Once Upon A Miracle

the right thing

2012-05-23T19:47:00.001-07:00

So I’ll probably catch some flak for this from family – but I’m writing this because the story is so personal to me.

See sweet May-May at Itty Bit’s belated birthday party? (Yeah, at the same bounce house that led to a certain ADULT getting injured in a freak accident last year…. we’re either brave or stoopid).

See the bandage and splint on my little niece’s thumb?

The promise of coming to Itty Bit’s party was the only thing keeping her mind off her injury. So my sister packed up the girls and brought them, in spite of the poor girl’s owie.

My heart broke as I heard the story. My mind rewound 20-something years to a hospital waiting room.

To my dad walking in with my little sister laying against his right shoulder.

Her eyes half-closed with a bandage covering the right side of her face.

She was still in her bathing suit. Her favorite one.

She cried when they cut it off.

Ignore the kid on the left who apparently butchered her bangs. See that little fuzzhead on the right? A dog bit her in the face.

I had never seen my mom panic before that day. Until we got the phone call and raced to meet them at the hospital.

The bite was literally a fraction of an inch within taking her sight.

It was a dog we trusted. That belonged to someone we trusted.

Fast-forward to last weekend.

The dog owners? They did the right thing.

The dog was pulled away instantly and secured. May-May was treated immediately. They did everything they could to make her comfortable while blood streamed down both her arms.

They apologized.

They paid the medical copay.

They apologized some more.

They bought her clothes to replace the bloodstained dress.

They apologized again.

They offered to pay for every expense.

And they told my sister,

“If you need to report this, do it”.

That simple statement tells me they care. It takes the blame off the little girl. It means that everyone is concerned about the right things.

My point wasn’t about whether a dog needs to be put down. My point was about doing the right thing as an owner. About taking that weight of conflict off of a parent with a hurt child. About immediately responding compassionately.

Do it.

If (Heaven forbid) ever it happens to you… do it.

Grateful. That a bad situation wasn’t made worse.

Grateful for the smile on her face last weekend.

Grateful that she’ll be okay.

Even though HOLY COW, have you seen how much trouble these two get into?

Wordless Wednesday–Moms and Daughters

2012-05-22T23:46:00.001-07:00

After an insanely hard and stressful couple of weeks, my body decided to mutiny.

“Not sleeping, eh? I’ll show YOU!”

When the dust settled, the doc had cancelled the meds for bronchitis and prescribed kick-butt ones for pneumonia.

(Add in a double ear infection for fun. Oh! And some stress nausea - because every bedside table needs a fashionable “just in case” accent bowl).

To add insult to injury, the husband was working out-of-town.

Mommio to the rescue.

She force-fed me Tom Yum Gai and yellow curry (spice level #4 = holy cow, I can breathe again!)

She told Itty Bit terribly embarrassing childhood stories about his momma at bedtime.

And she painted my bathroom.

Not.even.kidding.

The woman painted my bathroom, y’all.

(To say that she’s pretty high up on Mr. Daddy’s favorite person in the whole wide world list right now would be an understatement).

But just having here here, in my home, while I sneezed and sniffled and coughed and generally looked grody… was the real gift.

After downloading Mother’s Day photos tonight, I spotted one that makes me utterly unable to stop smiling.

So true to form - my mother and sister cracking up over a funny card. It’s kind of our thing. Makes me grateful for the little stuff that binds us.

Who Does That?!? Red Robin episode

2012-05-17T08:32:00.001-07:00

Does this kind of stuff only happen to us?

Or am I the only one shameless enough to use my super sekrit photo ninja skills?

An abundance of reaction – this kid speaks volumes with his expressions.

Any guesses?

All over a woman calmly eating her dinner with a marvelous ginormous balloon hat on.

And as she walked past, well this kid could hardly stand it.

Why no, he doesn’t make a scene… whatever do you mean?

And my phone has recovered nicely from the lemonade snorted on it, thanks for asking.

May Mushy

2012-05-12T23:09:00.001-07:00

An hour into his school day on Monday, I got four text messages saying I needed to pick Itty Bit up.

He was running a fever and fast asleep in the library.

We battled that sucker back and forth between 100 – 103 degrees and it gypped him out of a his own class birthday party on Friday.

I’m pretty darn sad that his yearly “last day of being this many” photo is him trying to smile while falling into a sniffly sleep and holding up a “FIVE”.

I’m so glad you’re here kiddo… the docs told me I’d never get a Mother’s Day, but I’m glad God laughed at them.

I was a Mother’s Day baby too. A two weeks overdue present… (yeah, sorry about that getting stuck pitocin hurts emergency caesarean not breathing thing. Glad it all worked out)

I am so blessed to have had two amazing moms in my life. This is our first Mother’s Day without Mr. Daddy’s mom. Say a prayer for him today, would you?

{Dana Suggs}

Thank you Mom, for teaching those rednecks of yours how to love others.

In honor of today, I’d love to repost this… for all of us who have moms who have sacrificed for us.

