Mickey Dee(dee)'s!!!

Kimball and I had a lunch date.

Just the two of us.

We went to a really classy joint.

I treated this time around because, well, because I could. Kimball is a little strapped for cash at the moment, mostly due to the fact that his allowance hasn't actually kicked in yet. Kimball tried to contribute to the bill with the grimy little penny offered to him by the sweeping employee who had picked it out of the mess o' fries and tattered napkins on the floor after she heard Kimball exclaim, "money!" I quickly insinuated myself into that situation by thrusting my hand out for that nasty penny just as she was about to drop it into Kimball's waiting (and clean) hand, saving Kimball from who knows what flesh-eating germs I'm certain were hanging out on that linty penny. Ew. Thanks, but, uh, . . . .

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "If Deedee is so blasted uptight about Kimball touching a penny that had been plucked from the floor out of a pile of others' half-eaten, disgusting, slobbery food and crumpled napkins wet from wiping noses and mouths, why in tarnation would she let Kimball go play in the little adjoining romper room aka The Marriott Hotel for Germs (motto: All Germs Welcome!)?"

I can't really say why I'm okay with this except that I believe in moderation in most things (not all), and I also believe that kids need to be kids. And I also believe in eating first, playing second. I also believe in a good, thorough hand scrubbing when playtime in The Marriott Hotel for Germs (motto: All Germs Welcome!) is over. I also believe that I have THE. CUTEST. GRANDSON. ON. THIS. PLANET. Behold:

I'm definitely up for another date, Kimball. Text me.

*Sniff*

Please take notice of the lovely cinderblock backdrop.

I'm really trying to hold it together here, folks.

Christian is off to college.

(Big breaths. I'm taking big, deep breaths while also avoiding going into his bedroom. Man. This is way too hard for me . . . .)

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you certainly know my feelings about this incredible young man of mine. If you need a reminder of my absolute adoration, go here. And here. And here. Or here. Or, you could just basically cruise my blog history and find about a gazillion posts where I gush and quite inadequately express my love for Mr. Christian.

In the meantime, I'm trying to add a little levity to this emotional roller coaster by pointing out that the on-campus student housing apartment I lived in as a freshman is only two units away from Christian's--the carpeting appears to be the same (um, yuck), the closet doors and built-ins are most definitely the same, and the cinderblock painted walls will forever be exactly! the! same! as my lovely cinderblock walls. Man, talk about deja vu. All over again.

I miss my boy, and it hasn't even been 24 hours since he's been gone. Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Oh. Good thing he'll be back tonight for dinner :D

Wanna Hear a Good Joke?

Okay. So a goat, a sheep, a horse, a cow, and a pig walk into a bar, see, and . . .

Yikes. Do you think the joke might be on us?

Why, Ah Do Declare!

We've come to know the Clabber Girl from her baking powder fame . . .

. . . and Aunt Jemima has sweetened our lives for years and years . . .

. . . Betty Crocker has charmed us with her plastic surgery refreshed looks over the decades . . .

. . . and Little Miss Morton Salt completely outclasses the Coppertone girl.

Now, I'd like to introduce you to our very own . . .

SOUTHERN BELLE!

(Southern, as in, Southern California)

Move it, Little Debbie, there's a fresh new face in town! I think our Southern Belle would be the perfect model to be featured on the packaging of a baking product like sugar, or flour, or cornstarch, or tapioca (ew, yuck, tapioca!), don't you? Why, just look at her!

Pretty as a picture with her homemade berry pie with a crust made from scratch!

This pie took the honorable mention award at our neighborhood BBQ. Not a speck of it was left for us to bring home!

Ashley's Very Berry Pie

Filling:

8 cups frozen mixed berries (I used a bag of blueberries, raspberries, and marion berries from Costco)

1 1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup instant tapioca

Squirt of lemon juice

Thaw the berries, then mix all ingredients in a bowl. Let the mixture sit while you make the crust.

For the crust, use your favorite recipe, search for one online, or just use this one from the Crisco packaging!

