the face. God had not chosen me.

Waiting to be chosen can be exhausting. Physically. Emotionally. And often the most damaging- spiritually. It's the waiting that's the worst.

You wait your twelve months of not getting pregnant before someone listens to you that there may be something wrong. You wait for test results. Then you wait for fingerprints and paperwork. Then you wait for your letter saying you're a go. The whole while waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for someone, God even, to pick YOU to be a mom.

It was the waiting that was killing me. I don't do sitting around doing nothing well. I blame my mother for this. She doesn't either. And after CPS (Child Protective Services) failing yet another child, and being un-picked by a selfish, evil man, I couldn't do more waiting. I never felt more useless. I decided I needed a change from my job as a nurse manager and went back to Home Health.

Oh, I also took us off the waiting list. I called up our caseworker and told him I needed a break. No more waiting. Please take us off the list.

The last person I expected to hear from my second day back on the job was our caseworker. I was on my way home from work and got message on my voicemail to call him ASAP. I called him back and as if he was afraid I'd be mad in one singe breath he says,

"I'm really sorry. We took you off the list. We really did. But somehow your profile had already gone out to this birth mom. Yannette, she's picked you."

He went on to tell me the particulars of the situation, what he knew of her background. The baby. My baby's. And he told me she wanted to meet and if we decided to go ahead, she wanted us to be at the hospital. I told him I needed to talk to John but I was pretty sure he could make the appt. John didn't answer his phone, so I called my mom. Then I finally got a hold of John and of course he said we would meet her.

The following week we met our birth mom and her mother. I turned away so as not to cry when I was paid the greatest compliment by another Grandma. "It didn't matter how we got your profile, we would have found you. She knew from the minute she saw you, she would pick you."

Somebody picked me to be their baby's mom. And to her, I will be eternally grateful.

My kid is going to be in a Gap commercial!

And be rich. And famous. We'll buy a big house back in the old ward. And an Escalade. Well, maybe not an Escalade. I don't like Escalades. But I don't hate you if you do. I just think you could have better taste. And husband will buy me her a pony. And a pot-belly pig. We'll take pictures of those too, and make it an even bigger challenge to get everyone to look at the camera besides just Ani and Jed.

OK. Not really.

But I think she could be.

She made us look good and Scrunch cuter than usual. As if that were possible.

This woman has talent. She's the one whose gonna be rich and famous.

Bride-zilla

I'm sure everyone in my family will post wedding pictures at some point. I'm going to tell you what really happened.

Jess was finishing a research paper until way too late the night before (She graduates with her Master's next month.)

Because of that she woke up 45min. late and needed help curling her hair. We curled her hair FOUR times that day. Jordan even had to take a turn.



My mom did an awesome job on the flowers. They're fake. Bet you wouldn't have guessed.


Jess got her dress at D.I. three years ago. She's been friends with Hillary for longer than that.


Scrunch barfed in my shoe on the way out the door.


Weddings are kind of boring.

There's a song about being your own Grandpa. But what about being your twin?


Dad is a snob.


We're still a bunch of dorks. Married or not.


Whose the bigger dork?


Miqui is every body's favorite. Used to be. Now Scrunch is.


I hate cake and I still ate three pieces of this one. It was that good. Looked pretty too.

Congratulations Jess! We love you.

Better than Christmas

It's a day for the history books.

We're official. We went before the judge and he gave us his much needed and long awaited autograph. There were no fireworks, not even a slamming of the gavel. Just a sign here and a congratulations, but you'd have thought I lost fifty pounds. The weight literally lifted off my shoulders. She's ours now. Halle-fricken-llujah!

We have a self portrait in front of the courthouse, but it is even worse than these beauties taken just chillin' on the floor.


I was going to tell another part of our story, but I'm tired. It'll come. I promise. We still have twenty days left in the month.

I've stayed up all week either working on the blasted sweater or for wedding festivities. I literally sewed on the buttons in the parking lot in time for our photo shoot.


