They Know How to Make Me Smile (even if it's a lopsided smile)

Ashley, Jordan and Kimball showed up at my door the other day with a delivery of comfort, love, sunshine, sympathy, and flowers! They sure know how to raise the spirits of a gal who has been a bit down in the mouth lately.

The problem, if you really want to know, is literally with my mouth. A root canal gone awry, in fact. Drama with a capital D-R-A-M-A. Pain, pain, pain. A brief run-down:

1 gigantuan tear-your-hair-out toothache

1 dentist in NYC on vacay

1 phone call to unknown dentist to just SHOOT ME DEAD(!), please

1/2 root canal performed by unknown dentist to alleviate pain, but not completed (fear of stepping on other dentist's toes?)

1/2 root canal completed by home-again dentist but sealing in bad germy dudes

1 iwannadierighthereandnow night

1 iwishicoulddierighthereandnow day

4,5,6, or more? phone calls made to:

dentist vacaying again--this time at Powell

retired dentist/neighbor

unknown dentist

family doc

local medieval barber for a bloodletting

anyone? anyone? Bueller? anyone?

1 trip to ER out of desperation

1 dose of very aggressive antibiotics through IV drip immediately administered

1 trip to ER next day; side note: H1N1 flu very popular with locals

1 dose of very aggressive antibiotics through IV drip (ER registration identical to first day; huh? computers don't store info? who knew?)

1 Sunday night visit to was-water-skiing-but-now-home-again dentist's office for aaaaacccckkkk drainage (UNBELIEVABLE pain, I cannot even begin to . . .)

1 love song composed as an ode to the miracle of Lortab

1 visit to dentist's office for more aaaaaaaccccckkkkk drainage with a rubber drain sutured in

1 visit to hospital to receive more IV antibiotics--watched Oprah (not on my fav list, hasn't been for a looooooonng time now)

1 visit to dentist's office to determine drain needs to remain in place (office in the middle of shooting a commercial . . . quiet on the set, please . . . and I'm not making this up)

1 visit to hospital to receive #4 IV antibiotics--watched Oprah again (that Judge Judy can be so grating, don't you think?)

1 visit to dentist's office; removal of drain after dentist searches, searches (yeow!) for suture knot

1 bottle of uber-robust oral antibiotics which make food taste like . . . ick . . . or is it the IV? Whatever. It's just . . . ick.

1 jaw looking more like a squirrel with a nut in its cheek than a puffer fish in full-bloat mode

1 case of rash/hives presumably from antibiotic

2 trips back to dentist for monitoring purposes (office staff still aghast at the sight)

1 thankful me who can cope with what might be up to a month of dealing with remaining knot of infection as well as complete numbness(!) of part of my chin but is relatively pain-free in comparison to recent days/nights

1 saga to be continued with future visits to dentist, but with (hopefully) the worst having had its ugly way with me

And . . .

1 partridge in a pear tree.

So where was I? Oh, yeah. Thank you so much Ashley, Jordan and Kimball. The flowers are exactly what my weary little soul needed. You are the bestest.

Look if you dare but use caution; small children should be escorted out of the room . . .

Count yourselves lucky that this picture was taken before my cheek

reached its pinnacle glory. My bishop was privy to that sight, however,

and I swear, he nearly fainted dead away. I could tell it took every ounce

of decorum he possessed to not run screaming like a little girl out of my house.

Oh, And By the Way, Would It Be Too Much Trouble . . .

Quite honestly, I thought the days of making a last-minute mad scramble to put together a Halloween costume were a thing of the past. I'm happy to report, NOT!

9:00 p.m. Decision made by son that he really does want a costume for . . . wait for it . . . the. very. next. morning. early.

9:05 p.m. Mooch white duct tape from neighbor

9:10 p.m. More neighbor mooching--this time red yarn

9:20 p.m. Go green by recycling a recycled shirt from D.I. which was recycled from a previous Gilligan costume (got that?)