2 cups all purpose flour

1 tsp salt

3/4 cup Crisco shortening

4-8 TBS ice cold water

*You only need one crust, and this is a two crust recipe, but I found that I needed more dough than a one crust recipe provided. Use the extra to make a mini-pie or pie crust cookies!*

Blend flour and salt in mixing bowl. Cut cubed chilled shortening into flour mixture using a pastry blender or a food processor (that's my favorite way!) until mixture resembles pea-sized coarse crumbs. Sprinkle 4 TBS ice water over flour mixture and stir with a fork or pulse the food processor. Add more water by the TBS until the dough holds together. Flatten dough into a 1/2 inch disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. On lightly floured surface, roll dough outward from the center so that it is 2 inches wider than the pie plate. Ease the crust in the plate (tip: roll the crust around the rolling pin, and unroll it into the pie plate). Trim the edges, fold them under, and flute.

Pour the berry mixture into the pie crust, and cover the edges of the crust in tin foil, shiny side out. Bake the pie on a baking sheet at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 375 and bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling is bubbling, about 45 minutes more. Remove the foil for the last 10-15 minutes of baking. Let the pie cool completely on a rack, and then garnish with a layer of sugared berries.

Why, ah do declare--I just love that girl!

Who Are You Calling Old?

No old geezers around here. Just one Papa who accidentally took the NON-non-drowsy (in other words, the sleepy kind) of cold medicine which basically sent him off to nap time right on this very slide soon after our foray down that contraption. He just laid there at the bottom of the slide, as easy as you please, and conked out. Kimball didn't know what to make of it.

Once we were able to rouse Papa and get him on his feet again, his incoherent sentences clued us in that it was time to drag the old boy home, prop him up on the couch so he could watch a little I Love Lucy, and then ship him off to bed to sleep it off before he caused himself or his loved ones any sort of serious bodily harm with the tv remote control.

(Thank goodness we had a designated driver in Ashley to get us home--otherwise, Papa may have driven us somewhere even further away than Nebraska {see this post} in his loopy state of delirium.)

P.S. We should have known we were in for it when Papa was taking an extra long time coming out to the car as we were waiting to drive to the park. Turns out he had fallen asleep in the washroom. Oh, the wacky world of the Sagers fam . . . .

Mr. Blue Sky

Changes are a-comin'. In a very few short weeks one of my very best friends is moving on and moving out.

Christian will be leaving to live on campus as he attends a semester at BYU prior to serving an LDS mission for two years. Oh my, oh my. I'm a bundle of mixed emotions and conflicting desires. I wish he could stay. I want him to go. I wish I could be with him every single day. I want him to grow and become independent. I wish I could forever hang on to his coattails. I want him to break free and achieve his enormous potential. It's a complete mash-up, if you want to know the plain truth of it all.

The title of Christian's high school senior video, "Mr. Blue Sky," perfectly captures his nature--so positive, so cheerful, so full of hope that things will always work out, so happy, so forward thinking, so trusting in the goodness of others, so solid in his knowledge that God is in charge of all. Mr. Blue Skies--in living color. Can you see why I cherish this boy?! Oh, how I love him!!!

Christian really is one of my very, very best friends. And, I'm quite certain that I'm one of his. (He even told me so. That's how I know.)

He Can Multitask!

Click on image to get a grander look at Santa's delicious beard.

In this series of photos, note how deftly Kimball: 1) speaks on the phone with his daddy; 2) eats his cookies and "kweem"; and, 3) manages to effectively impersonate Santa Claus. I'm telling you what--that kid has conquered what most men just can't seem to master: The art of multitasking!

What? I didn't even mention your name, Dave, so stop assuming anything. Although, now that you mention the whole multitasking thing . . . um, well . . . . jk! You're a good multitasker, Dave. With the exception of that sticky little problem of driving and carrying on a conversation at the same time resulting in ending up near Nebraska instead of at the Piggly Wiggly just down the road. Other than that, you're a good multitasker, Dave. Super good.

Psst. Is he gone? FYI, I'd advise against talking to Dave while he's behind the wheel if you're hoping to end up anywhere close to your desired destination within the decade. Just sayin'.