When they placed me in her arms, it was us against the world.

I don’t think she could have imagined how far we’d travel or just how much harder and better things would get.

Protector.

Nurturer.

Who battled through my silence to give me words again.

She was Mommio.

Then along came Walla-Bip-Boo.

(shockingly, that is only part of her actual nickname)

When I was old enough (and brave enough) to whine, her fingers would tap my lips until an honest-to-goodness Indian war whoop escaped.

While Mommio filled the grocery cart with organic peanut butter and soy milk; Mommio’s fun twin got a running start and rode the grocery cart all the way to the car.

And while Mommio taught Sunday School, Walla-Bip-Boo fastened the giggling kids to the wall with duct tape.

Mommio sang in the church worship team… Walla-Bip-Boo rocked the toddler drum set after the service.

While Mommio is grossed out over a certain daughter’s public burping skills (ahem), Walla-Bip-Boo has no problem embracing the humor.

Walla-Bip-Boo does nothing halfway.

While Mommio entertains one kid with puppets…

Walla-Bip-Boo wins the Grand Marshal prize by entertaining thousands more. There may or may not have been several Super Soakers involved…

(We look like sisters? You don’t say!)

And though Mommio was more than willing to pull Grandma duty at the pumpkin patch…

It was Walla-Bip-Boo who stole the spotlight with her Julie Andrews impersonation.

(You have got to love the random confused kid behind her)

To be honest, I love both of my mothers.

Because both Mommio and Walla-Bip-Boo love Jesus.

Here’s her comment on my last post:

Anonymous said...

OK...so this one may be my favorite of all time posts - the only reason I say "may be" is that it is still in competition with your "Gramma-over-there" post about her wonderfully lived life & how deeply she is & will be missed.
So, as your Mommio, who has NEVER viewed you as handicapped - I want to say that I luv u and I am so very proud of you at this moment... PS me & Itty-bit ran into that little girl in the wheelchair (who by the way is now a grown woman) when I took him to see the movie "Hop" and introduced him as your son - she still remembers you... wonder if she noticed that he looks enough like you to be your clone? :)

I don’t know that you could understand unless you’ve walked it… what a huge thing it is to watch someone sacrifice for you – for decades. Going more than the extra mile – and doing it cheerfully. Knowing that the limitations of your life have transformed theirs as well – yet not sensing any kind of bitterness. Realizing that they’ve taken your hardships on themselves – and at the end of the day, can tell you, “I have NEVER viewed you as handicapped”. It’s motherhood times 1000. It’s Jesus.

It made me cry.

So if someday someone doesn’t say,

“You look just like your mother”,

and instead says,

“You are just like your mother”.

I’ll know God has made some headway in me.

Thank you Mommio Walla-Bip-Boo. I love you a bushel and a peck.

But I’ll still burp.

Excuse me.

And Happiest Birthday to my little big miracle. We love you Itty Bit!

One Thousand.

2012-05-11T14:08:00.001-07:00

Such ridiculously good timing.

You have no idea how giddy I am as I type this. Pretty much screamingly happy.

As Itty Bit would say, “OH BABIES!”

One thousand posts into this blogging journey and TODAY Blogher is featuring me as a bonafide (totally doesn’t feel real) published author. Like a real article and everything, y’all!

And the article? Was the one I was afraid to even publish. I tiptoed out from the wings and waited for the stinky fruit to be thrown.

Here is my safe place… you guys know my faults and see the spinach between my teeth. Out there is scary. I’m grateful for your support.

Won’t you come drop by and lend your two cents? (Please click below to keep me from being the last kid picked for dodgeball :)

I Heart Faces–Hey Girl

2012-05-11T09:30:00.001-07:00

It’s been so long since I’ve played along with an I Heart Faces challenge!

We are still in deep mourning for the dropped camera and favorite 50mm lens!

But this week I couldn’t resist pulling up one of my very favorites in honor of Mother’s Day!

My mom is pretty much everybody’s favorite grandma/aunt/friend.

(She’s also my favorite mom, in case you were wondering).

My sister’s littlest, May-May, is a miracle girl. Who loves her grandma with her whole heart. Moving away means that visits are extra special.

What you missed was the running flying leap into Grandma’s arms right before this shot. Her flyaway hair, fingers holding tightly, and smile of utter contentment make me choke up… because I love her like that too.

Happiest early Mother’s Day.

May you have such a special person in your life.

Babies and other cuss words

2012-05-11T00:44:00.001-07:00

(My mom is already freaking out. It’s okay Mommio, I promise)

Lately, I’ve noticed a certain phrase keeps popping up in our home.

The soon-to-be-six-year-old uses it masterfully…

muttering it under his breath with a scowl

shouting it in wide-eyed dismay

barking it through a well-practiced pout

In what can only be described as a kindergartener cussword; I give you:

OH BABIES!

Try it out here…

when Mom busts you drawing on your face with a Sharpie:

OH BABIES!

Or when when you get hit in the “bumps” by a wayward baseball:

OH BABIES!

