Let's Just Disregard Those Pesky "Requirements," Shall We?

My brain is rattling around in my head again, scheming up some new shenanigans for my family.  Uh-oh.  I think my family can already sense the urgent need to suddenly flee far, far away with the excuse of, ahem, "a prior engagement."  Truth be told, the fam's eye-rolling skills need a good workout, so I thought I would happily oblige.
  

What have I got up my sleeve, you say? 


Well, this sure ain't it. 

Neither is this.  Oh, you guys are so silly!  Which reminds me, does anyone remember the pushmi-pullyu from that horrid Dr. Doolittle movie starring warbley Anthony Newley?  If you haven't seen it, don't bother.  Seriously.  Yawn.

Uh, no.

Hot dog!  Now you're speakin' my language!  Isn't this the cat's meow?  The last time* we hopped upon one of these tandem bikes, I thought I was going to flat-out die of laughter.  I haven't had that much fun since that one time when I was in the fifth grade and my friend, Kathleen Oaks, and I were rolling around inside of a huge refrigerator box, and I ended up wetting my pants from laughing so hard. Ha, ha, just kidding!  Psst!  Not really kidding.  DO. NOT. TELL. 

                            

I'll be back with photo evidence of the latest in epic family shenanigans, so gear yourselves up for a good laugh at our expense!

In the meantime, I was perusing the website of the joint which will help me in my latest plot to once again spectacularly embarrass my family, and I noticed that not everyone is required to abide by those annoying rules designed to keep us from harm.  Huh. It seems like letting this little detail slide is just asking for trouble, but whatev.  BTW, what is that adage that people say?  Practice what you preach?  Who can spot the "oopsy daisy" in the screenshot below? 

Did you spot the "jeepers, guys!" discrepancy?





*The ghosts of shenanigans past:

Sean, Christian--your hair!

Isn't this adorable?!  My mom was ALWAYS, ALWAYS up for some fun 

. . . and a good wipeout.

Counting Our Blessings

I ask you:  Could a papa and a deedee be any more blessed?  My, my, my, we are so in love with this little man.

Could a dad and a mom be any more blessed?  

My, my, my, we are so in love with this beautiful girl of ours!

*Sigh*  

These are but two of our bounteous blessings. 
I have such a grateful heart.  
Just an FYI. 

Happy 100th Birthday to My Culinary Idol!

HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY 

TO JULIA CHILD!

Remember this? Don't we look like quite the Julia wannabes!

{There's that darling boy of mine.  Have I mentioned how much I miss his happy little self?  

Give me strength, people.}

I just adore this woman!  Watch how Julia simply rolls with the punches as she ends up feeding David Letterman completely raw hamburger in the clip below.  She didn't miss a beat.  She is my hero!  Wish I could be that unflappable whenever I end up serving my family raw beef.  Whoa!  Uh, uh, just disregard that, guys.  Humina, humina, humina, er, um, raw beef?  Me?  You?  Heh, heh.  Oh, jeepers.  Busted again.

Revisit our other Julia Child loopiness here and here. 

Yeehaw! Ride 'Em, Cowpokes!

Remember this missionary merriment?  Here, I'll just go ahead and show it to you again since it is so ding-dong hilarious:

Christian launching himself into the Swedish smörgåsbord stratosphere!

I don't know why, but I suddenly feel so much closer to Christian after a recent outing I went on with Ashley, Kimball, and Dave.  It's as if the thousands of miles separating my young elder and myself have suddenly melted away.  You'll see why in just a jiffy.

(Sidebar:  Looking at Christian's picture makes me realize something.  I'm sure I'm completely wrong about this, but the thought did occur to me that perhaps I possess very dominant "goofball genes" which then got passed down to my offspring, causing them to be doomed to a life of shenanigans and harebrained-ness, just like me.  If that is the case, Mama is so sorry, children. So, so sorry.  But just look at that pic of Christian!)

Not one to be out-goofed, I insisted that the gang and I give Christian our full support in everything that he does, which, surprise!  surprise!, includes this:

Kimball wants to be like Uncle Christian in every way, even to the point of stooping to doing "babyish" things--things for which he is much, much too mature but does them out of complete respect and love for his 
beloved Uncle Christian.

Ashley really poured her whole heart and soul into this effort, putting the rest of us springy-sproingy cowpokes to shame.  Just look at that perfect form! You can see that even Kimball, a veteran of sproinginess, is in awe.  Ten!

Dave was sadly mistaken when he thought an umbrella would be just the ticket to spur his  camel, horsey, moose, molded plastic whatever to victory.  As you can clearly see, he lost the race.  The instant replay will bear me out.