9:30 p.m. Make pom pom with red yarn after calling a different neighbor for pom pom tutorial

9:40 p.m. Apply strips of white duct tape to red shirt

9:45 p.m. Rip off duct tape and begin again

9:55 p.m. Attach pom pom to hat/apply duct tape to hat/ rip off duct tape from hat/leave hat duct tape-free

10:05 p.m. A cane! A cane! My kingdom for a cane! Flounder around looking for any semblance of a cane!

10:15 p.m. Spy cardboard tubing of wrapping paper roll happily sitting in garbage

10:16 p.m. Light bulb switches on over my head

10:17 p.m. Flounder around looking for a stand-in for a cane's crook

10:18 -

10:25 p.m. Hmmm. Sigh. What?what?what? Hmmmmm. Brain drainage

10:26 p.m. Roll brown grocery bag into a cylinder, bend, jam end into cardboard tubing

10:30 p.m. More duct tape usage as entire cane is basically embalmed

10:40 p.m. Venture into arctic-like temperatures and commence spray painting (full disclosure: I stayed toasty warm while the menfolk were out in the arctic tundra)

11:00 p.m. We present . . .

WHERE'S CHRISTIAN WALDO? Could he be any more adorable?

Before going to bed, Christian was instructed to NOT put his socks in the laundry basket. The landfill is now their home sweet home.

If You Can't Guess, I'm Not Going to Tell You

Okey dokey. We're going to play:

WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

Did you figure it out?

So, do you want to hear the sad part? Dave didn't even notice his faux pas until we had returned home from spending hours (hours, I tell you!) at Christian's band competition. And sadder still? I would never have noticed had Dave not dropped down dead at my feet out of sheer mortification.

(Just FYI, AF swept all of the awards, natch.)

The Line Forms to the Left

Cookie Posses No. 4 and No. 5 showed up the other day only hours apart. (Or is it No. 6 and No. 7? Uh, I don't know, I've lost track of which posses are which, all I know is that each posse has different kids in it and there are a boatload of them.) Whatever. All you need to know is that a slew of kids came over this week for some bonding time with my double oven.

Posse No. 4(?) consisted of three little girls from my neighborhood who showed up just to say howdy, but I could tell they were wanting to settle in for a long, long afternoon tete-a-tete. I was planning on making THE EASIEST(!!!) COOKIES IN THE GALAXY (recipe to follow) later that day, so when the girls came by to visit, I decided to invite them to help with the cookies because: 1) I'm a multi-tasker at heart, and 2) my day was a busy one. People to see, places to go, things to do . . . . Chat n' bake. Kill two birds with one stone, yada, yada. This particular posse hadn't ever made cookies with me before, so they were thrilled to the tips of their little ponytails for a chance to get to know my Jenn-Air. Again the multi-tasker in me came out, and I thought that we might as well do some good with these cookies, the smell of which will put you in the mood for autumn, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all at the same time.

We thought of a family in our neighborhood who could use a little sweetness, and I put those girls to work making homemade cards to go along with the cookies. I pulled out everything scrapbooky that I could dredge up, which was a rather pitiful selection since I'm not a scrapper. Do you scrap? I don't scrap. But we still managed to cover my kitchen table from end to end with stickers, papers, glue, markers, hedge trimmers, a weed whacker, and I even think I saw a chainsaw under all of that mishmash. Thank the high heavens that I had the presence of mind to leave the glitter hidden in the cupboard. You glitter once and the glitter will continue to haunt you and yours for the next five months.

So the cards turned out adorable, the cookies delectable, and we all had a great afternoon as the girls shared the gossip about their big brothers' exploits. (Note to parents: Be aware that little girls have big mouths.) I just drank it all in.

I like that multi-tasking thing.