Oh, hi, Dave! Thought you were gone to the Piggly Wiggly.

Or Nebraska.

Oopsy.

Adventures in Babysitting

I babysat.

And, it was pretty stressful. Very stressful, if you want to know the bald truth. Heart-poundingly stressful.

I had the un-privilege of looking after a jumpy little whippersnapper who, as luck would have it, has eight (count 'em!) legs, while I was also pitiably trapped on a torture device also known as my much-despised stationery bike.*

See, the deal was that nobody asked me to babysit, nor did I offer, but it seems that I had the luck of the draw this time around. I usually don't take my responsibilities lightly; however, I was more than willing to ditch this arach-kid. There. I said it, and I'm not taking it back.

So, there I sat, peddling away like a woman possessed, illogically thinking that the faster I peddled, the further away I would get from this little persona non grata:

The fact that little Jumpy Jimmy here was merely ten inches away from my face only heightened my hatred for being stuck on that doggone stationery bike. Watching him closely (as any good babysitter would), I became all itchy and scratchy and wobbly as I sent silent messages to him to please go across the room to visit the treadmill! No need to stay so close to me! Go! Go off to explore the world, young one! Expand your horizons, and LEAVE ME ALONE! Alas, no.

Not only did Jumpy Jimmy not have the courtesy to give me my privacy during my time of sweat, but he never even extended a friendly silk string hand of greeting. That, in and of itself wasn't a bad thing, but it meant that there was the very real possibility that since he rudely eschewed the basic common courtesy of saying "howdy-do" with a silvery strand, he might just very well cut straight to the chase and jump right from his place on the wall and directly into my mouth.Which was wide open. Because I was panting like a dog. Because I was sucking air for all that it's worth. Because I was on that horrible, horrible stationery bike.

Only minutes to go before my torture session was to be over, Jumpy Jimmy made a break for it and went AWOL on me! I thought, "Oh, no you don't! I do and do and do for you, and this is what I get? Nuh-uh. I'll track you down! I'll send out the bloodhounds! I'll find you! I'll give you what you've got coming!" And I did.

(WARNING: DISTURBING IMAGES MAY FOLLOW; PARENTAL DISCRETION IS ADVISED.)

The end.

* I was aboard my much-hated stationery bike and not out doing my run due to an annoying condition called a stress fracture. Or a stress reaction. Whatever. In other words, my leg is basically broken, apparently because I happen to put my heel down incorrectly when I run, or because my gait is off (whatever that means), or because my hips don't line up just right, or because I like the color pink. I don't know, and neither does the sports medicine doctor, but he's just itching to put me on a treadmill so he can point and laugh and tell me that for all of these years, I've been doing that whole "walking upright on two legs" thing ALL WRONG. But, he won't be doing that until my bones knit and purl and crochet back together again, because, YEOW, having a fracture in one's bone is not a walk in the park, even if that walk is with perfect form and correct posture.

I so hate that bike.

This One's For You, Harry!

Yesterday, July 31, was Harry Potter's birthday! I know that every single one of you celebrated, right?!!! It also happens to be Harry's brilliant creator's birthday too. Wow! How'd that happy coincidence happen, I wonder?

We are huge Potter fans at this house, and in honor of Harry's birthday, we whipped up some delicious butterbeer and settled in to watch the first movie in the Harry Potter series. (Whoooo boy, Daniel, Rupert and Emma have obviously been taking some very intense acting lessons from somebody like Lee Strasberg or Uta Hagen or some such old geezers since that debut movie; bless their hearts, those kids did think they were hot stuff back in the day, didn't they.)

This particular butterbeer recipe is a simplified version of others I have come across, but I'd wager a guess that even those snarky Slytherins would get their robes all in knots over this concoction. I do realize that the real butterbeer, the butterbeer that Harry, Hermione and Ron drink in Diagon Alley, has a touch of, er, shall we say, intoxicant (to put it delicately), but we choose to leave that particular element out of our batch of butterbeer. It was Sunday, after all. Sheesh, you guys.

BUTTERBEER!