I'm simply doing what comes naturally to me--acting like a complete goober.  But I swear, I feel Christian is here, if not in person, at least in his 
unfailingly happy-go-lucky spirit :D

If all of this is not a tribute to Christian and all that he means to us, I don't know what is.  We'd do anything for that awesome elder!  Right, gang?  Guys???  RIGHT?!!! Thank you.  That's more like it.  YEEHAW!

Dave's Chocolate "Keck"

I don't know about you other mom-types out there, but sometimes I think that the dads in this world get to have an awful lot of fun with their kids at the expense of being responsible and accountable parental examples.  And, I don't think that the dads in this world do so with any sort of naiveté or ignorance.  Nuh-uh.  They know exactly what they're doing when they offer their kids chocolate cake for breakfast and then play dumb to the wife.  Are you kidding me?  They only want us to think they're totally innocent of child-corruption so they can do super-immature stuff and still escape with their lives.  They don't care if they receive a little bit of, "what were you thinking, anyway?" if it means they get a sincere high five, down low, too slow from their kids.

But you know, when it comes right down to it, I'm thankful there are dads out there who will do the child-corrupting, super-immature stuff with their kids so moms like me don't have to.  Stuff like, camping in the frozen tundra in the dead of January so a merit badge can be earned.  Risking life and fingers while assisting in the making of a cardboard maze for a pet hamster.  Volunteering to be the family member who gets dunked at the carnival.  Going on the roller coaster just one more time with a pleading child even though the point of nausea had been reached two hours prior.  Changing the oil in the teenage daughter's car.  In the rain.  So she doesn't throw a rod.  Yeah.  Child-corrupting, super-immature stuff like that.  I'm glad there are dads out there fighting that good fight.  So in honor of all you dads, and especially Dave, I give you:

Glory be.  Love that.  So much.

And, since you guys are just so stellar to keep coming back to this dippy little blog every once in a while, I think I'll also give you this:

Dad is Great Chocolate Cake!

  That's a mighty fine breakfast if you ask me!

Here's the lowdown:

Bake up a delicious chocolate cake in a 9X13 pan.  I know.  For some reason it doesn't look very pretty, does it.  Well, just hold your horses, people!

Use the handle of a wooden spoon to poke holes all over warm cake.  This part was way more fun that it should have been.

“You see... I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?" "Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go with holey?” 

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Badda bing!  Badda boom!

Thank ya.  Thank ya very much.

This is the caramel ice cream topping goodness.  Licking fingers is allowed.

And, you've experienced this goodness, right?  I always score extra points if I leave a little bit in the can for he who shall not be named . . . 

Working up a sweat here.  I should get paid for this.

Now, just sit back and let the glory rain down upon thy head.

Dad Is Great Chocolate Cake

1 box chocolate cake mix

Ingredients indicated on box to make cake

1 jar caramel ice cream topping goodness

1 can sweetened condensed milk goodness

8 oz. Cool Whip or the like

1 cup Heath Bits or Score Bars*

Wooden spoon for rapping knuckles jk! jk!

Make and bake cake in a 9x13 pan according to directions on cake mix.  Allow to cool for five  minutes.  Use the handle of a wooden spoon to poke holes at 1" intervals in warm cake. Pour entire jar of caramel ice cream topping goodness over cake. Do the same with the entire can of sweetened condensed milk goodness.  Goodness gracious, sakes alive!  Place cake in refrigerator for one hour uncovered.  Remove cake from refrigerator, cover with plastic wrap and return to refrigerator for several hours or overnight (preferable).  Just before serving, spread whipped topping over entire cake.  Sprinkle with candy bits.  Rap some knuckles with the wooden spoon if a breakfast consisting of chocolate cake becomes a habit.

Dave celebrating his birthday way back in April with his "Dad Is Great Chocolate Cake"

*I was fresh out of Heath Bits or Score Bars, so I improvised and used old Butterfinger Bars left over from, oh, I don't know, Halloween perhaps? So far, so good.  Cross your fingers, though.  We've racked up enough medical bills this year as it is :D

  

This Little Piggy

TWINKLETOES

When the sun

Shines through the leaves of the apple-tree,

When the sun

Makes shadows of the leaves of the apple-tree,

Then I pass

On the grass

From one leaf to another,

From one leaf to its brother,

Tip-toe, tip-toe!

Here I go!

         --A. A. Milne

Ash and I had a grand time getting our toes done together!  

Don't you think our color choices totally suit each of us?!