THE EASIEST(!!!) COOKIES IN THE GALAXY

aka

Pumpkin Cookies

1 box of spice cake mix

1 15 oz. can of pureed pumpkin

1 cup mini chocolate chips or raisins (or a mix)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease cookie sheets. In a large bowl, mix the dry cake mix with the pumpkin puree. Add the chocolate chips and/or raisins. Drop mounded tablespoons (or larger) of dough onto cookie sheet. Bake for 10-15 minutes depending on the size of cookie. (I use a spring-loaded mini ice cream scoop which holds about two tablespoons of dough, then I bake the cookies for about 15 minutes.) The cookies will not spread.

All done. Ho hum.

Then Cookie Posse No. 5(?) decided to make the wonderfully magical Magic Bars. And magical they are! No muss, no fuss, just pour, sprinkle, pour, scatter, sprinkle, scatter, and your job is done, thank you very much. You've become a magical cookie faerie.

I think these kids loved it when I kept calling them all the magical cookie faeries. Especially that well-built kid in the blue shirt. Really. I could tell. He loved it. I could just sense it. Everything would go silent every time I said it. It was kind of like, oh, I don't know, kind of like electric volts shooting out of the blue-shirt kid's eyes. So I kept saying "magical cookie faeries" over and over. Neato.

MAGIC BARS

1/2 cup butter, melted

1 1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs

14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk

6 oz. semisweet chocolate chips (I cheat and use double that)

1 cup sweetened shredded coconut

1 cup pecans or walnuts, chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Pour melted butter into a 9x13 pan. Sprinkle graham cracker crumbs over butter. Pour sweetened condensed milk over the crumbs. Scatter with chocolate chips, sprinkle with coconut, scatter nuts (in that order). Press mixture down firmly with the palm of your hand. Bake 25 minutes. Cool. Chill in refrigerator for two hours. (You may want to score them before the refrigeration to make cutting easier.)

What did I tell ya? Magical.

Gee, I think Christian caught a glimpse of our resident ghost, Bucky, just as I snapped that first picture of Posse No. 5 (see above). He was speechless for the rest of the afternoon. All he could do was point and mutter a bit. He never really could explain that vacant look in his eyes . . .

Fridays With Kimball!

A picture perfect fall day in our front yard.

Later on, we retired to the quietude of the basement.

Kimball tried to decide which of these very sophisticated tres chic pieces he prefers . . .

On the one hand, Kimball feels like a king while lounging in this oversized designer recliner . . .

. . . but on the other hand, he is enamored with this space effecient canary yellow compact.

Hmm. Red or yellow? Roomy or cozy? Decisions, decisions! I know! It's just too much for a baby to take! In the end, Kimball did exactly what his grandmama would do . . .

He decided to take both. Logical solution if you ask me.

How Many Skeletons Do You Have Lurking in Your Family Closet?

As you may know, funky/kooky/wacked-out videos have a way of sweeping their way through the blog-o-universe and popping up all over Facebook in just a matter of days. The video below is no different so you've probably see it before. BUT, WHOA NELLY! I really, really, really fell in love with this particular version when I saw it. I just had to share it with you because the cast is so outstanding. Frankenstein's Monster is especially beguiling, no?

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Our Hearts Are Full

Neither spoken nor written words can even begin to accurately convey the feelings of pure gratitude mixed with sorrow that we are experiencing right now after the tragic bus accident involving the American Fork High School Marching Band. We will be eternally grateful for the safety of our sweet Christian as he rode on the bus which was immediately behind the bus which crashed. The idea of "what could have happened . . . " is almost too horrific to contemplate just yet--if ever. And the sorrow we feel is a sorrow for those who are left without their friend, daughter, sister, teacher, Heather Christensen.

But I do believe in miracles.

And I do believe in guardian angels.

I do believe in a God who watches over all.

I will be thanking my Heavenly Father every single day for the life of my son.

