Next thing we know, they'll build an espresso bar.

Our next door neighbors are building a deck. It is awesome. Neither Carter nor Ty could build anything like this.

And, just as an observation, why is it that carpenters and handymen on HGTV have fraternity, preppy-like names but the men who come to my house to repair my washer and dryer are named "Stan" or "Jeb?"

So, anyway.

Our neighbors are constructing what could be the deck of all decks next to the pond and I suggested to them yesterday that they should seriously consider renting it out as a wedding reception location. All they need are some of those lights that you drape around the top and voila! It's time for the Chicken Dance.

M (the husband) works on the deck on the weekends and during the week when he comes home from work. I keep telling them he needs one of those big Trading Spaces canopies. There is some professional construction going on.

Because he has been outside working nearly every day building their dance floor, he has observed a lot of wildlife behavior.

Namely, beavers.

And if you are tired of hearing my beaver stories, then I recommend that you just turn away or subscribe to another blog because it appears that we are not going to be rid of them and, that being the case, I am just going to keep on, keeping on writing about them.

Still here?

Okay.

M said he has seen the beavers swimming in the pond in the late afternoon and that they suddenly appear right next to our property line, near our shed. Yesterday, D (the wife) decided she just couldn't stand it any longer and she waded in the pond to look.

The pond with the snakes. Yes, M'am.

Not even I would do that.

So she waded in the pond and found a hole along our bank. My Hubs went out there to look, too (without wading.) Sure enough. The beavers are tunneling under our shed.

Y'all, I totally opened the shed to see if they had dug a hole and set up house in there. I know there is a floor made of plywood, but plywood is no challenge for these beavers. They are insane.

It's like The Great Escape in reverse and with no Germans or POW's.

We haven't the slightest idea what we are going to do about the tunnel. If we plug up the hole, they'll just make a new one. There is a reason for the saying, "busy as little beavers."

Only it should be, "Busy as Big Beavers Who Terrorize the Neighborhood."

Just the other day, D was out cleaning the beaver dam, just as she does every morning to keep the water level low. (After all, her hubs is wading out there to put in pilings for the deck.)

When she walked over to the clean the dam, she found a sandbag. Her sandbag. From her yard. The beavers have stepped up their dam building game; they're using supplies from Home Depot.

Our concern is what the beavers are going to do once the neighbor's deck is finished. If we see them out there doing the Chicken Dance, I'll be sure to let you know.

OK, so don't put me on Movie Themed Jeopardy.

I started not to post this, but sometimes I like to make fun of myself. I might as well or someone else will do it for me.

Let me set up the scene for you, first.


Hubs and I were sitting in the living room watching Seinfeld. He was on one couch, me on the other, laptop on and blogging while watching Seinfeld.

It was the episode where George thinks he bought Jon Voight's car- the actor, not the periodontist.

Hubs- "The ending scene of this one is weird."

Me- "I know. We've had this discussion before. It is a spoof of Midnight Cowboy with Jon Voight. I looked it up for you on the Internet the last time we talked about it."

Hubs- "Oh, yeah. I forgot..."

(continue watching Seinfeld)

Hubs- "Who is Liam Neeson?"

Me- "We talked about this last time, too. He was in Schindler's List. He was the good guy."

Hubs- "You mean, Schindler?"

Me- "Yeah, I guess. Wasn't there more than one good guy?"

Hubs- Laughing out loud. "Saying he was in Schindler's List and that he was the good guy is like saying he was in Batman and was the guy wearing black."

Sound of me laughing at self.

So, maybe we don't know much about the movies. But we do know our Seinfeld.


Go ahead. Sympathize for our kid. She needs it.

Mother's Day Reality Check

Everywhere I look I see an advertisement, a poster or a commercial for Mother's Day.

And they are all totally REAL LIFE.

Apparently, I have been missing out...

Commercial- Young, thin mom with freshly highlighted hair, fashionable clothes, holding sun-kissed blonde child while smelling a daisy and hoping for nothing in the world because, obviously every dream has already come true.

My Reality- Middle-aged, pudgy mom with roots the length of sleepless nights, faded yoga pants, holding screaming baby in Wal-mart. while doing the "Sniff Check" and hoping there's a spare Pampers in the diaper bag.