ZUMBALL aka KIMBA!

My little band of ten and eleven-year-old girls and I decided it was time to get our Zumba on!  We enlisted the help of my friend who is an awesome Zumba-oniast, borrowed the basement studio of another friend, and donated our own sweat and tears to the occasion.  I invited Ashley and Kimball along to help cover up the lack of my own Zumba skills.  Luckily for you guys, there is no photo evidence of me and my flailing long arms and ridiculously awkward Zumba-ing.  I don't think you could even call what I was doing Zumba-ing.  It was more like me just hopping up and down looking like I needed to use the powder room.  I. Have. Absolutely. No. Coordination.  And, I'm not ashamed to admit it.  I do a pretty good "Dawnce of Joy," however.  So there is that.

Q:  What do you get when you do a mash-up consisting of a little bit of Zumba and a little bit of Kimball?

A:  Why, you get a little somethin' somethin', a little 
shimmy-shake, a little cha cha cha!


You get:

ZUMBA + KIMBALL =
ZUMBALL aka KIMBA!

I'm not kidding when I say that I spared you your mental health by my not being in this video.  You are so welcome for that.  
On a related noted, where did Ashley get those awesome skillz???

The F.R.I.D.A.Y. Hooligans and a Bit of Common Courtesy

Do you see where we ended up during this particular F.R.I.D.A.Y. freakout a few weeks ago?  In the courtesy booth!  Aldopho looks quite at home in there for some reason.  Sometimes a person just has to let the inner Tarzan out, and the courtesy booth is just the place to go so as not to disturb the other non-Tarzan-ish diners.  Heh, heh.  Yes, well, I admit that loud laugh of mine does get rather grating at times, hence the courtesy booth . . . .

Sean is what we might call "long-suffering" to put up with me, bless his heart.

Did this mirror picture blow your brains out?  I'm still trying to figure it all out.  So, if we look in the mirror, and then we take a picture of us looking in the mirror, and then we look at that picture of us looking at ourselves taking a picture in the mirror--good grief!  Just pull out that straight jacket yet again for me, will ya?

While the Cat Is Away, the Mice Shall Play (With the Cat's Scooter)!

It must be established here that the movie, "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" is among our family's favorites.  In fact, for most of us, I think it rates in our top five.  Paul!  Robert!  The quotable lines!  The music!  It is a masterpiece, I tell ya!  

There is one particular scene where that stud of a guy, Paul Newman (Butch Cassidy), does some crazy planking (a man ahead of his time) on a rickety bicycle ala this:

I would probably kiss the top of your head if you would take the time to watch the entire brilliantly-composed scene here.  Okay!  Did you watch it?  No?  If I promise to NOT kiss the top of your head, will you watch it now?  My feelings won't be hurt if you don't want the top of your noggin kissed by me, just watch the clip, right?! {Personally, I think one of the best moments in all of film history is at the 3:10 mark.  Yeow, Paul Newman!} 




Awesome. 


Alrighty, then.  You are now better prepared to understand why the little movie below just about blows my mind since it is chock full of so many of my loves.  It's got Seanie!  On Christian's awesome orange sherbet scooter!  Channeling Paul Newman!  And Kimball's tiny little voice in there somewhere!  Just get your buttered popcorn ready, and enjoy the impromptu surprise which Sean, without warning, let loose on us the other day:    

*It must be noted that the mouse has the cat's full permission to play with the cat's scooter while he is away :D

Tramp Champs?

Kimball is a glutton for the "tramp-o-leeeeeeeeeen!"  He loves it.  Absolutely loves it.  His blackened feet speak volumes about how much he loves it.  He especially likes to have Papa play a little private game with him which the two of them concocted--something to do with a magic rock.  The rock puts Papa to sleep, Kimball then wakes him up, and Papa proceeds to scare the living daylights out of Kimball.  Or something like that.

Kimball and I have no such magic rock between the two of us.  We just have "magic rock."  As in, rockin' and rollin' on that tramp-o-leeeen until my calves scream bloody murder and Kimball comes to the realization that Deedee ain't no Christian and Ashley.  (Good golly miss molly.  Here we go . . . just the mere mention of . . . waaaaaaahhhh!  I miss that kid like nobody's business!  {Bet you never heard that from me before.})  


Anywho, it is so nice to have a three-year-old around to give Papa and Deedee a good excuse for behaving like, well, like three-year-olds.  That insessant whining has just GOT to stop, however, and I'm sure the whole family agrees that I'm beyond old enough to know better and that I should just knock off my whining right now before I teach Kimball any bad habits.  I suppose they've got me on that one.  