Mrs. Darcy Sweater- Ravelry
Cast on October 31. Finished November 10.
Knit with Berroco Ultra Alpaca color 6297 on size 10 circulars.
Buttons came from stash.

It was a good day for family pictures- seeing as we all have the same last name now.

It is time for a nap. Someone tell Scrunch. Ready, set, go-to-sleep. Damn. It didn't work. But I'm still too tired to tell stories.

Wedding pictures will come soon. I promise those, too.

Everything I ever needed to know, I learned from adoption.

Serious.

I have learned more lessons about God, his love for us, prayers, and just about every Gospel principle we have been taught or tried to learn, had our family not been blessed by adoption.

Were you aware that it is Adoption Awareness month? Fellow mommy bloggers, some adoptive some not, have started writing about adoption every day. I've wanted to get in on the action but sometimes there's just so much to say that you get stuck. I think I'm un-stuck and ready to spill it. Are you ready? Because you're going to have to be ready for this. You might want to sit down and get comfortable. When I un-stick about adoption, I have a hard time stopping.

I forget from day to day that Scrunch is not "mine" biologically, and yet I think about adoption all the time. I have to stop myself from telling everyone I meet on the street that she's adopted. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to bite my tongue because I'm not sure that the check out line at Bel Air is the right place and time to bear my testimony of adoption. Not because I'm uncomfortable, but because I want everyone to understand how incredibly amazing and cool adoption is. It's not that our story is so spectacular. But to me it is sacred. So sacred that I hesitate to tell it, but more than that I want to write it so as Scrunch grows she will hopefully feel how incredibly amazing and cool adoption is.

Since I'm going to write it, someone might as well read it. And I know that I cry every time I read someones adoption story.

Everyone needs a good cry every once in a while.

This is part of the beginning of our story.

"8 But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right. 9 But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought..." Doctrine and Covenant 9:8

I have always loved that scripture. Being one who does not converse with angels, it is how I have known or not known throughout my life that Heavenly Father has answered my prayers.

At one point I hated the scripture. No not hated, loathed it. Just over a year ago I was sitting in the temple praying and stupor doesn't even begin to describe the utter nothingness I felt. I had gone to the temple for one of the first times in my life with a specific purpose other than to check the box of regular temple attendance. I sat there and cried because I felt nothing. Take that back. I felt a lot of things, but definitely not what you would call a "burning bosom."

I kept thinking this scripture over and over. I was so angry. I learned that you don't get struck down in the temple for thinking really angry and hurting thoughts. I was mad at the birthfather, I was mad at God (really mad at Him.) I was mad at my husband for not being a millionaire or a family law attorney. I bawled throughout the session. And even though He knew I was mad, He didn't reciprocate. He let me hurt and be upset, and answered my prayer anyway.

I had my answer all right. Malea was not our daughter and she would not be coming home to us. I should not have been surprised when three days later she was born and I didn't get a call. Knowing my answer, I had pretended anyway and packed the diaper bag and left the car seat in the car. Just because you get an answer, it can take a minute to be ready to deal with it.

Things were rough for a little bit. I was angry and felt ripped off, even a little depressed. My mom called me what felt like every few hours to check on me, and my husband was worried. This lasted for about three days. And for three days I don't think I got off the couch. Even Jedi was worried. His big old head didn't leave my side and Ani was my pillow the whole time. One of my greatest comforts have been these big PIA creations. I don't care if you laugh. I know, and people who count know, that they were sent to me. All dogs go to heaven. But I digress. At any rate, I knew that God had answered my prayer. Just not the answer I had been hoping for.

A few days later I went to breakfast with the IFC and I remember Holly saying, "I'm kind of amazed at how well you are doing." Actually I was kind of amazed too. I just woke up one morning and knew we were going to be okay. One of the smallest miracles of a whole series of miracles that would come was just knowing that God answered my prayers. Even with crappy answers.

The whole stupor of thought experience was such a contrast to when just a little over a month later my bosom burned from the moment I got "the call."

(Now you're dying for what comes next, but I think I can finally go back to sleep so you'll have to be patient. Another lesson I learned through adoption.)