Commercial- Mom waking up in the morning, sun streaming through the windows, fresh white linens on the bed, completely rested and pleasantly surprised at a tray with pancakes, coffee and, yet again, a daisy.

My Reality- Waking up in the morning with bags under my eyes to a kid who is prodding me to get up and make her some pancakes and then do crafts before the sun comes up.

Commercial- Mother cooking dinner, stirring something and tasting it on a wooden spoon while husband sneaks up from behind and hands her a small box with diamonds inside.

My Reality- Heating up chicken nuggets in the toaster oven and watching to make sure they don't burn, wishing I had made it to Publix today so my kid would not be eating processed meat while husband slips in the house from work and goes upstairs to get on the computer.

Commercial- Mothers who look and act perfect in a life that appears perfect with perfect children, perfect husband, and even a perfect cat that doesn't shed.

My Reality- A not-so-perfect mother who has a not-so-perfect life, a daughter who brings her dandelions from the yard, a husband who expresses his gratitude in his own ways, and a cat... we're still working on that.

And I wouldn't trade it for any card or diamond necklace in the world.

On second thought, how big is the diamond?

Time to tighten the grip

So, Miley is embarrassed about a photo shoot today.

I don't blame her. I've seen a preview; I'd be embarrassed, too.

Honestly, I feel really bad for Miley.

She's only 15 years old. The world is going to hate the possibility of her turning out to be Okay. "Okay" doesn't make headlines. "Okay" doesn't sell photos of stars leaving rehab or getting arrested.

The world doesn't want her to be "Okay" and they are going to do everything they can to ruin her.

But, her family? Her family is there to protect her.

I hope.

Here's something to think about-

When you were 15 years old, if the most famous photographer in the country wanted to give you the full beauty treatment- make-up, hair, designer clothes- and take your picture for one of the most famous magazines in the world, wouldn't you jump at the chance? Wouldn't it make you feel special, wonderful, like a princess?

Now, what would your mom and dad say?

Tip for the Day

When you are at a friend's house and she talks you into jumping on the kids' trampoline with the kids and you have to be hoisted up like an old lady in order to get on the thing because you are short and old and your friend is really tall, and then your friend actually starts jumping and you decide to be hip and cool so your daughter won't think you are a nerd and you start jumping too, and then all of you start to laugh really hard, be sure you go to the potty first.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

;>)

Free Sample Day

Warning: The post you are about to read may contain terms not suitable for people with a full bladder.

Today I went to the doctor with a friend. Going to the doctor is never fun and waiting for the doctor is even worse. Seinfeld once said something like this- The smaller the room is, the closer you know you are to seeing the doctor. First, you start in the large waiting room, then a smaller holding room, then the last, tiny room where you have to sit on that very thin sheet of paper that is supposed to protect you from HEAVEN ONLY KNOWS what is growing on that vinyl exam table.

Those weren't exactly his words because, you know, his were much better because he is, you know, funny.

But, you get the picture.

So we were sitting there in the doctor's office waiting for my friend's name to be called. This was no ordinary doctor, this was a urologist.

Think about the people who go to a urologist most of the time. People with bladder problems, people with enlarged organs of a specific type (not going there.)

OLD PEOPLE.

And let me just say now before I ramble on that this particular urologist's office has a huge fish tank with a filter that makes a trickling sound so that people with bladder issues can sit there in old, uncomfortable polyester-cushioned seats and stare at a gigantic container of water and listen to the trickling.

Is this some kind of strange urologist joke?

My friend was finally called back and as I waited, I decided to read my copy of Gone With The Wind. Yes, a Southern blogger reading Gone With The Wind. How's that for cliche'?

I was the only one in the room, with Megyn Kelly from Fox News talking in the background, when an older man walked in. He was wearing shorts and his socks were pulled up high. After he checked in at the desk, he took a seat.

Right next to me.

There were at least 10 other perfectly good seats in the room.

My husband says "old people like to talk to you." He is right. No matter where I am, the retirees love me. Whenever I am at the grocery store, they ask me how to find an item. I am usually very nice because I wonder how my grandmother would have felt if she needed help. Plus, one day I know I'll be old and I hope some sappy woman will help me find my prunes.