Or when Momma tells you “step away from the ladder son… step away”.

OH BABIES

When you discover that your *ahem* footchies are much louder when you sit on the wood display at Cabela’s… and the man in the next aisle HEARS you discover that…

OH BABIES!

When your Mom loses sight of you for 1.4 seconds in the store and then totally busts you hiding in a storage ottoman with May-May…

OH BABIES!

Try it for when you kick your ball up on Grandpa’s roof…

OH BABIES!

But it’s versatile enough for the victory dance when he gets it down…

OH BABIES!

And homeruns definitely qualify for an

OH BABIES!

(even if you do run right past home and run straight to momma because she’s cheering and clapping so hard that you have to hug her RIGHT THEN. And even if your uniform does look like is says, “CRAPPERS”… when it really says “SCRAPPERS”. Yeah… OH BABIES!)

And Mommy? Had an OH BABIES moment when a bird in severe gastrointestinal distress found her car… 10 minutes after the car wash.

OH BABIES.

Suffer with me

2012-05-01T23:26:00.001-07:00

If it seems like I’m a wee bit behind in posting, it’s because I have an unnatural fear of blogging without pictures.

And since my camera and nice lens complained slightly when I *ahem* DROPPED THEM, my pictures are pretty darn woeful.

I’m only slightly bitter. Seeing as all my friends have turned pro and I’ve been left to cry into my broken shutter.

(Anyone want to sell my husband a gently used Canon 5D Mark III? I mean, you’d be helping a nice guy get major birthday cred. And restoring his wife to sane. Mostly.)

So suffer with me for a bit, just to catch up on some crazy?

Remember the dude who knocked me down ?

Well, I didn’t come back on here and tell y’all because I was too embarrassed, but the dork added insult to injury by spectacularly blowing up and bolting as I stood on the other side of the fence by a muddy patch.

My poor kid stared at me in astonishment as I tried to navigate to a sink through my poop-covered glasses.

Friends, it was much worse than last time…

There was no hat to protect top of my head, which sustained several direct hits of stinky goo. I won’t tell you how much got into my mouth (I was screaming after all), but after my husband attempted to snap photos, I made sure to kiss him goodnight ;)

But really, the almost-makes-it-worthwhile moment came when I scored my very own illustration by the esteemed Beel!

The resemblance is uncanny. Joey is even smiling.

Though he may have offered the artwork as a truce after getting busted trying to talk Mr. Daddy into sharing the cellphone evidence.

We had a freaky heat streak and took advantage of it to hit up the Spring Fair. You know how fairgrounds are ripe for people watching? I guess it kind of defeats the purpose when people are looking at YOU.

I realized too late why Itty Bit was attracting attention…

Honey…?

Afterward, Itty Bit would say his favorite part was “when the man in the logging show talked like a baby”. I did happen to recall that moment when Red squeaked, “I’m going home now” after this little gem:

See what I mean?

We returned home to the insanity that is t-ball season. Oh, and Spring got all un-confused and dumped buckets on us.

Umm… he swung from left to right… the ball totally jumped over the bat.

And because I love y’all, and we could probably use a good laugh…

I will post this with the preface that this is as close to PG-13 as I get, but DEAR LORD, I could not.stop.laughing.

Is there somebody who checks the spacing before the news titles get published to mobile websites?

Lord, I apologize.

HungRY.

He talked about growing up HUNGRY!

See?!?

And bless the starving pygmies in New Guinea.

the disability truth

2012-04-22T11:31:00.001-07:00

You’ve come a long way with me.

You know that I’m profoundly deaf, often silly, and unfailingly clumsy.

You might also know that I lipread and I speak clearly.

This puts me in a rare category that many do not know how to handle.

Do I just talk directly at her?

Do I get a pen a notepad?

Do I raise my voice?

Do I whisper and mime?

I stood behind an elderly man in a checkout line. The teenaged employee repeated himself with much impatience. Eye-rolling. Exaggerated sighs.

He completed his purchase and I stepped forward.

“UGH. Those deaf people! ‘What? What? What?’”

The polite smile froze on my face. I felt my cheeks turn hot and forced myself to pay for my groceries without punching him in the throat.

I brushed my bangs out of my face and tucked them behind my hearing aid. I nudged my ear slightly and watched his eyes jerk suddenly toward the squeal. I refused to look away as it registered across his face.

I took my receipt and said “thank you”, in a voice that carried a trace of a deaf accent.

And I’ve wondered for 15 years if that ever made a difference to him.

He couldn’t have known that I was the current winner of a state Deaf pageant on my way to the National Deaf pageant. That I was so profoundly deaf that my audiology tests showed hearing loss worse than the deaf person who didn’t speak or read lips.

He couldn’t have known that the flush-cheeked 20-year old in front of him was hardly different than the elderly man shuffling out the door.

I spent two years on a speaking tour circuit. The pageant system raised money for scholarships and I worked for a highly regarded law enforcement agency while finishing my college degree.