*Below is an amateur video of the Pocatello performance--the very performance the band completed only an hour or so before the accident. In the foreground, you can see Heather Christensen on the right wearing a dark jacket watching her woodwinds do exactly what she taught them to do. (As an aside, Sean worked with Ms. Christensen as he played the bass clarinet in the marching band and in the wind symphony during his high school years.) Watch the whole show if you have a few minutes. Although the video isn't the greatest, the performance is quite moving, especially at the very end where our country's fallen solders are honored. Christian is one of the five quad drummers and is the second drummer from the left.

You can read more about the accident here.

Slap a Gold Star on My Forehead!

I think I deserve some sort of a prize. Really I do. Did you not notice that I used enormous amounts of decorum and restraint as I refused to write or even refer to that yucky "p" word in my previous post? I didn't even attempt it in a caption under the picture of circus-tent-shirt adorned Sean which could have said something along the lines of, "Whoa up! That boy has gone and got hisself some SEER-EE-USS parasites company goin' on, ya'll. Just looky at that tiny boy." Yes, I know you are grateful. You can thank me later for not ruining your breakfast with the vivid mental picture of a creepy parasite.

Yow! Who tore off my gold star? What.What did I say?

Under the Big Top

(Click to get a really good look at this handsome, handsome boy)

Yay! Yesterday we FINALLY received a picture from Sean! Somebody cue the "Hallelujah Chorus!"

In last week's letter, Sean writes:

"Well since you asked... yes I would like to ask you to send me something vía the mail service. Can you send me 5 or 6 white shirts with the collar size 15 or 15.5? My shirts now fit me like a circus tent (gotta love his way with words) and so it would be nice to wear shirts that fit. Short sleeves and extra tall would be fine if it's not too much trouble to ask. And if you want to try to send pants, that would be nice too because I am now more or less a size 36/32 and my old pants... well they were a lot bigger. I bought some new pants here but I don't trust the Honduran stitching to last for more than three or four months. I know I ask a lot and if you can't send this stuff don't worry about it. I am just happy to read your letters, hear about the big events in your lives, and learn from your examples of righteousness. I love you all so much, and I send you all a great big abrazo . . . ."
And a great big "abrazo" back to you, Seanie!

Okay.  So, you know how you cherish even more those things that don't come in abundance or that don't come to you very often?  I have literally poured over this photo of Sean, checking out the roadside, the signage, the grass, Sean's watch, his water bottle, that unfamiliar tie, the way Sean's collar is gaping with so much extra room that a small pony could gallop right down into the front of his shirt without even leaving any hoof prints . . .

Even though it is only one photo, it is a tender mercy, nonetheless.  And I am grateful.

Fridays With Kimball!

Either Kimball is totally enamored with this toy basketball and couldn't stand to be parted from it even while he slept, or he is trying to tell me in his own unique way that napping in my little port-a-crib is like sleeping on a brick wall which, unfortunately, has the same denseness as that fruitcake which was *regifted* (it had to be) to us by our neighbors last Christmas. By the by, Dave is being TOTALLY overly dramatic about that chipped tooth, if you ask me.

Kimball and his basketball head cushion instantly reminded me of my big sister who, whenever she got a new pair of shoes, would go to bed with them on her feet. Or sometimes she would put them right next to her head on the pillow so the new shoes could be instantly viewed the next morning. Thank goodness she finally outgrew that. (I think the stiletto-poke-in-the-eye incident last May was what finally cured her.)

Let the Competitions Begin!

Show season has begun for the incredibly awesome American Fork Marching Band, and they are up to their old tricks of completely sweeping the competitions once again. (Sometimes I feel kind of bad for the other schools who march their little hearts out only to be walking back to their buses with their clarinets dragging on the ground behind them after another loss to AF. Truly I do.) Christian's band totally dominated their first competition of the year by not only winning first place overall, but by taking all caption awards which include: "Outstanding Music," "Outstanding Visual," "Outstanding Color Guard," and "Outstanding Percussion." But it certainly comes at a price. So there. While a lot of Christian's friends are busy doing important stuff like playing "The Beatles: Rock Band" and such, he is stomping away with 40 pounds of drums strapped to his chest for hours and hours and hours and hours in rehearsal every single week with a determination to do his best and make his mama proud. And I am. Way. Good on ya, Christian!