Old people never talk to my husband. He must give off a strange, non-mothball aura. The truth is that he has a scary look on his face which says, "Don't talk to me. Ask my wife or I'll snatch that free sample right out of your hands."

So, today Mr. Knee Socks sat next to me and immediately started talking...

"Who are you going to vote for- Hillary or Obama?"

(Um, wha??")

"Oh, you have to vote for Hillary. You're a woman."

"I am voting for McCain."

(gasp and scowl of disappointment)

It is usually at this point that I would change the subject. I was taught not to bring up politics or religion with a stranger. It is just considered rude, but because this man is obviously not an elderly gentleman, I decide to go with it...

"I don't vote for anyone based on whether they are a woman or a man. I don't care what they are. I vote for the best person. Besides, I'm Republican. I don't agree with the Democratic Party at this time."

"Well, he probably is the one who is best prepared..."

I then attempt to bury my head deeper into the story of Scarlett and the Wilkes' barbecue, hoping that this man will take a hint. Or at least he would just leave me alone because I'm a Republican and a woman with a brain and I can tell he doesn't like either of those.

But, no...

"Look at these glasses. How much do you think I paid for these glasses?"

"I have no idea."

(bury head in book)

"Take a guess."

"I said I don't know."

"Guess!"

"Several hundred dollars."

"No."

"I don't know. Five hundred."

"Not that much! Three hundred and they are worthless. Look at that! Now, I have to get them fixed... What time do you think the pharmacy opens at Wal-mart?"

"It's open right now and the line is really, really long so you'd better go so you don't have to wait."

Okay, I didn't exactly say that, but I soooo wanted to.

He got up from his seat and I just knew I was about to be freed from this torture. I looked at the poor fish in the trickling fish tank with complete empathy. Then the man walked over to the receptionist's desk and asked a question.

"How can I get some free samples?"

Oh, yes he did.

Guest Contributing...

I'm over at The Cafe today.

Be sure to stop by for a visit!

Bite Back

There's a serious buzz going on in the blogosphere today. One that can help save lives.




Malaria is an overwhelming problem in other countries; it kills children every year. This is preventable with mosquito nets, but these kids don't have mosquito nets.

That's what the buzz is all about. You can help purchase a $10 mosquito net for a child in Africa through the Bite Back Campaign. (That's about 5 Grande Mochas or 4 Happy Meals.)

The great thing is that it is handled by Compassion, and you know that's a good thing. You can donate any amount or promote Bite Back on your blog.

For more about Bite Back and what Compassion is doing in Africa, see Sophie and Shannon.

We can soooo do this!

Works For Me Wednesday: Salsa

No time to make homemade salsa?

Grab a jar of your favorite salsa or picante, add some freshly chopped cilantro and a little fresh lime juice. You won't believe how great it tastes!

For more restaurant flavor, warm your tortilla chips on a cookie sheet in a 300 oven for about 5 minutes or until hot (just keep an eye on them so they don't burn.)

For more tips this week, see Shannon.

Update for Baby PJ

Praise God that Baby PJ was born yesterday!

He is very small and in the NICU, but is doing well. Mom is recovering, too. Please continue to pray for him. He will have to remain in the NICU for several months.

Thank you!

Entertaining angels, fully aware.

Friday night we got a phone call from our friend David. He was close by and called to ask if he could come for the weekend.

Of course, we said,"Yes!"

Then I explained to him that the only condition was that he was not allowed to bring my child any ants, frogs, sea monkeys or larvae of any kind unless he wanted to sleep outside by the pond with the beavers.

Oh, I'm kidding. The beavers would never let anyone share their pond.

Seriously, I didn't mention the conditions because he would just laugh and ignore them anyway.

So he arrived on Saturday following a long drive on the Interstate. At one point, he called us for directions. When he explained where he was, I warned him to slow down because of all the speed traps. It was at that point that he laughed and reminded me that he is a federal agent.

And it was at that point that I was reminded that he could pretty much bring any kind of larvae into my house that he wished.

(I kid again. He is a federal agent who upholds and obeys the law... ahem...)

He also just returned from Iraq on a reserve tour of duty and let me just say right here how very proud we are of him. (By the way, he wasn't called up; he volunteered.)