Makes 1 serving

One 12 oz. can cream soda

1 teaspoon butter

2 tablespoons butterscotch topping

1/2 cup quality vanilla ice cream

Pour soda into microwavable bowl or large measuring cup. Add butter. Microwave on high for approximately 2-3 minutes, depending on your microwave. Stir. In the bottom of a mug add the butterscotch topping. Pour soda mixture over butterscotch. Drop a scoop of ice cream on top. Stir mixture to blend. Knock it back with a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, and go nuts!

Guess what, boys and girls? You're in luck! As an additional treat to celebrate Harry's birthday, I tip my hat to him and his ability to speak parseltongue (thank you, Voldemort) by giving you this video to creep you out for the rest of your day. Yes, yes. I know. You can thank me when you see me. And, I just know you will. Thank me, that is. Ssssssssssseeeeeeeeeee here:

"And, Thank You For R07 Engines . . . "

Booggity, booggity, booggity.

Another Hare-Brained Idea!

"The Hampton."

Or, as it is now known, "The Mr. Miller."

Whatever name you use when ordering this sandwich, the fixings are the same: Turkey, avocado, Swiss cheese, mayo, and a mess of other good stuff. The duality of the name is due to yet another one of my hare-brained ideas that I concocted as I was trying with all of my might to come up with an outstanding gift for an outstanding man.

And, now, the backstory (and, of course, there is always a backstory with me): As is the yearly tradition in our church congregation, the graduating high school seniors were to be recognized at a special event, and as part of that event, each senior was asked to identify a teacher, mentor, coach, or friend who had greatly influenced his or her life in a significant way. Christian chose to honor his band director from American Fork High School, Mr. Miller. (He was going to choose me, but that just screamed nepotismmmmmm, and that's just going too far into that Aaron Spelling/Tori Spelling territory. I mean, have you seen her acting on Beverly Hills 90210? Me thinks nepotism was raging in that particular casting choice.) But, anywho!

We wanted to show our appreciation to Mr. Miller for all that he has done for Christian (and Sean too, back in the day) by giving him some small gift. But what? Mr. Miller's office reigns supreme as a rip roarin', true-blue tchotchke catchall with hundreds and hundreds of little knick knacks collecting dust which Mr. Miller has accumulated over a long, storied career. Another little stuffed bear wearing the school colors was exactly what he did NOT need cluttering up the joint. Hmmm. What to give, I wonder? Ponder, ponder, think, think . . . .

That's when I struck gold with yet another hare-brained idea! (Now, we do the "Dawnce of Joy!" C'mon everybody, join in!) I knew that Mr. Miller was somewhat infatuated with the sandwiches at Gandolfo's New York Deli, it being reported that he lunches there at least three times a week. Say wha . . . ? Yes, apparently so. My little hare-brain said to me, "Hey! Let's get Mr. Miller a very generous gift card to Gandolfo's!" Then, my little hare-brain said to me, "Meh. That's so ordinary. We need something extraordinary." And, that's when my little hare-brain started sending smoke signals out of my ears with the brilliant idea that we force suggest to Gandolfo's that they name Mr. Miller's favorite sandwich after him. Brilliant, yes?!

I marched my hare-brained self into the shop, talked a blue streak about what Mr. Miller means to our family, what he means to the community, had a nice tet-a-tet with the owner who knew exactly what Mr. Miller's favorite sandwich is (including his request for extra avacado), and voila'! "The Mr. Miller Sandwich" is not only on the menu board, but Gandolfo's is donating a portion of each sale of "The Mr. Miller Sandwich" toward the American Fork Marching Band's expenses when they go to the Rose Parade in 2012.

When, on the evening of the senior recognition program, Christian presented Mr. Miller with the news that his name would be uttered by lots and lots of perfect strangers as they ordered his favorite sandwich at Gandolfo's, Mr. Miller was all aflutter, if you want to know the truth. He also appreciated the Gandolfo's gift card, btw. (Yes. Yes, we did go down that tried and true road of giving a gift card besides doing the whole naming thing, but, believe me, Mr. Miller wasn't going to turn up his nose at that, you know.) You may now cue the heavenly choir: LAAAAAAAAA! Praise be that that particular worry is over. These things weigh heavily on my hare-brain, dontcha know.