The public speaking terrified me, I quickly learned that I preferred interacting with school assembly children. They believed they could do anything. It was their parents and deaf adults that scared me.

Here’s the part of the post that will earn me some instant enemies and cement why I refuse requests to write for deaf websites. What shocked me most about these encounters was the prevailing belief:

The #1 question I was asked repeatedly?

“How much money do you get monthly from SSI?”

They found no shame assuming I received state assistance because my ears didn’t work. No shame assuming that I didn’t have a job. No shame assuming that my deafness excused me from even having to try.

There are certainly people who need this. Without a doubt. But what happens if you never try?

I was raised by two of the hardest working people I know. My hearing loss did nothing to dampen their expectations that I would work hard to be the best RACHEL I could.

Not the best Rachel-Cut-Her-Some-Slack-She’s-Deaf.

It is with this gift of parents who didn’t automatically discount my potential based on my disability, that I take a (probably) unpopular stance on this:

source

I hope this comes across as compassionate. I hope you can understand that this is just my perspective: as a person with a disability, as a daughter, and as a mother.

The story continues with the mother saying that her daughter worked hard to try to be elected homecoming queen. You can read in her reasoning that her daughter deserved it in part because of her disability.

No.

Just NO.

You are not worth more by being a homecoming queen.

As heartwarming at it might sound, you’re not entitled to be something simply by virtue of a disability.

I would be cheering along with everyone else had she been selected. I sat in front of a hotel room tv and screamed happily when Heather Whitestone won Miss America. I love a “she overcame her disability” story better than anyone.

But lets look at the facts:

#1. You don’t “earn” being homecoming queen.

It’s a popularity contest, pure and simple.

No number of billboard advertisements would have persuaded the majority of a high school campus to vote for someone.

#2. Her worth isn’t based on a vote by high school students. Her lifetime success won’t be measured by this.

#3. The homecoming queens I see on Facebook a decade later aren’t necessarily happier. Real success is having one true friend for high school still on your Friends list.

#4. While I don’t begrudge this mother for wanting a special moment for her daughter – what are you teaching your child when you express disappointment that people did not give her something on the basis of her disability?

We ALL have a disability. Something that forces us to work harder to do the same thing that someone else might do easier. Success that is bought with a billboard isn’t her success.

#5. Let’s face it… I’m annoyed that Mom’s way of dealing with her own disappointment is to bring more media attention to it.

When I was in high school, the last thing I wanted is to be identified as THAT DEAF GIRL. (Guess what? Classmates on Facebook often only recognize me once I say, “I was that deaf girl in Mr. Booth’s Chem/Phys class”).

I’m sure this girl doesn’t want to be known as THAT GIRL WITH MILD CEREBRAL PALSY WHOSE MOM TRIED TO BUY HER A CROWN.

Again, please don’t mistake this for being uncompassionate. I’d be her biggest cheerleader. This article just left a bad taste in my mouth from the years of answering:

“I don’t receive state assistance. I work hard at my job. People are mostly kind about disabilities if you give them a chance”.

Let’s encourage our kids to be compassionate, respectful, kind. Help them to be successful at being a good friend. Celebrate the good stuff. Say, “I know you can!” for the hard stuff.

We all need to work hard to be the best someone we can.

And if you have a disability? Use it to do something good.

Don’t waste the hard stuff. God has a reason for it.

You know why blogging is so amazing? Because y’all help me forget that I actually AM deaf. I’m a person to you. And I’m grateful.

This is Rachel. Stepping off my soapbox.

terrible. really terrible. then pretty wonderful. then gross.

2012-04-18T23:32:00.001-07:00

I’ve been a terrible blogger.

Oh the stories are there waiting. The material is fresh daily.

(I mean, seriously?… I live with a redneck. And a kindergartener whose classmates think it’s hilarious to use OFFICIAL names for body parts.

Help me.)

But lately, my blogging time gets stolen by that thing I can’t talk about. Do you know how draining it is to deal with an adult bully? Physically, mentally, and I-can’t-stop-crying emotionally? Do you know what it’s like to have your husband worry more about you getting sick on the way to work every morning, than he does about his own cancer treatment?

Yeah. Suckage.

I’m just beat up by the time I sit down in front of the computer and try to find the funny.

(I totally need that on a t-shirt).

But the good stuff is still there.

Easter is a big deal to us. I mean, beyond the yearlong hoarding of eggs to be blown, then decorated, then smashed on unsuspecting victims…

Yes, that is my sister and my 81 year old grandmother.

For shame, Ju. I think you are officially out of the will.

I apparently was an early target. See my name on May-May’s egg?

I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad; we’re raising some political geniuses:

But really, what it was all about? Celebrating the fact that NOTHING is stronger than God. Not death, not the economy, and not a bully.

Apparently I miss all the good conversations. My mom shared that Itty Bit had listened carefully to the story of the resurrection and spoke what was on his mind.

Grandma? Why did Jesus grow up and then die? Why didn’t he die when he was a baby?