The other great thing about this friend of Hubs is that, besides the fact that he is one of the best friends Hubs has ever had and is like a brother to me, and that we know we could call him at any time of the night or day and he would come running or speeding down the Interstate, bringing our daughter ants, sea monkeys, or larvae of his choosing, no matter where he is on the planet- abroad as a Marine or here as an agent, he is protecting my little family in some form or another, and for that I am eternally grateful.

I'm pretty sure that the sentence above breaks more grammatical errors than allowed and possibly violated some kind of federal law. Good thing we know someone in the FBI.

Seriously, Dave, in case you are reading my blog or observing it as part of some super, secret surveillance, I 'd like to take this bloggy moment to eloquently say, "You Rock."

And please don't send us any more packages labeled "Department of Agriculture."

Pray for Baby PJ

Dear Internets, please join with me and spread the word...

My dear friend has asked that we pray for her sister-in-law, Beth. Beth is having complications with her pregnancy and her Baby PJ may be born this week. Beth is only at 29 weeks.

Will you please spread the word, but most of all, Please Pray?

Thank you,

Because this is my Father's world.

For you people who did not attend or do not plan to attend some kind of Earth Day or Arbor Day or Earth Day/Arbor Day Combo (do not have children in elementary school), um... can I come live with you?

Daughter's class had a field trip to A Combo today and I agreed to go along. You see, my field trip attendance streak is something akin to Seinfeld's vomit streak and I do not want to mess it up. I have not missed a single field trip since she was the tender age of three thankyouverymuch.

I've been to aquariums, museums, the pumpkin patch, the rodeo, McDonald's, the theatre, and many, many playgrounds with lots of sand.

Oh, and the rodeo and McDonald's was a combo of its own; the McDonald's visit included a drug bust.

Try being a chaperon on that trip and explaining to the moms who were at work or at the spa or wherever they were why we had to literally form a human wall between barefoot children playing in the human gerbil play equipment and guys from the hood being patted down by the Police.

And yelling, "LEAVE your Keds in the shoe cubbies, kids! Someone might start shooting!"

Or why you chose to sit in the booth because it provided more bullet protection.

Big Kindergarten Fun.

A field trip is like going through rush in a sorority that no one wants to pledge.

By now, I should be a Kappa Delta Mama Jama.

Here's the thing. I love spending time with my child, but I am also paranoid. I can always picture that some creepy person is out there. They are lurking in the shadows or behind the slide and I am going to be there to protect my child. Therefore, I must go to help the poor teacher who has obviously lost her mind.

Plus, you never know when you need to form a Human Wall.

So, today was no exception. I joined the class, along with several other parents, as we toured the Earth Day/Arbor Day Combo and learned how to care for the Earth.

You might be surprised, but I could be considered a crunchy conservative. I believe in God and I vote conservatively, but I still want to protect wildlife and take care of the planet because I believe in the God Who created it.

I'm just sayin.'

The exhibits today were excellent. I learned a lot. Daughter learned a lot. It was a lot of fun and no one was arrested. At least, not to my knowledge.

After all of the instruction on saving the birds from balloons and how to measure the diameter of a tree, I made sure daughter was lined up for the bus and I left to get ready for Girl Scouts.

We had our own little Combo event to take care of; we planted flowers at school.

The girls were so sweet and it was all going well until our little smart third grader found a baby bird, fallen from the nest. Everyone rushed to comfort him and we watched as he opened his tiny bird mouth, gasping for air.

We wrapped him in a pillowcase to keep him warm, thanks to the quick response of our other troop leader. She also phoned a local wildlife rescue agent who was ready to take the baby. His nest was on the edge of the roof, too high for us to return him.

So, we watched. His breaths became more labored and the girls peered over him. The grown-ups there just glanced at each other, knowing what was about to happen. And then it did. The little bird stopped breathing completely.

The girls had been playing and planting their seedlings. I didn't want to upset them right then and there, so I ushered them over to another activity and promised to watch over the bird.

I quietly took him to the car, still wrapped, planning to bury him when we got home.

I did finally tell the Scouts what happened. Most of them handled it very well. I assured them that they did help the little bird. They were with him when he died.

We came home and daughter watched as I dug a deep hole in the back yard. Her two friends next door joined us, and we buried the tiny baby bird. One by one they gingerly placed small stones in the fresh dirt and we stood over the spot in respect for a tiny, precious life.