I took the liberty of making even more of a nuisance of myself by contacting the press. Read all about it! Read all about it! (See article below.) (And, unless you have some seriously wicked eyes capable of magnification, you might want to view the article here.) You'll need to scan waaaaaaaaay down to the very end of the piece (please do) to get to the very best and most riveting part of the story . . . if you don't mind me sayin' so.

Nope. No nepotism here. Just one happy dude.

CAVESTOCK 2011

CAVESTOCK, BABY! What? You've never heard of it? It is something very akin to Woodstock but without Janis Joplin, The Who, or Jimi Hendrix. Also, without the love beads, the five hundred thousand people, and that one attendee who got run over by a tractor while sleeping in a nearby hayfield. So, yeah. Except for those few differences, Cavestock is pretty much like Woodstock. It's far out, man!

Check out Christian and his ad hoc band, The Narwhals (stellar name, no?), playing on that very famous Cavestock stage!

And here you thought, all this time, that Christian needed to be all tuxed up and wearing a little bow tie in order to bang on his drums. Isn't he adorable? Amen to that, Sly Stone and fam.

Need an Agent, Kid? Call Me!

Forget about J-Lo

"American Idol"

Forget about Cee Lo

"The Voice"

Forget about Li-Lo

"The Parent Trap," state pen, rehab X3

We've got K-Jo

"Kimball Jordan"

in! da! howse!, dawg!!!

Bieber Fever? How about,

BABE FLAV!

WAY TO GO, K-JO!

The Graduate

Well, he done got hisself some book learnin', he did!

I am so proud of Christian for all of the things that he has accomplished this year! Among all of the accolades, awards, recognitions, and distinctions that he has managed to rack up over the past three or four years, the accomplishments of which I am most proud are Christian's accomplishments of personal character. Never one to focus on himself, Christian manages to be a friend to everyone. And, I mean, EVERYONE. His unbelievable ability to always see the sunny side of things and the good side of people makes him a huge 6'1 1/2" people magnet. Add to that his uncompromising efforts to always be doing the right things with the right people in the right places, always trying to do and be his best in all aspects of his life, successfully maintaining his integrity at every turn--those are the things of which I am most proud.

And, that's my boy.

In case my woohooing doesn't clue you in, our graduate shows up at the 00:25 mark

Oh, so very typical . . .

Seems Like Old Times

Saturday.

A jazz quartet practicing in the afternoon.

At our house.

Half of the quartet being Sean and Christian.

An indie group.

One fifth of group being Christian.

Practicing same Saturday evening.

All evening.

For hours.

Til around midnight.

At our house.

Because we have the drummer.

For both bands.

And, both the drummer and his drums live here.

And, a band will usually follow the drummer.

And his drums.

Because drums are heavy.

And cumbersome.

And a pain to haul around.

At least compared to a piccolo.

So our house is the band house once again.

Day and night.

Guess who is in heaven?

Just one little glitch in my state of nirvana: Even with all of this drumming and strumming and singing and plucking and pedal sustaining (haha, Sean), the house seems awfully quiet and empty without a certain little red head and his Deedee-summoning bell . . . .

(Miss you, Little Red. See you on Wednesday!)

iVeintidós!

That right there is what you call

tall, dark and handsome.

Just FYI.

My, my, my. Isn't he a sight to behold!

I can hardly believe my good fortune in having the privilege--and make no mistake, it is SUCH a privilege--of being the mom to this spiritual giant who has a heart full of empathy for others and a soul devoted to his Savior. And, on top of all of that, he is funny, kind, handsome, hard working, cheerful, obedient, talented and a brainiac to boot! And also an Eagle Scout.

Do you see? Do you see now why I am scratching my noggin thinking, "Why me?" As in, "Holy moley! Why oh why did the Lord above think He could entrust little ol' me with such an extraordinary boy as Sean?" I've decided to just not ask any questions but just take the money, i.e., Seanie Boy, and run before someone gets wise to the fact that I don't deserve this absolutely incredible son of mine!