Well, because he had lots of things to do. He told people about God and he healed lots of people. He healed blind people so they could see, and deaf people so they could hear.

(sad face)

Awww…. I wish my Mommy had been born then.

You know that funny feeling you get in your throat when you realize you haven’t screwed your kid up entirely? Because he wishes something like that for you. Because he talks to Jesus in his head after we go to bed. Because he lets his mom force him to wear polka dot bowties.

Yeah, that one.

I had to swallow around it.

And then the combination of my redneck mister and my hilarious potty mouth boy rocketed us straight back to The Truman Show.

See. Mr. Daddy has totally set himself up for a very awkward conversation when Itty Bit reaches a certain age.

While reading a book about animals, Itty Bit suddenly looked up and asked how baby kittens were born.

And because I was considerate enough to bear my husband the SON he wanted, I naturally defaulted to the parent of the male gender.

And without missing a beat, Mr. Daddy looked straight into our child’s eyes and said, “they say ‘knock knock’.”

KNOCK KNOCK?

You told our child that babies are born by saying KNOCK KNOCK??!?!

Good luck with that in about 10 more years.

(Oh dear Lord, we do have TEN more years, right?)

Would you believe that I felt mildly robbed?

Considering that my son now thinks it’s UNFAIR that girls get to have babies and boys don’t.

Because a miniature ninja KNOCK-KNOCKing inside of your stomach sounds fun.

This led to a completely random conversation that (thankfully) was not in a public restroom.

Mommy! I gotta go pee!

Okay fine honey. Go.

Mommy?

Yes?

Why don’t girls have pee-pees on the outside?

Umm… They’re just different. That’s how God made them.

Well… that’s not FAIR!

What???

That’s not fair!

Sure it is honey. You get to pee outside on the strawberries.

You get to have babies!

Umm yeah honey. It’s fair. Trust me on this one.

(He thought for awhile…)

Mommy?

Yes honey?

But they poop the same. So THAT’S fair.

Then he wagged his little finger in my face and smiled a smug little smile.

He left me speechless.

But that might have been kind of the point.

if these walls could speak

2012-04-10T05:58:00.001-07:00

Seriously… when did my kid grow up to not need something called a nursery? Or decide that HE gets to pick the theme for his bedroom?

So sad to surrender the right to put ultra cute things on his walls…

See?

Oh wait… maybe I’m not SO sad about him growing up a bit ;)

But this one – unfortunately, still applies…

SycamoreStreetPress has no idea that I’m linking their stuff up today. But if they did, I totally would not get my feelings hurt if they wanted to charm my redneck with some early Christmas décor…

And that, my friends… is how you start your day off with pure awesomesauce.

Bikini Bingo Bust

2012-03-27T22:01:00.001-07:00

Stick with me for a bit… it’s gonna get a wee bit crazy amigos.

So after our warm welcome to Acapulco,

we stepped out of the airport to meet our unfailingly cheerful driver.

And by unfailingly cheerful, I mean he never stopped smiling as he got in the van and immediately poured tequila shots from a massive bottle in the front seat.

See this picture of Itty Bit at barely a year old?

That bottle of tequila was about his size. Not.even.kidding.

I had to laugh when my dad said, “I guess they don’t have Open Container laws here…”

The second culture shock came as we pulled onto the roadway.

Mexico’s drug war has made some places unsafe. There are many uniforms everywhere you look… but I wasn’t prepared for the pickup trucks full of automatic rifle toting soldiers.

Hard to see in the picture above. (I was kinda sorta scared to use my sekrit photo ninja skills when guns were everywhere).

But it wasn’t hard to see at all when a military helicopter swung low across the hotel beach with armed soldiers on the skids.

The locals seemed happy about their presence. Our driver kept us safe, as promised.

There are all kinds of other stories about the tour he took us on. But for now, I’ll get to the reason y'all are here: my public humiliation.

(Don’t pretend it’s not. We’ve known each other too long.)

It all started when we discovered the pool.

And Itty Bit decided we should live there.

See those people? We get those looks a lot.

The first day I wore my MOM tankini with my MOM shorts. I figure the world is just not ready for the incredible hotness that is my longsuffering baby weight.

There weren’t many people at the pool so I reached for my dry tankini the next morning. The one with the BIKINI bottoms.

My mission was to add a coverup, find a hidden spot to shimmy out of it poolside, then sneak into the water without nary a flash of cellulite.

I was doing “swimmingly” (ha!) until (ahem) someone took this photo.

Why do I look taller that way? I should walk on my hands daily to be less fun-size.

That is neither here nor there (what does that mean anyway?). The fatal mistake I made was in agreeing to play Pool Bingo.

Now… let me remind you:

we are in Mexico.

they speak Spanish.

I am deaf.

there are penalties for calling a false Bingo.

my dad is a scoundrel.

I am so buggered.

They hand out these disposable punch out Bingo cards that are essentially a mess of hanging chads.

