Didja Get on Our Wall?

. . . and, now I give much thanks

for each of you!

It's THAT Time of Year Again!

Yes, boys and girls, it is that time of the year again! The time when we annoy the living eggnog out of you with another one of our "special" (interpret that how you will) musical numbers. Pay particular attention to Kimball's befuddled facial expression; it's as if he is saying, "Hey! Hey, now! I honestly didn't know what I was getting myself into when I signed on for this gig. What's with all of this 'Fosse one! Fosse two!' stuff anyways? But, now that you mention it, I kinda like it. How am I doin', Mama?"

Resist the urge to punch out your computer while waiting for the video to load--it will eventually show up. Remember, Santa is watching you.

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I felt that Ashley and Jordan would absolutely LUV, LUV, LUV to be the center of attention just like Kimball, so I thought it was only right to make their dreams come true as well. Cuz that's just the way I roll. Call me the dream maker. That's me. As it turns out, it didn't take long for Ashley and Jordan to completely embrace the southern California "groove" as they spread this "special" (again, interpret your hearts out here) kind of Christmas cheer. Can ya dig it, man?

You are so welcome, Jordan. I just knew you'd adore me for this. My fave moment is at the 00:26 mark. Far out.

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Paws For a Moment and Enjoy . . .

"Fur" sure, dude!

This Would Be a Piece of Cake for Me. Ho hum.

I'm pretty sure I could do any of the stunts featured in this video. Any one of them. If I wanted to. I just happen to not want to. But I'm sure I could if I wanted to. Every single one of them. Without exception. If I really, really wanted to.

Boo! (Part IV)

Te·di·ous

   [tee-dee-uhs, tee-juhs]

–adjective

1. Marked by tedium; long and tiresome: tedious tasks, a tedious journey.

2. Wordy, so as to cause weariness or boredom, as a speaker or writer.

What? Another "Boo!" post yet again? Yeah, yeah. I know this whole "Boo!" thing is getting "tedious." No need to tell me definition #2 especially applies here. So sorry. I seem to have this condition in that once I start something I require myself to see it through to the bitter, brutal end no matter who gets hurt in the process. Unfortunately, you long-sufferers end up getting dragged along in my somewhat OCD world of blogging. That is, if you are still reading. In which case, may I offer you a stiff drink to make it through? (A&W makes a mean root beer. Just FYI.) And if you're not still reading, I hope to high heaven you're off doing something spectacular like stalking Johnny Depp. I'll give you a pass for not reading my blog if you are off stalking Johnny Depp.

So now. Down to business. Boo! (Part IV): Check out Mr. Black Hat! He was soooooo envious of my red curlers under my headscarf. Look at him! He can't take his eyes (or what's left of his eyes) off of my super-wonky curlers! It was so weird, you guys.

I must give credit where credit is due: In putting my ensemble together, I was totally inspired by that brilliant fashionista, Lisa A. She wears this look so much better than I ever could. But isn't that what fashion is all about--copying and totally ripping off other designers? Yesiree, bob, indeed it is. Just ask Hans Christian Andersen. His fashion-forward style that is showcased near the end of his "The Ugly Duckling" tale was TOTALLY looted, plundered, copied, and ripped off by wacky Bjork. (Check! It! Out! Here!)

Because the picture shown above whacked off my darling shoes, my head gets whacked off in this next photo. Turn around is fair play, I guess. Anywho, I want you to really feast on these shoes! They were my mother's shoes, and I am quite certain they are at least as old as me. My mom must have bought them around 1979 (nyuk, nyuk) or thereabouts, because I have never known life without these shoes perched so prettily in my mom's closet. Until now. Now these shoes are in MY closet. My mom asked which of her possessions I would like to eventually receive. Before the question had even left her mouth, I blurted out, "THE RUBY SLIPPERS!"

And now, for the love of pete, how long will ya'll continue to graciously take one for the team and endure these "Boo!" posts full of ramblings and photos featuring my family's best Sundee-go-to-meetin' clothes? Wait. What? You thought we were dressing up for Halloween parties? You guys. You're silly. We're showing off the very best duds we've got, dontcha know.