It was surreal. Watching the end of a life given by The Creator after spending the day celebrating His Creation.

A day of celebrating His Creation with booths run by people wearing flip flops and hoping that they know The One who created the planet they are desperately trying to save.

And that through His Creation they will see that they are the ones He is so desperately trying and wanting to save.

Yeah, I'd say it was A Combo kind of day.

Spam?

Has anyone received Spam email from a thisaintnewyork email address?

It was reported that I sent out Spam to someone.

Please be assured that I never send out Spam. When I do email someone, it is only with pertinent information or in response to a comment.

If any of you have received Spam from someone using a thisaintnewyork address, please leave me a comment.

In the meantime, my email support is trying to figure this out.

Thanks!

One could call it a light bulb moment.

Driving back home this morning, after dropping off daughter from school, I was in the right lane.

There was a car in front of me and a police car in the left lane, driving slowly. ready with radar to make a U-turn and go after someone in the oncoming traffic.

The car ahead of me kept slowing down, waiting for the policeman to speed up or change lanes. It was like a very slow and lawful game of chicken.

I was thinking about the car ahead of me,"Just pass the cop. You are still going the speed limit. It is OK to pass a cop as long as it is at the appropriate speed. Come on, people."

Then I realized the following:

I am brave enough to pass the cop but not to go the the gym.

What's wrong with this picture? Other than my flabby arms?

Observations and Amusements

1. No matter who you vote for this November or how you feel about last night's debate, you have to admit that is is exciting to see a woman and an African-American man on stage in this great nation of ours debating and discussing politics because they are running for President.

For President!

America, I Love You.

2. If Starbucks is on the Go Green/Save the Trees bandwagon, why do they have three layers of paper on a coffee? (cup, label, thermal sleeve)

OK. I get it. They are probably recycled, but STILL.

3. When changing your template, consult an expert first. They will save you a lot of pain and palpitations.

4. My old email is doing weird things, so if you need to email me, check the new one listed in my profile. (Not an observation or amusement, just an FYI)

5. The grass is long. The weeds are outta control. Need to mow. Today. And get off the computer.

6. My husband will appreciate the surprise.

7. Check all of the pockets on your kid's lunchbox. Sometimes they stuff paper and tiny food scraps in little places where fuzzy things will grow.

8. I can feel summer around the corner and I can't wait!

9. Shannon is having a giveaway contest.

The winner will get a cool THOUSAND BUCKS.

Go see Shannon today before the contest ends!

Um, why are you still here?

Flaky

I'm feeling a little nostalgic this week. Can you tell? Really, I think I should write a Hallmark commercial for one of those sappy, family Hallmark Special Presentations.

PSA- Your eyes are not playing tricks on you. I'm playing around with my template, so do not be alarmed. You didn't OD on the cold meds...

Daughter and I had a special afternoon. We had an appointment after school and then I promised to take her to Carraba's. Carraba's is her favorite restaurant. It is a pretty good drive from our house, so we have to plan ahead to eat there. She has asked to go for a while now and, every time we mention eating out, we really don't have the time to make the drive and back and still go to bed at a decent hour.

But, today was different.

After the appointment, we headed to the restaurant for an early dinner. A very early dinner.

She already knew what she wanted- chicken tenders and buttered pasta. Yum.

As we waited, our server brought us some bread. As soon as I opened the napkin to get a piece for each of us, I saw the heel and thought about my husband.

My husband eats the heel. He isn't a heel.

Anyway.

He was at work and couldn't eat with us, so the heel just sat there in the bread bowl all rejected.

Ever since I've know him, hubs has eaten the heel. He knows I don't like it. If there are two pieces of bread left and one is the heel, he will give me the "good" piece and eat the heel. He likes the heel, but he would eat it even if he didn't.

Can I just say that I love that I have a man that will eat the heel? That is oddly romantic to me.

So I missed him there in Carraba's with a lonely heel and a lonely me.

(sigh)

However, the cheesecake was very good. And cheesecake doesn't have a heel or a real crust, so everyone is always happy.

Umm, that is all.

Mornings

It is unusually cold this morning, a crisp coolness under a sunny sky.