I love you with all of my heart and soul, Sean!

Thank you for being my precious boy.

HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY,

SEANIE BOY!

KEEPING UP WITH KIMBALL!

I am sitting on a gold mine, people! With Kimball in the house, there is never a moment of boredom or ennui. (Ooooh. Ahhhhh. Did you just catch that word? Ennui? That's what being obsessed with crossword puzzles will do for a non-intellectual like me. Those crossword puzzles often teach me a thing or two or three, and not necessarily just new words. Usually they serve to highlight what a dip I am.)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . .

I've decided that since I have hilarious and always cute-as-can-be entertainment right at my fingertips, I'll be documenting this summer's hoohah by posting a picture of Kimball on the sidebar of my blog every day that he's here. Yeehaw,

"KEEPING UP WITH KIMBALL!"

is goin' high tech, ya'll!

Swing on by and check my blog every day for the latest and greatest of that little ray of sunshine dude! He's such a sport to go along with, yes, another one of my hare-brained schemes, isn't he? (He's down with all of it now that he has checked with his legal counsel and received confirmation that none of said pictures may be used in a court of law to implicate him in any nefarious doings. If that situation does happen to arise, he is prepared to point his toddler finger at me and say, "It's all HER fault.")

All the Kimballs in the House Say, "What?!!!"

LOOKY WHO'S HERE

FOR THE SUMMER!!!

Helping Deedee (that's me in Kimballese)

make a mess cookies!

Kimball sharing a mouthful of

tasty ham fried rice while he . . .

. . . wears Uncle Christian's helmet and his daddy's glasses, which helmet and glasses (if Kimball could have his way) would never be removed from his head except surgically.

And, all of this puts a song in my heart, a smile on my face, and a spring in my *step!!!

*FULL DISCLOSURE: That spring in my step is merely figuratively speaking. Truth be told, I have a big, ol' hunkin' case of tendonitis in that spring in my step right now, and it's making my git-along more of a very tortoise-y shuffle-along. Anybody wanna donate one of those walkers with the tennis ball feet? Boo.

If for some weirdo reason you see an exclamation point instead of an absolutely adorable video a few inches up from here, try refreshing your page--hopefully you will then be able to see the absolutely adorable video too.

Don't want you missing out on an absolutely adorable video.

It is adorable.

Absolutely.

It's the Little Things

When I first saw this video, I immediately thought of two people in my life who completely epitomize the message portrayed in this little clip. Thus, I'm posting this video in honor of my mother-in-law and my father-in-law who have, throughout the course of eight decades of their lives on this earth, managed to master this:

If this video is taking too long to load, go here where it may cooperate a little better for you :)

And, the Tiara Goes To . . .

DING, DING, DING!

WE HAVE A WINNER!!!

The winner of the official "Caption Contest on Deon's Whacked Out Blog," is . . .

Winning caption submitted by Beth

Kimball and his buddy,

Puxsutawney Seal, predict a quick end to winter!

Congratulations to Beth for her brilliance and wit which was put on full display by her award-winning caption! Beth will not only receive the grand prize of a $10 gift card to Texas Roadhouse, but she will now reign as the Caption Queen of my blog until my next contest when one of you can unceremoniously knock her off her pedestal. I don't think I need to tell you that there will be another contest. Gear up. (Forewarned is forearmed.)

My heartiest congratulations also go to Liz and Kathleen who are the master-minds behind the very clever second and third place captions! You two made a great run for the roses with your awesome submissions and shall each receive this very tasty consolation prize.

Submitted by Liz

"Hey, Red, this must be the SOUTH pole!"

Submitted by Kathleen

"I don't think I'm in San Diego anymore."

Lastly, my sincere and heart-felt thanks to you all for joining in my madness by either submitting your hilarious captions and/or voting like good little girls and boys. My accountants tell me that there were no underhanded dealings or kick-backs in play here; we run a clean dog and pony show over here at Deon's Whacked Out Blog. It's been a pleasure doing business with ya! Come back soon now!