1.  Sleeping past 5:30 a.m. is just a waste of life.  I don’t see how anyone does it. (more…)

Come read about my son’s nightmares after seeing this move.  Really, come on, it’ll be fun! Free popcorn to the first 50 readers! (Ok, not really, but I thought I’d throw that bit in to be cute, you know, to make it fit with the whole movie theme and everything.)

(Ok seriously, just go read the post already.)

It’s true.  The real Jeremy Bentham is interred in London, in some freaky box, at the Univeristy College London, and is on display for the public.  DH insisted that we see it on a trip we took 5 years ago.  Yes, in the land of museums, theater, and really bad breakfast food, we travelled halfway across the city to see some really dead and crusty philosopher of utilitarianism.  What can I say, that’s what you get for marrying a law geek.

So besides the fact that the real Jeremy Bentham was a contemporary of the real John Locke, what the heck does it have to do with the island? (more…)

So, I went to the eye doctor again this week for like the 254,689th time in my life.  He had a new pair of contacts for me, a new glasses prescription, and a nifty new gadget he wanted to play with that takes pictures of my retina without having to dilate my eyes.  I popped my contacts in, saw neat pictures of my optic nerve (yeah, have YOU seen YOUR optic nerve?  Mine’s prettier), and stopped in at the optical shop to look for some glasses that wouldn’t make me look, well, lame.

I sighed as a looked at the rows and rows of “contemporary” glasses, “stylish” glasses, “youth”, “women’s” and “brand name” glasses. (Seriously, can anybody name a brand name of glasses of the top of their head?)  I have distinct memories of doing this as a kid, except instead of choosing square framed specs that make me look like an East Coast intellectual, I was choosing bubblegum pink frames with coke-bottle lenses that gave my face a stretched, distorted quality.  It was a look, a LOOK, I tell you, and a darned fetching one.  Yup, you better believe that I was a SMOKIN’ twelve year old. (more…)

First of all, that quickfire was ODD and I never knew butchery skills were required for a Top Chef.  Second of all, I love red meat in all its forms, and I was craving steak the whole episode.  Third of all, Spike may have found his calling as a butcher. (more…)

It’s no big secret that I’m not a big fan of Walmart. I avoid it to the best of my ability. When I’m not disgusted with it’s corporate practices I’m hyperventilating at the thought of entering the eternally echoing aisles of crap piled so high I feel like I’m going to die in a mess of Christmas albums with the word Redneck in the title. The enochlophobic claustrophobe in me can’t deal with the place and somehow blaming the corporation itself for all of the world’s ills makes me feel better. Everyone needs a scape goat, right? Now that we’re straight on that, I can tell my tale. (more…)

This weekend, I tried to cut Jeffrey’s hair. A trip to the barber is out of the (ha!) budget right now, so I dug out the clippers, and convinced him to let me attack his giant red haystack.

What’s that about the best of intentions? (more…)

Alternate title: WOULD YOU MOVE HERE ALREADY SO YOU CAN HELP ME PICK OUT JEANS?

So, hypothetically: When buying jeans, let’s say you find a wash you really like, a brand you really like, a style you really like, and the price is right.  Then you hit the dressing room. (more…)

“Mom, you know what?”

“What?”

“I can do all the farts.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I can do all the farts.  I can do arm farts, leg pit farts, real farts (pointing to his arm, ‘leg pit’ and buttocks), elbow farts (putting his lips to the inside of his elbow to deomnstrate) and hand farts.  Wanna see?” (putting the heels of his hands up to his mouth to give me another demonstration.)

“No, thanks.  I don’t need to see that.”

“Too bad, because I’m REALLY good at that one, better than my friend at school.  Yup, I’m a really good farter.

HIs father and I are so proud.

UPDATE:  After giving me a hug this morning, J patted my tummy and said, “Wow mom, you’re still REALLY big from when you had the baby,” and proceeded to poke at my belly button, fascinated.

Happy Memorial Day, everybody.  Say a prayer tonight for our soliders.

So what happens when you and DH fight?  Come over to Segullah and tell me.

1. Waking my kids up on the first day of vacation to take them visting teaching at eight thirty in the morning to the Relief Society President’s house is my NEW FAVORITE THING. (It was fine, though, really.)

2. I believe that a shower isn’t really a successful shower unless your skin is bright red when you get out.

3. Someday they will discover that Dr. Pepper is very very good for you, and then I will outlive you all. (more…)

I’m delighted, nay, GIDDY, to announce the newest addition to our side bar, a blog by the totally phenomenal, wickedly awesome, and spectacularly talented Emily Watts.  If you have never heard of her, wow you are totally missing out, because she is one of the best writers out there.  Seriously.  She’s also pretty sweet and funny and has great kids.  I know this, because I have the privilege to call her family. And I’m not just using that word “family” to be all funky and new age.  She and I are actually related.  Seriously.   I’d tell you how, but then I’d have to kill you.

So check her out here, and happy reading. I’d spend more time on her blog if I could, but it’s midnight and my complicated eyeballs are about to fall out.

This is a guest post from Melissa. 

I have a problem with prayer. Yes, our personal, communication with Heavenly Father. Lucy, the character from the Peanuts gang, often had an advice stand that read, “Dr is IN or OUT.” When I petition God, I feel like I’m kneeling at the foot of a very large stand that reads, “God is OUT – at least for you.” (more…)

I can’t help but think that this would have been a veeerrryyy different episode had the quickfire gone a different way. (more…)

When cooking chicken in a crock pot, your odds of success will be greatly increased if the crock pot is plugged in.  I’m just sayin…..

And now for the contest, entitled:  Operation Optimism, or Sell Wiz’s House, Already!  (more…)

I’m complicated.

At least that what’s the optomitrist said when he evaluated my eyes after I told him that my right contact totally sucks and I’m sick of seeing shadows and halos around everything, especially at night.

He said that between my congenital cataracts that are getting worse in both eyes, my bilateral astigmatism that is uncommon, my extreme myopia, all compounded with the hormones from pregnancy and nursing that change the shape of my eyes, correcting my vision isn’t exactly a walk in the park.  When we finally came to the part about me having PKD, he said, “Wait.  You have KIDNEY DISEASE too?  Wow.  You’re complicated.”

I think he’s just not trying hard enough.  Slacker. (more…)

That last post is getting pretty vile.  It’s making me gag a little, in fact, so I must post something in order to make it go away.

Ok, so guess what I picked up when I got my son from preschool yesterday?  (I despise guessing games.  I mean, how would you know, really?)  It was a CAP AND GOWN. (more…)

Just a thought. 

And if I DO let her play with the toilet, perhaps it would be better to make sure that my 6 year old has flushed first before she sticks both hands in it and gleefully splashes it all over herself. (more…)

‘Tis the season.  The smell of sunscreen permeates everything around us.  The flip-flops are being evaluated to see if they can make it one more year.  The ceiling fans begin their workouts.  And I begin to carry a sweater everywhere I go. (more…)