S-P-R-O-I-N-G!

Is this the latest in conveyance of missionaries in Sweden these days?  Man, we heard that the Swedes were way ahead of the U.S. in technology, but I'm thinking that the use of a catapult as a high-speed form of human transportation went out with the siege of Stirling Castle.   Am I wrong?  Huh.  Who knew?   Have a good flight there, Christian!  {Where is your helmet, young man?!!!}

Four Weddings and a Funeral Walrus

People aren't just whistlin' dixie when they speak of "June brides."  You think that's simply a worn-out and tired cliche--June brides?  Well, I'm here to tell you 'tain't so!  June brides are real, boys and girls, and they have taken over the world!  


Full disclosure:  I was a June bride and so that makes me a board certified expert on the subject; I know whereof I speak.


One recent Saturday in . . . wait for it . . . JUNE(!!!), Dave and I went to not one, not two, not three, but four wedding receptions!  All in the same evening!  In June!  Brides were everywhere!  Also, crepes!  Soup!  Bread!  A candy smorgasbord!  Finger sandwiches!  Paninis!  Macarons! Vegetable trays!  Lemonade in little glass jars!  And, cake, cake, cake, and cake! 


I now feel like even more of an expert (cuz, you know, like I said, being a June bride myself does automatically make me an expert on all things Juney and bridey) after that single evening, and I came away with three observations:


1) The four brides and four grooms were oblivious to anything or anyone except each other.  "Whoops!  There goes the top tier of the cake, Darling!  Aw, who cares as long as I have my sugar right here beside me." *kisskiss* 


2) The four mothers of the brides appeared to be triumphant and euphoric and relishing the role of a four-star general. "We need more Bubba Shrimp put out on the buffet and the cotton candy machine is clogged again!  Come on, people!  Chop, chop!"


3) The four fathers of the brides simply had the look of resignation written all over their faces. "Yes, Dear.  Whatever you want, Dear.  Just take my wallet and have your way with it, Dear."  


Since we all know a wedding truly is about the bride and her mother, and since I have already ridden in that rodeo, and since I have two very eligible bachelor sons to marry off, I am very aware that the correct role of the mother of the groom(s) (that would be me) in this whole wedding deal is:  Wear beige, sit in the corner, and keep your mouth shut.  Those of you who know me well know that just ain't gonna happen.  I'll definitely be wearing something very non-beigey paired with the highest of heels, not be sitting nor be in the corner, and will be whoopin' it up with my mouth wide open, not shutting it the entire day.  


And, I'll love those new daughters-in-law of mine as if they were my own (just as I love son-in-law Jordan {perfect choice, Ash!}) knowing that these girls must be something special (in Ashley's case, Jordan!) in order for my boys to have chosen them to wed.  


Oh!  And, I just may make my grand entrance upon the back of a walrus.  That's just the way I roll.

This walrus just happened to catch my eye (ya think?) as we were leaving reception #4. You should have seen Dave's eyes roll into the back of his head when I made him screech to a halt so we could have a look-see at 

Mr. Walrus just there.  "I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob." 

Sean and Christian have probably already assumed they are doomed to a life of bachelorhood, having to deal with the issue of presenting me as a mother-in-law to potential brides. If we get lucky, perhaps Dave's normalcy will counteract my gooberness and give our boys a tiny smidgeon of a chance . . . 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. Reflection

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.*

"Men have wasted away before it, not knowing if what they have seen is real, or even possible."

—Albus Dumbledore 

Sean got all artsy-smartsy with this particular F.R.I.D.A.Y. photo op a few weeks ago, and instead of imposing on some tired and overworked busboy to take our pic, Sean used a mirror in the restaurant's lobby.  This pretty little twist to our normally staid and routine F.R.I.D.A.Y. photo almost blew Aldolpho's mind--are we a picture inside of a picture?  A photo in a mirror?  A reflection in a camera?  Kind of trippy.  Aldolpho may need to drink some hard herbal tea and lie down for a bit to think this one through. He may or may not have lost his mind after that one.  Sort of like what that "Inception" movie did to me and my feeble little mind . . . 

Mirror, mirror on the wall 

So, who was able to spy Aldolpho just hanging around at our previous F.R.I.D.A.Y. fa-la-la, trying to look all inconspicuous but failing spectacularly because of his day-glo orange hair?

*Reversing the inscription and rearranging the spaces produces this heading on the top of the Mirror of Erised: 

"I show not your face but your heart's desire." --J.K. Rowling

And, because inquiring minds wanted to know . . .