A very enthusiastic hotel employee is manning the microphone. She speaks rapidfire Spanish and translates to English. My dad mouths the numbers to me, except those blasted pieces keep folding themselves down while the wind tries to blow them into the pool.

You’ve already guessed, right?

One more number and the entire row is a winner. My dad mouths the number and my eyes widen. I hesitate… not sure if it’s good. And not sure how loud someone needs to yell.

My dad rescues me and yells, “BINGO!” and points to me.

The cheerful girl gestures for me to give her my card.

And then, as 1,872 pairs of eyes turn to me, I realize that I am utterly and completely screwed.

I have to get out of the pool.

In my “nobody will see me in these” bikini bottoms.

With my beautiful jiggles, back fat, and horrific sunburn.

“UN-BINGO!”, I want to cry. You can UN-BINGO, right?

But the friendly girl with the microphone is gesturing to me. My dad is grinning in that, “yep, you ARE screwed” way. And I have to haul my soaking wet poundage gracefully out of the pool and walk to the cabana.

Seriously, where did all these people come from suddenly?

They check the numbers. And as I look helplessly at them, I realize that I don’t need to speak Spanish – or even hear – to know what they are saying.

Oh Good Lord. There was no i-20.

And sure enough, my dad is thoroughly cracking up when the girl chides me and orders me to do my penance.

“Dance!”

(Ummm… no?)

“DANCE!”

(No, that’s okay)

“Come on, you gotta do a $exy dance!”

My sunburn turned an even deeper shade of lobster, but she wouldn’t give up. Apparently calling a bum Bingo is serious stuff.

What was I to do?

My FATHER was standing in the pool being ridiculously unhelpful with his laughter, my SON was bouncing next to him splashing approximately 42 people, and my HUSBAND was already mentally writing a Facebook status update.

And of course the friendly girl has now drawn a bigger crowd with her microphoned encouragement to “Do a $exy dance! Do it!”

All eyes on me.

And this is what I busted out with.

And because one moment of utter humiliation is not enough…

they called me out of the pool twice more for encores and a bow.

(This was apparently hilarious to two guys from Michigan in the pool).

There.

Don’t you feel better about your life right now?

Knowing that at least you haven’t embarrassed yourself in such a splendid way yet?

Now…

to all the family members who keep randomly yelling BINGO…

A year to remember

2012-03-24T22:09:00.001-07:00

You already know that I like taking pictures.

Our entire vacation, you could pretty much find me like this:

So you can bet your sweet bippy that there will be a photo book of our little adventures.

(What is a bippy, and why does everyone else have one? Why don’t we ever say “bet MY sweet bippy"? Important questions people…)

About the time I started sorting through the snapshots of our vacation (and secretly deleting all the ones that showed an unacceptable number of chins), I got a timely email from Shutterfly about their newest product:

Spring break kind of signals the homestretch for a school year – time to start thinking about all those candid school event photos you took! I think the ability to create your very own photo yearbook is a perfect marriage of sentimental souvenir and personalization. (Oh come on… all you OCD moms know that we could totally rock the Kindergarten Yearbook staff ;)

Since Itty Bit goes to an itty bitty school, creating one just for his class would be such a fun idea for parents and teachers.

I’ll be honest with you… I dug out my old yearbooks and it cracked me up to see all those familiar faces.

Even better? The dozens of classmates who wrote in my book,

(A sign language interpreter went with me to all my classes… I am thoroughly puzzled by the wholesale assumption that I was going to somehow make use of those digits).

They probably remembered me as the girl who permed her hair. Then dumped an entire bottle of Sun-In on it. Orange curls for all of 8th grade.

Or maybe as the girl who was 14” shorter than everyone else on the basketball team. Literally – the shortest one.

(Well, maybe I was 14” shorter than some of those teased bangs).

But what was REALLY fun? Was looking at MR. DADDY’S yearbooks.

Utterly squeezable!

I could have had a crush on him…

No clue what the dude did to his knee, but those belts! Those belts!

I hear he was popular with the ladies… I bet all four of these girls joined the Student Court after he did ;)

Funny what yearbooks trigger (beside guffaws from the wife reading messages from lovelorn girls who crushed on the blue-eyed cutie).

I teased him mercilessly about his picture under “Cutest Guy”, and pointed out his Senior Trip photo.

He grimaced and said, “I came down with pneumonia that day”.

Ouch.

Let’s get back to that “Cutest Boy” thing.

Awesome ammo in any redneck argument.

“Hey Billy, I got me that big bad elk rifle with the fancy scope”

“My granddaddy’s bear rifle is better than that, Mr. Daddy”

“No it aint”

“Prove it Pretty Boy”

“I aint a pretty boy”

“That’s right. You’re a CUTE boy… voted and official and all…”

(and that’s how the fight started)

Anyway… before I stop picking on my poor CUTE husband, I have to tell you the funnest part of all.

When your kid says,

“Momma? Why are Daddy’s pictures black and yours are color?”

Boo-yah.