Check out the band as they appear in my s-h-a-k-y video attempt to give you just a taste of their show paying tribute to the WWII vets. The show, called "The Greatest Generation," incorporates part of the ballad from "Band of Brothers" during the third movement (and no, that's definitely not the part you'll see and hear in the video below), and you can see that the color guard girls are dressed as Rosie the Riveter. Every band member wears a dog tag around his/her neck bearing the name of a relative or someone they hold dear who served in the armed forces during WWII. Christian's name tag reads, "Joseph Ricks," the brother of my mom. Uncle Joe was killed while serving his country in the war at the tender age of 20.

The video below coincidentally shows the same portion of the show that we see in the video above and was shot while the band played their music again in the parking lot without marching, as is their tradition after a competition. This gives you a better look at Christian in action but not much better due to the late afternoon sun shooting pointy arrows directly in my retinas causing them to be totally toasted. I just aimed my little digital camera in his general direction and let 'er rip. Air bags, anyone? So sorry about that. BUT NEVER FEAR! You've gotta know that I will be putting up another video of one of the next competitions (if not all . . . ), don't you?! Uh, yeah. Nobody ever said that you have to watch, you know.

"Be Careful What You Wish For: A Cruel Twist" by Gimpy Sagers

*****

Remember this pic of my lovely new shoe? Me too. In fact, just looking at it sets off those familiar bells and whistles in my head as my hankering to buy more and more new shoes continues to forever be a presence at the top of my "things to do today" list. And by gum! I got my wish! . . .

Ta da!

To the casual observer, this may look like any old walking cast, but to the fashionistas who take note of such things, this is a walking cast taking its inspiration from an unlikely source: the ubiquitous swim flipper. Don't you think Mr. Blahnik would be green with envy? Actually, the up and coming designer was able to artfully achieve an exquisite balance between sophistication and edginess, creating an interesting yet beautifully unfussy bit of footwear. At least that's what I keep telling myself with every other step I take.

She is Game for Anything!

Following the BYU v. Oklahoma PART-EE (WOOT! WOOT!) a few weeks back before "The Debacle" (groan, moan and wail), BYU fans spent the hours after the game flooding the streets of Provo and congregating around the football stadium all while their winning team was still way down south in Texas, ya'll. Amid all of this ruckus and romp, people were driving their cars willy nilly honking their horns looooong and looooud as if trying to wake the Grateful Dead. And guess who was in the middle of all of the chaos? Mom. Yup. 91-year-old Mom. Mention any shindig, and she's in the thick of it; she's such a hoot and a holler!

Alas! Wut up BYU? FSU 54 - BYU 28?

. . . uh, better luck tomorrow . . .

Twelve Down, Twelve to Go

(This photo is as old as the soda in that vending machine in the background, but it is the last I've received from my sweet Sean. Yeah, I know! I am dying, too! Absolutely dy-ink! Can't someone, anyone, run on down to Central America and snap a few for me? Thanks a bunch! I really appreciate it.)

HAPPY ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY

TO THE MOST AWESOMEST, HANDSOMEST, HUMBLEST, DEDICATEDEST,

DARLINGEST, WONDERFULEST, MAGNIFICENTEST, ENCREDIBLEST

MISSIONARY IN THE WORLD!

I ADORE THIS BOY!

What more can I say? If I do say more, I'll be mopping up the keyboard with Kleenex lest I electrocute myself with my own tears. Just don't get me started. Ask my family. They're always standing behind me making slashing motions across their throats, shaking their heads while mouthing "NO!", whenever anyone asks about Sean. Then they give up in defeat knowing that I can't be stopped. I'm on a roll talking and crying about my precious son then. And family prayer? Let's just say that when it is my turn to say it, the others just begin to talk amongst themselves right there in the middle of the "grateful for" part of the prayer because I get a little verklempt, and the prayer comes to a screeching halt. But let's be clear: I shed tears of joy, tears of pride, tears of love, immense love, unmeasurable love, a love that turns my insides out, a mother's dearest love, an unconditional love which no words could ever manage to define. That's why the tears. Now, seriously. I need a hanky.

