This is a little fun

You Belong in 1955

You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

What Year Do You Belong In?

SITS

Welcome Sitsas!

I'm a little nervous--I'm a bit of a wallflower.

Prepare yourself for some silly randomness, or random sillies.

Kicking It

My friend Sherri the Kaysville Momma gave me this.
She knows me (in real life) a little too well.

So, here are the rules:
* Pick 5 Bloggers that you feel are Kick A** Bloggers
* Let em' know in your post or via email, twitter or blog comments that they've received an award
* Share the love and link back to both the person who awarded you and back to
Kick A** Blogger Award
* Hop on back to the Kick Ass Blogger Club HQ to sign Mr. Linky then pass it on (which you can also get to on the above link)

I pass this on to some real-life friends:

Melissa, who still blogs with four busy kids, two of which are one-year-old twins.

Amy, who is kicking it as Belle at Disney World in real life.

Heather, who is a kick a** graphic designer and can design some killer wedding invitations, if you have the need. They're not on her blog, but I'll bet she'll answer personal queries.

Nicole, who is home-touring all of northern Utah and taking us with her.

And last, but not least, my little sister Ashley, who is just beginning blogging. She moved to Pennsylvania this year and I miss her and her little girls. And I guess her husband too.

Mistreatment Mistreatment

I'm in on the Nester's mistreatment party, only, I'm not mistreating windows.

Just this beauty.

(P.S. If you want to see windows I really did mistreat, go here or here.)

Don't be afraid, it's not so ugly in real life. Yes I'm a bit of a dreamer.

Over time, I've had to cover the uglier spots on our computer desk. You know the kind--the uglies from Kmart and Wal-mart. The kind you buy when you're too impatient to save for 50 years hold out for a good-looking office armoire, and buy what's "affordable" yet hid.e.ous. Soon you find yourself in your first--yet small--house and are forced to put said Hideousness in the front (and only) living room. Where everyone can see it. And all your office mess. That you pile up and try to ignore, but it's in your front room and people are coming over.

Anyway, once upon a time, I tried using baskets on the shelves to hide things and beautify the Hideous a little, but I started stuffing what didn't fit inside on the sides. I'll get back to the baskets.

I started with this to hide some files and the coupon box. No hot gluing or nailing required, I just set the junk from inside on top of the top of the tea towel. Five minute cover from conception to completion.

Hiding seldom used coupon box. And "important" junk. Important, I tell you. Hence, why I can not get rid of it. Someone shoot me when I have pathways. Please. Later I decided the baskets were not concealing enough and my kids kept "redecorating" with the pillows I used to try hiding the bottom shelf. One day, I had the aforementioned people coming soon and didn't want them to see how many bills I had yet to pay, so did this:

Folded the sides of another tea towel in to fit the space and set one of the baskets on top.

Bills, what bills?

Wa-hoo.

Oh, I didn't know that other pile was showing. Oops. My true colors revealed--so embarrassing.

Covers this racket.

Under the keyboard, we keep our recycling box.
Sometimes I have to hide a little more.

The recycling box that's a recycled box. We're so high-tec. And high class.

I think the only nesting I'm really good at is the pack-ratting kind. I frighten myself. One day I'll be on Oprah for all. the. wrong. reasons.

Now, I realize these fabrics look rather garish together, but I have a cheap camera with a cheaper flash that I was forced to use, so the Hideousness is actually a little less hideous in real life. And the fabrics slightly clash, but whatever, they're doing their job.

A final look at a somewhat improved Hideous, with it's delicate parts covered:

No comment on the stray hanging wires.

Points for my husband who made a very valiant effort to hide them, but we have gypsy electronics and the wires don't like change.

And it's all in the the one and only living room.

It all comes down to...spare computer armoire anyone?

Oh yeah, some Caillou mistreating, compliments of my daughter. Again, classy.
To return to all the real and more exciting mistreatments, go here.

Sour Milk

It is near-midnight, and my baby woke up and is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ruining my North and South viewing alone pleasure, wanting milk and Sour Patch Kids.

Which he is getting.

At midnight.

My dentist loves me.

And yet still none of you are convinced I am a bad mom.

(By the way, obviously I'm not Bruce and that is not my kid. Yuck. Poor Bruce Jr.)

We Don't Like Mice Anyway...Sort Of

I just read in the paper that they're raising prices at Disney resorts.
Current rates:
Orlando: Adults $75, Children $63. Sorry Amy, we can't come see you play Belle, depantsing Beast with song. We like food too much.
Anaheim: Adults $69, Children $59.
Well kids, it's either Disneyland, or the swing set.

Your choice.

Please someone, how do you spell depantsing? It looks so wrong, in so many ways.

Grandpa Cat

My parents have a 14-year-old fat, partially crippled cat that they will not get rid of because my brother Austin loves him so much.

The cat, i.e. Taz, has a gimp leg from the instance when my dad had had enough and threw him off the porch onto the front yard. The porch has ten steps in front of it. I happened to be in the driveway with a friend, just coming home from wherever, and it was the first time I'd seen a cat not land on it's feet. Taz didn't come home for a few days and when he did he was holding up his front leg and limping around. Now, other than when I storm is coming, he walks fine.

Now, we are not animal-haters (or intentional abusers) we just reach a threshold when they poop too much, regurgitate too many hairballs on the carpet and furniture, and threaten to let their smells overpower ours (no small feat with three brothers, especially one who thinks flatulence is the ultimate of cool)--and when they've been around so long, we're wondering how long before we can reclaim the spot in the basement bathroom where the litter box is. Anyway, we all think Taz has suffered with the gimp leg and being smothered by Austin for long enough, and needs to join his brother under the butterfly bush.

My mom won't hear of it, though she's sick of the cat messes, because she says Aust would be heart broken. He's 17 and hauls that fat stinky cat to bed with him every night and loves to bring him out at inopportune moments to show to the grandkids, or, in other words, torture Taz, who prefers hiding behind the couch. Heaving hairballs. By the dozen. So it seems.

This week Austin is going camping with the Scouts. My other brother is going river rafting. When those two leave, my parents are fleeing town to go on a trip where the only people bugging them are each other. (For those who don't know me in real life, my third brother is in Panama City on an LDS mission.)

Lexie kind of likes the cat, I'm pretty sure. She's never had to scoop out his special poop box, so she thinks Taz is wonderful simply because he is a pet, and we won't let her have one. (She frequently asks me if I like animals and when I say yes, she'll then ask, a little saucily mind you, why I won't let her have a horse, or a dog, or a cat--depends on the day.)

Tonight, after coming home from having dinner at my parents, Lexie asked me who was going to take care of Grandma's house while everyone was gone. I told her I didn't know, so then she asked, in her sassy, you-all-are-so-stupid voice, "Oh yeah, then who's going to take care of Austin's old grandpa cat?"

I didn't know.

Addendum: By the way, there are absolutely no plans to put the Grandpa Cat to sleep. I just thought it was funny that Lexie was worried about him being all alone and fed, while no one was home.