Hmm. I wonder what I should whip up for dinner tonight as I vacuum my rug, help Beaver with his homework, and give Wally sound dating advice, all while wearing my pearls and bright red lipstick and THE RUBY SLIPPERS. Tuna casserole with potato chips? Gee, that sounds swell!

(Some of the Beav's favorites dishes

brought to you by Mrs. Ward {June} Cleaver)

Almost Twinners!

Ashley and Jordan are practically twins because they share nearly the same birthday! Oh, except that they actually don't share the EXACT same day--their birthdays are six days apart. Other than that, they could be twinners! So cool, huh! Well, except that they weren't born in the EXACT same year--somebody (ol' man Jordan) is three years older and wiser. But who's counting? Other than that, they could be EXACTLY like the Olsen twins! Um, except that their parentage is not EXACTLY the same so technically they couldn't be twinners, I guess. Well, humphf. (Ah, well, I guess that is actually a good thing . . . .) I still say they are practically twins anyway, since they both love Indian food (ew), and nothing screams twins quite like the shared love of pure cow ghee.

See what I mean?

TWINNERS!

I feel vindicated now.

HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ASHLEY AND JORDAN!!!

I LOVE YOU BOTH MORE THAN

MERE WORDS COULD EVER EXPRESS!

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE YOU!!!!

Boo! (Part III)

Gaaacckkk! Oooh, ooooh! Ow! Ow! Owwwwww! YEEEEEEEEEOW! OUCH THAT HURTS! My eyeballs! Burning like the dickens! Ouch, ouch, ouch! My retinas! They're killing me! I am being blinded by those pasty white legs on scrawny Farmer Dave! Do you see them? Ooooh, YEOW!

Beyond that, here is a little PSA for ya'll: Did you know that one can hide an entire Butterball turkey, accompanied by all of the Thanksgiving trimmings (including, but not limited to, the ubiquitous green bean casserole), down one's pants if it is the right pair of pants? Just FYI.

Aaaaaaand, here we go again. I don't think I want even the mere mention of my name to be attached to the shenanigans going on here. And, apparently neither do these guys since they seem to be using the ol' bank-robber-nylons-over-the-head disguise that has always really, really grossed me out for some odd reason. Always. Every time.

Oh, the details are on their way. Don't you worry about that. You'll find out soon enough, and then you'll wish that you hadn't. Or maybe it's just me and my extremely robust gag reflex. In any event, stay tuned . . .

Boo! (Part II)

The good guys always wear the white sombrero! And, in Sean's case, a white camisa and white pantalones. Or, is it pantaloons? Wheee! Whatever. I guess all of this white should give us a little clue about this El Guapo and his pure, kind heart.

Sean maintained only the appearance of packin' heat at this family-friendly hoohah. He wisely left his gleaming "enforcer" at home. Good thing, too; this little girl totally looks like she would have swiped it to show off her mad machete skills, and then, who knows exactly what skittish little Pinocchio down the hallway would have screamed this time around with his poor little nose dangling by only a smidgeon of duct tape.

At a different hoohah where weapons were not only allowed, but encouraged (say whaaa? Grandma? Grandpa? Must you?), Sean greets Mr. Red Eyeballs with, "Hey buddy! Despite the fact that you're a black-hat-wearin' type of a dude, wanna be mi amigo?!!! C'mon, now. Say, 'si, si, señor' . . . or else!" Ahem.

Whoo, boy. You don't EVEN want to know what's going on here. But you will know. Eventually. Perhaps in my post "Boo! (Part III)", or "Boo! (Part IV)", or "Boo! (Part XXXIII)". Oh dear. Part XXXIII? Seriously? Yawn. So sorry. Just brace yourself for the long haul, and it will aaaaaalllll be okay.

Boo! (Part I)

Christian's costume came together around 11:48 p.m. the evening prior to the morning when he wanted to wear a costume to school. And, I use the term "morning" loosely; what I really mean is, at the crack of dawn. When no human person should be expected to rouse from their sweet, sweet bed. When a functioning brain DOES NOT function. In other words, much, much, MUCH too early for my taste. That's the "morning" that I'm talking about, that's the "morning" time when Christian needed this get-up. Ack.