Sadly, I fear this post has gone wildly astray from the original intent.

(At least I’m consistent about finding those crazy tangents, right?)

I’ve gotten prints and photo books from Shutterfly for years. It absolutely pays to be on their mailing list and part of their sales! I’m one of those people who gives photo gifts (so you might as well pose when I whip out my camera).

I’ve been lucky enough to get to go on field trips with Itty Bit’s class – I think pictures from those would make great yearbook ideas. I just cannot stop melting when I see candid shots like this that a typical “School Picture Day” might not catch:

If you end up creating your own yearbook, let me know! Hint hint: yearbooks for your class may be as low as $5 each if you contact Shutterfly!

Keep up with Shutterfly’s newest products and promotions:

Facebook: here

Twitter: here

Pinterest: here

Oh – and don’t forget to tease our very own Cutest Boy ;)

The teeny print: Shutterfly is providing a free book in exchange for my tangent-ridden ramblings – even though they’re probably embarrassed by me talking about my bippy and multiple chins.

reset

2012-03-21T22:06:00.001-07:00

I’ve commented more than once.

How our lives can change with a single phone call.

(Or a single Facebook post, as it may be.)

And while I owe you the rest of the goofy stories from the past few weeks, I can’t ignore the impact of the past few days.

I stayed home Monday. I joked about being mowed down by a horse, but in reality, being knocked airborne and pummeled into the ground twice… bruised more than just my pride. It hurt even driving Itty Bit to school; I returned home and grabbed some anti-inflammatories.

I sat down for a few minutes and replied to a Facebook message. And almost didn’t see the post from a church acquaintance before I closed the screen.

Shooting.

Suspect on the loose.

Running through neighborhoods.

Schools on lockdown.

And suddenly, I recognized the neighborhoods. The school names.

You know that moment when you realize that you’re helpless?

When you are fighting to breathe past the weight on your chest and you just know that you are more than capable of injuring anyone who would put your child in danger?

But you can’t get there. You just can’t get there fast enough.

They told parents to stay home. Avoid bringing more traffic into the area. No one in or out of the schools.

Multiply that “helpless” by tenfold when you cannot hear. Cannot call someone. Cannot listen for updates on the radio. Cannot lipread live uncaptioned tv reports.

I tried. I texted Mr. Daddy. I left my mother a bawling my eyes out voice mail. I frantically Googled news updates and begged for information from local Facebook friends. I knew if I left the house, I would be out of touch to know what was happening.

Within minutes – Facebook friends calling the school for updates on my behalf. Mr. Daddy confirming that all three pastors were in lockdown with the kindergarteners. School in contact with the police. My mom texting that she was on her way to the school.

They said they’d release him if she called from the parking lot. There was concern about me picking him up because I couldn’t hear to be aware of my surroundings.

(And it is at that exact moment, when you worry that your child is in danger, that you would give anything to trade your stupid disability).

So thankful for a Mom like mine. Thankful for the Grandma that she is.

Thankful for the kindergartener sitting in a shopping cart a half hour later comparing Transformer cars.

I keep getting choked up when I touch his little head and think about just how, well… little he is. And how absolutely irreplaceable he is. I’m wiping tears from my eyes as I type this and am grateful for this Reset button to remind me to cherish our family and friends.

So in an early letter to you:

Thank you.

For reaching out to us.

For praying for us.

For praying for my son’s safety.

For making phone calls on my behalf.

For sending text messages and emails.

Thank you to the teachers and staff for herding those 5-year olds downstairs and convincing the kids that reading books with the lights out was an adventure.

Thank you to an amazing Mom who doesn’t hesitate.

Thank you to my Heavenly Father who protected the boy I love.

Thank you to the police who are still looking for the shooter.

And I’m sorry. To the family who lost a young man and to the other two still recovering. Praying that you will find God right where you are at.

And to the shooter? Well, I have a horse I’d like you to meet…

We Left the Horses to Guard the House, Part II

2012-03-18T22:25:00.001-07:00

I joked about it in my last post, but yesterday this dude:

…proved that he was more than capable of knocking down a human and sending them into a backward somersault. That someone may have also become separated from their glasses and hearing aid, but I’ll not name that person to spare them further embarrassment.

(Really?!?!)

So we left off with the Houston saga… and what cracked me up is how many Texas readers offered to haul over and keep us company or put us up for the night! I have the best blog friends, truly.

Starting at the beginning; my travel expert dad found this unbeatable deal to an incredible place.

(Since my dad refuses to allow me to show his face…. here’s a shot with him and Itty Bit with his lovely “underwears” showing)

and here’s a shot of the incredible resort:

When we found out that Mr. Daddy’s treatment was supposed to start while we were attempting to darken our pasty Northwest hides in Mexico; the doctor said, “don’t postpone your vacation”.

(I could have kissed him. Except well, he probably would have liked that about as much as the surgeon liked my hug).

So we readied ourselves to jet to Acapulco.

First came mother/daughter pedicures that left me with tears in my eyes. My mother remarked that I had been exfoliated for a lifetime.