We were plodding methodically through our morning routine.

Coax daughter to wake up.

Call upstairs again. And again. And again.

Toast the bread, make lunch, pack a snack, check the backpack.

Listen to daughter's footsteps up the stairs, the sound of a spin toothbrush, the slide of the dresser drawers, searching for socks.

We were off.

On the way, we chatted about the cool weather "in April?" We listened as our favorite Christian radio hosts joked with each other and played inspiring music.

I drove the usual route to school, red lights, school buses, traffic.

Five minutes until the bell.

I pulled up to the building and parked instead of going through car line. We both got out, gathered her things, and I wished her a "Wonderful day."

She ran off, and as her hair bounced over the top of her pink backpack, I thought to myself, "Oh. I forgot to kiss her good-bye."

Then she paused, turned around, looked back at me and blew me a kiss.

I blew one back and smiled.

Good. Morning.

Big Mama's Party

Well, I'm a day late and a flip flop short. Big Mama hosted her Fashion Fiesta yesterday. I was a little busy, but I'm finally getting around to telling y'all how boring my closet is.

We are supposed to post pictures but if we wait for me to do that, the Spring Fiesta just might become a Fall Fiesta, so you can use your imagination...

My wardrobe (if you want to call it that) consists of many, many V-neck t-shirts from Target. I think I have every color except for brown. Hubs hates brown and it pretty much makes me look like I am about to pewk when I wear it up against my face.

I also am a big fan of capri pants. I like to have several in khaki or black. (very exciting!!)

My favorite item right now is a cute denim skirt that falls just below the knee. It can be dressed up with a denim jacket or down with, you guessed it, a v-neck t-shirt.

I have two pairs of gaucho pants in a stretchy fabric that are very, very comfy. The fabric is a little dressy, so I wear them teaching Sunday School a lot. I wear them WAY TOO MUCH. One pair is brown and I have a secret feeling that my husband may just want to burn them.

Flip flops are what I wear the most. I also love any other slide, mule type shoe.

Seeing a pattern? Comfort.

As for accessories, I wear simple silver earrings most of the time, sometimes a necklace or bracelet.

Visit Big Mama for other posts which are much more inspiring! In the meantime, I'll be here in my Hanes t-shirt with stains on it, yoga pants, and my No Nonsense socks (one has a hole in it.)

Our Daughters

I've been reading a new blog, Stuff Christians Like. If you haven't read it, you should check it out. Good stuff. Jon, the author, humorously writes about the quirks of being a Christian.

I wrote Jon the other day and said, "You know what? Christians like Hannah Montana.

Before I go on, let me say that I have never met Miley Cyrus and I am sure she is a lovely girl...

At age fifteen, she's been labeled the new "good role model" for girls. (That's a huge weight to carry on a young teen's shoulders.)

But this isn't really about Miley. It's about a trend in entertainment for children, young girls specifically.

Take a close look at the television shows for kids today. The only shows targeting young kids feature young boys, not girls, in the starring roles. Even then, the young boys are portrayed as "heartthrobs."

Excluding animation, the most highly marketed movies for young kids, especially young girls, feature teen characters. Granted, the movies are considered "clean," but the characters are teenagers. We see clothing, linens, accessories, toys and more featuring these teenaged characters.

Teenagers.

Why are teenagers the entertainment focus for elementary age kids? Why can't eight-year-old girls watch shows and movies about eight-year-old girls?

From that moment in the doctor's office when we discover we're expecting a girl, all we want to do is watch over her. After we get home with the sonogram, we read baby books, parenting magazines, and count the days until our little girl enters the world.

We fret over shots and ear infections. We worry about germs on the grocery cart.

We dress our baby girls in softly washed, cotton onesies from Baby Gap, teach them Spanish with Dora, and have tea with Cinderella.

All we want to do is protect her.

We make her wear a helmet when she rides her bike, buckle her up securely when she climbs in the van. We hold tightly to her tiny hand when she crosses the street; she looks up to us in wonder and security in the middle of a very frightening world.

Then one day, she changes. She's different, somehow.

We wonder, "When did she let go?"

The truth is that she never did.

Moms, we're letting the innocent, little fingers of our baby girls slip through our hands. In a world that is spinning out of control, we've got to hold them tight or they could be swept away.