Dead Dad's Curve?

Saddened that he can't ride our dirt motorcycles to school because they aren't street legal, Christian decided he should have a street motorcycle.

We decided that he shouldn't.

The end.

No, actually, to assuage his obedient/accepting but disappointed spirit, we decided to dust off the old deathtrap, otherwise known as the Fiat, so Christian could sort of get the feeling of driving a street bike with the wind in his hair as well as the rain on his head when he forgets to put the top back on.

Some history about the Fiat: My older brother saved his pennies and bought his very first car (the Fiat) when he was about 21. That was in 1979. Until we bought the car from him about three years ago, he babied it and pampered it and did everything a responsible car owner should do to make a car hang in there for 30 (thirty!!!! can you believe it?) years. Click and Clack would be so proud. Then Sean drove the Fiat for over a year before leaving for a land with even smaller cars--the cars there are so small they can't really be seen by the naked eye. That's why buses and feet are Sean's basic modes of transportation. You can't see those cars. So tiny. So very, very tiny. Invisible, actually.

So anyway, there we were, thinking, yes! Perhaps the Fiat was the alternative to Christian's quest of acquiring that mussed and tousled look of "helmet (quite unforgivable) hair" and having bugs stuck in his teeth. He was game. I documented his first go, and jiminy cricket, you should have seen Dave's face! The look of horror and fear was unforgettable. Ah. Sorry. I was remembering the first time he saw me without makeup. But truthfully, Christian finessed that temperamental clutch so well it was as if he had been hanging with the ol' gang at Le Mans his whole life. Take a gander:

Sean apparently wanted to be remembered while he was away, so he left a sweet little calling card on the driver's door. And it works like a charm! We always remember him when we look at that side of the car, bless his heart.

See what I mean about a "deathtrap?" A Hummer would happily eat the Fiat for a happy-hour hors d'oeuvre. This little thing could probably fit underneath a semitrailer with no one the wiser. Great way to elude the cops if that particular need comes up yet again . . .

I've Got Some 'Splainin' to Do

My mention of the "Third Day" in my last post? Actually it was meant to reference the Third Day of the Creation. Apparently, in my attempt to swing my personal loquacious pendulum from being waaaaaayyy too wordy to the side of being (or at least trying but failing) to be artsy and vague, I was vague but not so artsy. What I really should have said was that I am super-dee-duper grateful for the flowers of this earth. My heart goes nuts whenever I see God's gorgeous handiwork in a fresh bouquet. Especially when it is in my own house. In my own kitchen. On my own counter. That's what I should have said. Amen.

"Whenever I Touch a Velvet Rose . . . "

I love coming downstairs and seeing these each morning.

The "Third Day" was certainly time well spent, don't you think?

I'm Into Retail Therapy

My heart was absolutely broken into pieces last week. I went shoe shopping. Somebody should have shot me dead as a doornail right then and there before I had a chance to enter that first store. (Please hum "Taps" as you read on.)

What was the very first thing I saw as I walked inside? No, not those really creepy avant garde mannequins with totally blank faces whose images haunt meek and skittish housewives for nights on end. And no, not one of those women who aggressively attack shoppers with the latest in celebrity perfumes which, in reality reek to high heaven. Especially that Paris Hilton one. P. Ew. (And, I always feel so sorry for those little old guys who can't quite hobble away fast enough before they are drenched in something from the Les Fleurs Collection. Wife: "Bernard! Why do you smell like that?" Husband: "Don't ask me, Edith. I was just walking along minding my own . . . ." Wife: "I want a divorce!")