My sisters are in town.

Four times the shoes. Four times the purses. Four times the showers. Four times the beauty products and face paint. My bathrooms prove that my sisters are here.

Scrunch loves it though. She wants to know if they are moving in. All she has to do is grunt and four "mommies" jump up.

Compliments

"You have a very clean mouth."

It's not "your legs are rockin' in that skirt" or "your shoes are hot!" or "have you been working out?" (The answer would still be no, but it's still nice to ask.)

But coming from my hygienist, I will take it. A compliment is a compliment after all.

Still Proud to be an American

I didn't vote for him. We don't see eye to eye on a lot of things and as my Dad says, "Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't."

Still...

We were a part of history. In lots of ways. There's a lot of comfort and pride in knowing I can tell my children they can be whatever they want when they grow up, even the President.

One of these things is not like the other...

That's the problem.

No wonder I hate the snow. If I actually had to use these for something, I'd be up a creek. How do you lose every mate of every pair of gloves you own? Ridiculous. I do not have time for this.


We searched the laundry.

Ah! They aren't here.


Here! Take my sock instead.


They're no help. Good for nothin' hound dogs. Shouldn't they be able to smell mildewy gloves?


In other news... if you haven't already, you're doing it the hard way, but you should get out and vote.

When there is a will, there is a way.

Things gave way all right.

All domesticity had to give way this weekend in order for me to get this far. Does that look like the back and right side of a sweater? Yes. I believe it does.


The house, the laundry, even blogging (gasp), shamefully even the cat box was ditched for "just one more row." I did put it down for few hours while we went to a special fireside on adoption. Totally worthwhile, but I sent my husband daggers when he invited Holly and Brad in afterwards for root beer floats. He didn't get the hint when I gasped, and they were subjected to my house. We've been living on leftovers and root beer floats for three days. The pangs of domestic neglect got me out of bed early this morning and in my guilt I did the dishes and grocery shopping by 7 am. I even thought about exercising, but decided against it. I am going to have some killer muscles in my wrists and thumbs. Don't mind the root beer butt, my hands are ripped.

Me and My Big Ideas

I often leave the following message. "Hey, it's me! I have an idea. Call me."

My sisters. Mom. Friends. Husband. (Dad, have I ever left you that message? I think I have.)

Anyone could this message from me. And you never really know what it's going to be about. Sometimes they are good ideas, sometimes great, and sometimes not so great.

These are some of my ideas lately. Not listed in order of brilliance.

• I thought we'd do our civic duty and hand out 'Yes on 8' door hangers. I should have known it would start pouring. I don't think there's been this much rain around here since The Flood.

• I thought I'd plan out our weekly menus beforehand except that I only wrote down a page number. I know that Roasted Potato and Tuna Salad is on page 35. But no idea which book I got it out of. Yes, I have more than one cookbook. Don't fall off your chair.

• I thought I'd grow my hair out. Uh, no. I have an appt. to hack it back on Thursday.

• I thought I'd make our birthmom a necklace for National Adoption Day. (Nov. 15) Which was a good idea, but I only made it so far as to make mine. Likey?

• I thought I'd do my Christmas shopping the day after Halloween. I'd rather pay extra than go anywhere the day after Thanksgiving. Good plan, except when I got home I realized no one on my list was crossed off. Well, one person. The same person whose Christmas shopping I did last month. Spoiled? My child? Bite me. I did however discover the most comfortable shoes EVER!
  

• I thought I'd knit myself a sweater for family pictures. And I've frogged the stupid thing three times! In nine days this HAS to look like a sweater. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

• In a moment of brilliance I taught my daughter how to stick her tongue out. Way to go Mom! Yeah. How long do you suppose this is going to be cute?

Tomorrow I am going to play with making fondant flowers for cupcakes. It's an OCH (Official Church Holiday). I decided that Stake Conference with a nine month old who has discovered both standing and wagging her tongue at everyone and anything in the same week is cruel and unusual punishment.


You all need to start answering your phones. Maybe I'd have more great ideas than not so great ones if I could run them by someone first.