So, there we were scuttling and improvising and getting all crazy-creative with Christian's costume around midnight which, just so ya know, happens to be when my functioning brain DOES function. (Alas! If only the rest of the world would succumb to my schedule, life would tick along so much more pleasantly for everyone. Sigh.) Anywho! If this last minute scurrying seems waaaaayyy too familiar, you're right. Remember this? I am sensing a pattern here . . . .)

And now, I present to you one heckuva stud, if I do say so myself--and I do:

Christian carried a Sharpie in his holster as his weapon, challenging classmates to a "draw"! He ditched the cigar before leaving home--didn't want to give any false impressions and all that jazz. Such a good boy.

Liner notes: Cigar courtesy of Pepperidge Farm Pirouette Rolled Wafers; Frye boots courtesy of Farmer Dave; rivet belt courtesy of Deon's closet (really?); serape courtesy of previous role as Shepherd A in live nativity presentation; sombrero courtesy of um, uh, oooh, you got me there, we've just always had it in the dregs of the basement; holster courtesy of Christian's cowpoke phase when he was around 16 er, four; studly stud courtesy of Christian.

Thank Goodness!

Last year, I was inspired by my sis-in-law, Beth, who blogged about her Thanksgiving jar. I modified the idea a bit and came up with this messy concoction, which we sent to Sean after Thanksgiving Day:

The rule was that each day during November everyone in the family needed to write one thing for which they were thankful. I also made it a requirement for any guest who entered our home to do the same. (Yup. You have to really, really want to come to our house cuz I make people pay big time for the privilege! Ha!)

Because reading all of these blessings each day during November of last year gave me such a yippy-skippy feeling inside, I decided to do a repeat/redux/reboot this year. And so it begins:

Your turn. C'mon. Although you're not physically in my house, you are in my house, if you get my drift. Let's hear it from you guys! Finish this sentence: Today I am thankful for ______. You'll make me feel yippy-skippy if you play along, soooooo . . . ready, set, go!

I Hope They Call Me On a Mission . . .

My Dear Seanie,

Just in case you are feeling a bit nostalgic for that door-to-door/knock-knock/slam!, knock-knock/slam!, knock-knock/entre por favor! thing, this one's for you:

Oh, and speaking of Sean--did I already tell you that he is back? SHRIEEEEEEEEEKKKK!!!! Oh, yeah, I suppose I did already tell you that. But! Did I already tell you that I am completely giddy with happiness that he's back? SHRIEEEEEEKKK!!!! Sorry. Well, did I already tell you that it is Christmas every day for me? SHRIEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!!!!!! Ah. Well, did I . . . hang on a sec . . . What's that, Sean? I need to get a what? What did you say? Get a what? Oh. A grip. Okay. Has he left the room? Good, cuz, SHRIEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!!!

You Want Proof?

If you want proof positive that I have been more than just a little distracted with these hooligans the past few weeks, I present to you the smoking gun. The evidence shown below should prove beyond a shadow of a doubt just how preoccupied I've been. So, this should just about wrap things up; I'm sure you'll agree that this is an open and shut case, as they say.

The hooligans of which I speak.

THE PROOF: These packages have been sitting in my bathroom UNOPENED(!!!) for more than two weeks. Two weeks, for pete's sake! Holy cats, that's gotta be some kind of a record for me. I mean, the UPS truck is my favorite vehicle! Packing peanuts follow me around like a puppy dog! The credit card company doesn't even bother to phone Dave anymore warning him that there seems to be "an unusual amount of activity" in a single day on my MC! (Not that he would even blink an eye at that anymore . . . .) Need I say more? My desire to hang out with these happy hooligans even trumps the thrill and subsequent hyperventilation that comes from my online-shopaholic-can't-wait-to-hear-that-doorbell-rung-by-a-package-bearing-man-clad-from-head-to-foot-in-chocolate-brown adventures. See what I mean? Open and shut. Book 'em Danno. Mark VII.

The smoking gun, as it were.

But, oh. Wait.

Ah.

Aaaaaand, so it continues:

Yup. That's me. Good ol' Dean Sager.

In case you're wondering, (and I'm not convinced that you are), but anywho, all but two of the items I ordered went back from whence they came. Rats. On the other hand, Dave has suddenly developed a certain spring in his step. Huh. Wonder what that's all 'bout . . . .