So, c'mon! Guess! Guess what I first saw when I walked into the store? I SAW BOOTS! Thousands and thousands (well, ten or so) pairs of boots. As in freezing, yucky, winter-weather footwear! Heaven help me. I just about called 911, or 411, or whatever, because I couldn't get my bearings straight. I thought I had just died and gone to "the land down under" because this certainly couldn't be my world. BOOTS??? Honestly. Can't we just skip over that whole messy business of snow, ice, freezing toes and fingers, and hideous holiday-themed sweaters? Just once? Just this once? Please, oh please, oh please with sugar on top?Just humor me on this, won't you? Seriously. Really. I mean it.

Well, I decided to console myself as best as I could. It did help . . . some.

Hey, Do You Happen to Have Handy the Number for the Editor of National Geographic?

As Kimball and I were outside watering the potted plants on my front porch, I went to "deadhead" one of the spent geraniums, but almost "deadheaded" this praying mantis. (Aaack/shiver/shudder!) The little bug (and I say that tongue-in-cheek because it actually was a BIG bug close to the size of a Mickey Mantle baseball bat, if you really want to know) was in the process of eating his lunch which consisted of a yellow jacket bee, complete with head, eyeballs, wings, stinger, most everything one would normally request the chef to leave off of one's bee when lunching in polite company. It really was fascinatingly creepy, depending on your personal gross-out factor.

I could hardly wait for Christian to return home from school to photograph the image which will now and forever be seared into Kimball's brain probably causing nightmares, or more likely, a career in mounting insects on Styrofoam boards using little dressmaker pins. Unfortunately, Christian arrived after the bee luncheon was over, but Mr. Mantis did consent to posing for a few paparazzi body shots. Ah, I love having an in-house photographer--it is such a luxury.

Click to enlarge--you won't be sorry

Note the clarity, beauty, and detail of the disgusting barbs on the legs and antennae.

It also appears that the praying mantis took a liking to the pink flowers, for he then oh-so-carefully clutched a bit of one in his left paw/claw/talon thingy, probably hoping in desperation to mollify his wife with it since he ended up devouring her share of the bee. (Whoa boy, is he ever gonna pay . . .)

*You can lend your support to Christian by going here and clicking "Yes! I dig it." Gee, you guys are just the best!

And the Winner Is . . . .

Thanks to one and all for being loopy enough (don't take that personally, people) to enter my little Caption Contest. And now, without further ado, I present the winning caption of my first annual and probably only Caption Contest:

"Although we appreciate his enthusiasm, Grandpa's desire to demonstrate to Kimball the appropriate methods of eating a bowl of cereal unfortunately landed him in the hosptial for over-consumption of Lucky Charms...it was the marshmallows."

--Submitted by Jordan

JORDAN! YOU WON! YOU LUCKY DOG!

First runner up:

"Now I wish I would have ordered the 'bowl' of soup; this 'cup' of soup just isn't going to hold me over til dinner."

--Submitted by Anonymous

Second runner up:

"Objects may appear larger than they are."

--Submitted by Beth

So there you have it! To read all of the entries, please go here.

Now that you see that I really DID deliver on my promise of awarding the winner the uber-to-die-for!!! box of Cap'n Crunch, I bet the rest of you are eating your hearts out wishing that you would have ponied up a cleverish idea for my cheesy contest. Cuz just think: It could have been you inhaling mega-grams of sugar in a single bowl of cold cereal at this very moment, launching you off into a state of nervana wanting more and more of it as you desperately struggle to maintain the ultimate sugar rush. [Excuse me just a sec. Oh, yoohoo! Jordan? How's it going there with that recent restless leg syndrome, by the way? And your fidgeting problem? Have you had any sleep at all? Since last Monday, I mean?] Anyway. See? Told ya. Just think what you nonsubmitters are missing. Dude! It coulda been you swinging from the ceiling fan. Just sayin'.