So, what happens?

Sometimes outside influences permeate their impressionable Veggie Tales world. Sometimes they end up in the wrong crowd. But, what I am seeing from behind this laptop is a rapid progression of maturity from three-year-olds to thirteen-year-olds.

We need to let our little girls be little girls. Let them wear their princess pj's a little longer. Let them get their knees dirty. Let them dress up just to dress up. Let them have a boy friend and not label it "boyfriend." Let them be Little.

There are little girls acting like pop stars, pop stars acting like little girls, and young teens cutting, starving, hurting themselves and each other. There are six-year-old girls playing with dolls that look like street walkers and street walkers gaining fame from governors.

Young girls all over this country are cruising down a path of destruction and their mothers are driving them there in their minivans.

Moms, we've got to slow down.

Turn off the cell phone. Pull over the minivan. Turn around and take a look at the girl in the backseat. Is she growing up too fast?

To Miley Cyrus, I wish her the best success. I do. I hope she turns out differently, better than other teen idols who once danced in the same spotlight. And I pray that her own mom will hold her hand along the way. Tightly.

As for my own daughter having a role model, she already has one.

Me.

Oh, ye children of the rocks, the Mac and Cheese is ready!

Have you seen this today?

Now they say Stonehenge was built as an ancient healing site. I'm thinking they weren't suffering from back pain.

Badabing!

Seriously, I think some ancient kids in an ancient backyard just got bored on an ancient summer day, started stacking up some rocks to build a fort and then their mom called them for dinner.

;>)

Mr. Dyson, please invent something for this.

I usually do not use ugly language on this blog but today is a different day.

Mucous.

There, I said it.

It is amazing what a sinus cavity can hold. It is also very, very gross. I think those little creepy cartoon characters on the cold medicine commercial are having a party in my head right this minute.

Like it is 1999.

I promise to post a real post tomorrow that does not involve creepy cartoon characters.

And, seriously, Mr. Dyson, you are obviously a genius. Surely you can create something that would give me some relief. When you do, I'll take one in pink.

Go give Kelli a good blog hug...

Hey, Internet friends!

Let's give Kelli some words of encouragement and remind her that we are thinking about her and praying for her always.

Thanks!

So, what about a lady in flip flops?

A recent study found that people who buy a lot of sneakers (or tennis shoes, as I call them) are also good leaders.

First, I have no idea how they came up with this study. Plus, I really have no idea why we would even care. My psych professors would scoff at this. There is no cause and effect, only a correlation. One in which none of us are really interested.

When I read it, I thought,"Hmmm... my tennis shoes are about five years old."

That will boost your confidence.

I guess that makes me a follower or just a leader who takes really good care of her shoes.

My next thought was that people who are leaders are also people who tend to exercise and stay in shape. Let's face it, if you are wearing out your tennis shoes, you are probably very, very motivated, running marathons and the like.

Me? Marathon?

Unless it involves a sprint to the mailbox in the rain, then...nahhh... notsomuch.

I have, however watched the Christmas Story marathons every Christmas. But that would only wear out the couch cushions. And maybe my slippers.

This post has no point except that I am not going to make points anymore.

It is storming something awful. In fact, if I had learned anything from Mama, I would be in the hallway right now with my purse. But, since I am as hard-headed as they come, I am on the computer, connected to the Internet with the TV on and the washing machine going.

OH MY! The pathways of electrical current are wide open; I am just asking for a lightning strike.


Which leads me to my next point.

I have decided to stay away from politics on the blog. Satire included. Call it a hunch, but I get the feeling that some readers may not completely understand some of my attempts at jokes and some readers may not understand my views. (Agreeing with me is not a requirement to read or comment, by the way.)

The blog is merely a glimpse into my life and while we try to be honest on our blogs, our honesty is limited by our own need for privacy. Blogs do not allow us to have real time, open dialogue. I have dear friends and family who have total different political views from mine and I respect them completely. The Blog just isn't the best place for expressing these views.

So, if you are looking for a link that used to be here, I'm sorry. It has passed on to wherever posts go when you hit "delete."

However, you will read about my Die Hard Campaign for everyone to vote responsibly.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

Since I am rambling, I''ll just move on to the next subject with no segue or transition whatsoever because I am talented like that.