(Full disclosure: I did sneak a quick peek in the bottom box a day after its arrival, but that's it--I swear on a stack of Christmas catalogs, that's it.)

Part II: Even More Heaven Flew In On a 737!

Lookee here! More heavenly goodness landed in our house last week. And, oh, what a heavenly week I have had with all three of my children together again after two! full! years! Throw in The Bundle of Heavenly Deliciousness (TBHD), aka Kimball, and I've been skipping on my tippy toes to the tune of "Home Can Be a Heaven on Earth" all week!

On a sad note, My Beauty, aka Ashley, and The Bundle of Heavenly Deliciousness jetted off Monday for their home in La Jolla.

Oh.

Yeah.

Well, LaJolla. Not a bad gig, I suppose.

Oooh. The house suddenly seems rather empty and quiet without My Beauty and TBHD and his smiles. And his giggles. And his speaking in tongues. And his backstroke training. And his mad culinary skills. And his pool sharking. And his shuffleboarding. And his Beethoven-ing. And his commodities trading. And his researching for the cure for all diseases known to man. And his theoretical astrophysics homework. Man. That boy is a J-E-A-N-EEEOUS! But, of course! Whose grandbaby is he, anyway? Huh? Huh?

For now, allow me one little "waaah." Right-O. Bucking up, bucking up . . .

Heaven Flew In On a Boeing 737

My apologies for taking so long with this post. Jeepers, I can hardly tear myself away from my sweet, sweet son long enough to blog. Now, that's sayin' something!!! You'll forgive me, won't you?

Seanie is home!!!

(And his mama is having a heart attack out of sheer joy!)

My son is home! My son is home, safe and sound! I can't get enough of this handsome, handsome young man! It just doesn't seem real yet. I'm turning black and blue from all of the pinching to make sure I'm awake and lucid.

SHRIEEEEEEEEKKKKKK!!!!! I am beside myself with thankfulness and gratitude for Sean. For his love. For his goodness. For his testimony. For his obedience. And, for goodness sake, for his un-whacked-up body! Could a mother be filled with more love and adoration and pride than I am for my Sean? No. No she could not. I love this young elder with all that I am. And he is home!!!

Sorry about the blurry pictures, but these are as good as it gets when we were all rushing like a frenzied mob to tackle El Guapo!

The anticipation was a killer. Drop dead killer.

"SHRIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK," screamed guess who!

(Hint: It was not Sean doing the screaming.)

A very surreal moment. Hurry! Someone throw water on me to wake me up! Oh wait! It is real! Let me at 'im!

Five minutes later I'm still not letting go . . .

Giddy. Absolutely giddy with happiness.

Our boy is home!

(Hyperventilation set in at this point.)

The Three Amigos!

Quick Draw McGraw and his wicked machete!

A VERY FEW BRIEF HIGHLIGHTS:

*Waiting, waiting, and waiting at the bottom of the escalators for THE ONE!

*Dozens of people streaming by starring at the balloons and signs.

*Dozens of people walking by saying, "The Mormon missionaries? Yup. They're coming."

*Dozens more people walking by saying merely, "They're coming!"

*Dozens more people walking by saying, "They're coming. They're just taking their time."

*Me fuuuuurrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaking out when at last we catch a glimpse of our elder.

*Lots of hugging, laughter, hugging . . .

*Noticing that I'm hugging 70 lbs. less of my Seanie.

*Practically skipping out to the car.

*Being pulled over by a cop for speeding at 12:40 a.m.

*Me groaning because I had received a speeding ticket on this very same country lane.

*Being let go by the cop at 12:42 p.m. because of our returned missionary in tow.

*Sean walking straight to our kitchen sink and drinking right out of the tap.

*Sean stopping smack dab dead in his tracks before entering our family room.

*Sean in a whisper, "This room alone could hold two Honduran houses."

*Staying up until 4:00 a.m. soaking him in.

*Tender and special moments the next day in the temple.

*Eating, breathing, drinking Sean every day since his arrival until all hours of the early morning. (Not part of the mission regimen, Sean laments.)

*Deciding there is no need for Christmas this year; Christmas has arrived!!!

*Still not over the fact that Sean is back!

*I love this guy more than ever before. More than words can say. More than he will ever know.

*MY SEANIE-BOY IS HOME!!!