We just returned from our Brownie sleepover and it was a total blast. We're tired, but no one cried, no one had a head wound and no one even complained about our cooking. Now that is an accomplishment!

I think I'll take a nap now. Right after I unplug all of the appliances, get my purse and sit in the hallway. Hey, I may just take a nap right there in the hall. It's just as comfortable as that hard floor I slept on last night.

Wal-Mart has gone soft.

Daughter and I were running errands today, getting ready for a Big Brownie Sleepover, meaning a sleepover with lots of Brownie Girl Scouts, not a sleepover with really big brownies.

We are going to paint t-shirts, so I had to find a lot of shirts of the same color yellow and of several sizes, all at a low, low price. I went to AC Moore and found all but three of what I need.

We headed to Michael's where we found another shade of yellow which was really a gold and to most people that doesn't matter, but to a Brownie Girl Scout, it totally matters because "Hers is brighter than mine!" and "I wanted that color...why didn't I get that color?"

Add a little whine and disappointment and you've got DRAMA.

I could do without the drama, so I didn't buy the golden yellow t-shirts and decided to stop by Wal-Mart on the way home from church.

Let me tell y'all. I am the expert in Cheap T-shirt Making. It is for me what Impressionism was to Van Gogh, only I didn't cut off my ear.

I have helped design and iron on many a VBS logo. I have purchased nearly every color in the Hanes t-shirt rainbow and I know where you can buy scoop neck, and even the coveted v-neck. So when I got to Wal-Mart I had my game on.

First, I looked in the girls' department hoping that there may be a plain yellow shirt. All I found were tight t-shirts with glittery messages like "Glamour Girl" and "I can do things better than a stinky boy" or something like that. (I hate those "girls are better" messages, by the way.)

Then I headed for the boys' department. That's when I found them. Pastel pink t-shirts right next to the deep blues and reds that you would expect. At first, I thought they had been stocked in the wrong section, so I read the label closely.

Nope. They were in the right place.

It was a sad moment for me tonight, people. A sad moment indeed. Pink t-shirts mixed in with Incredible Hulk pajamas.

I've always thought of Wal-Mart as the strong type. The guy with muscles. Sure, he doesn't have very good manners, but you can count on him. Wally is the guy who is a little greasy and he wears his keys on his belt loop. Wally is the one who shows up at the fancy party without a tie, but he loves his Mama and he always stands when they play the National Anthem.

Target, on the other hand, is really attractive. He smells good. He's the guy that every girl swoons over. He drives a fancy sports car and he works on Wall Street. He'll even go shopping with you. But he's the type of guy who gets a manicure and he'll never help you move.

But, Wal-Mart. Oh, Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart will do the heavy lifting.

So you can see why I was a little tearful when I discovered that Wal-Mart is selling light pink, cottony shirts to boys who should be outside riding four wheelers and eating bugs. I'd expect this from Target, but not Wally.

It was a pivotal day in my life, y'all.

Really, I should have seen it coming. It all began when they stopped selling hubcaps.

I say, I say,"What's up Doc?"

It's Spring Break at our house and honestly, I don't know who is getting the break. I know it ain't me.

Yesterday we spent the day cleaning house, doing yard work and then at Target and Publix. See? No break here.

Now it is Day Two of the break and we are scrambling for stuff to do. Daughter is watching a Looney Tunes video because nothing is better for a child's health and well being than to stay inside on a fine day sitting on the couch watching Bugs trick some fool into somethingorother.

That Bugs. He kills me.

Actually, Bugs Bunny has always been my favorite Looney Tunes character with Foghorn Leghorn running a close second (mostly because I just love saying Foghorn Leghorn.) I was an adult before I realized Leghorn or as Mama says, "Legern," is a breed of chicken.

I am bright as the morning star.

Bugs Bunny is my favorite because he is a true smart aleck, but not to the point of getting on your nerves. Kind of like Starbucks is strong coffee but not to the point of giving you a heart attack. My all time favorite is The Barber Shop One (as it is correctly filed in the archives) when Bugs gives Elmer a makeover.

So, I want to know, people. Who is your favorite Looney Tunes character? And if you say that little annoying chicken hawk, I might have to send Bugs over to give you a makeover.