Then came a frantic 30-pound-weight-loss program.

(When you buy an elliptical machine that says “some assembly required”… DO NOT BE FOOLED. It will take you FOUR hours to open forty-seven boxes and sort the fasteners that your tyke helpfully dumped into a pile. And grease? GREASE in my living room?!?)

(Another clue: when your house looks WORSE than Christmas morning, that is not “SOME assembly required”. Just sayin'…)

Not surprisingly, I was still pegged as the 30-pound-overweight pasty woman from the Northwest… I have no idea what clued them in that I wasn’t a local?

(For the blog record, Mom claimed we’d be fine for a half hour early morning run on the beach. Except that it was longer than a half hour. I am still peeling from the beautiful lobster result. Mr. Daddy points and yells “UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!” every time he sees my shoulders.)

Backing up a bit further… before we left, Itty Bit helpfully decided to pack his own bag. Then got awfully secretive about it. This is what I found when I unzipped it:

Holy Legos Batman. The entire box. And dutifully strapped in.

Apparently socks and underwears are highly overrated.

The beauty of having a “I can do it myself” kid, is that he hauled that sucker by himself like a little pro.

The weird part for me is that I keep thinking that’s myself in the picture with him. Until I see those crazy butt toner shoes my mom is gonna thank me for warning her about someday…

We took a red-eye flight to Houston. And it was instant wackiness.

(Someone come up with a good punchline for this, please?)

And then cause for instant screaming in the WOMEN’S room. Apparently y’all weren’t kidding about things being bigger in Texas.

(My mom changed out of the butt toner spine mess up thingies, and was the only one brave enough to pose next to this monster).

My dad is not a short guy. But I think I annoyed him on the connecting flight by repeatedly calling him The Hobbit every time he stood up.

(and now you see why the kids at school shut up when I said that MY dad could beat up their dad).

We landed in Mexico City and were treated to conflicting directions from four different airport employees. Forcing us to go through security again just for fun. YIPPEE!

We got the weirdest welcome to Mexico there, though…

(How did I get so ninja-ish that I take pictures of broken toilet paper holders in foreign countries? It’s a sickness I tell you.)

The only thing weird about the last flight was that crazy in-flight catalog.

Does anyone else think that squiggly little logo looks a little risque for tennis shoes??

Seriously, what is that supposed to be?

Now that’s just wrong.

Sorry…

Now, y’all might have gotten this far and wondered what on earth we were doing traveling to Mexico? Isn’t there a State Department travel alert out for the area..?

We researched and researched it all. We read nearly 800 accounts of people who had been to this exact place. We hired a driver beforehand and planned to stay in the safest areas.

When it could be researched no more, Mr. Daddy’s doctor told us to go.

We stepped out of our yard full of snow and into some sandy sunshine.

And right smack into a True Story Tuesday that will haunt me for the rest of my everloving public humiliation life.

Stay tuned for Part III

in reverse: from HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM

2012-03-11T13:57:00.001-07:00

See… it was freaky enough to force my OCD self to leave a typo.

We were crazy enough to try to keep our vacation a big fat secret until we got home (somehow “house protected by attack horse” doesn’t have the same ring as ATTACK DOG ON PREMISES)

And our adventure in Houston was that big fat exclamation point on

A thunderstorm closed the airport, yet our plane circled until that dire announcement.

After Itty Bit’s subtle echo to the rest of the passengers, he (like any other responsible kindergartener) picked up the flight instructions,

and without any prompting, tucked into the crash landing position.

He completely did not understand why I was goofing off with the ninja pictures instead of preparing for an emergency. Parent Fail.

After diverting to a bumpy landing in Corpus Christi, we were stranded on the tarmac because the airport didn’t have Customs agents.

Did I mention that I’d gone to bed at 1:45 that morning and awoken early to leave paradise?

Sans coffee?

And that our only meal by 5pm that day had been a flight snack?

Sans coffee?

And we were leaving 90 degree weather to return to SNOW?

Sans coffee?

And a kid who kept loudly asking what air sickness bags were for?

When we finally started our third takeoff of the day, I did a little happy dance to see Houston an hour later.

We sat on the tarmac again midst a lightning storm and watched the clock tick past our connecting flight.

Since so many fights had been delayed, the lovely security checkpoint area was packed with agitated travelers. Once passing inspection (the menfolk were selected for the nekkid xray adventure), we spent the next three and a half hours in purgatory.

Purgatorty: [pur-guh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee] noun, plural -ries, adjective noun

To be stranded at consecutive airports with a caffeine withdrawal headache. To endure multiple security searches at three separate airports. To have your good tweezers confiscated. To consume a single snack in 36 hours. To miss your connecting flight. To run across the entire airport to FIVE SEPARATE GATES and wait for an eternity in line at each. To juggle a heavy rolling suitcase, a camera bag, a purse, and a kid survival bag – all whilst carrying a tired 48-pound kindergartener across miles of escalators, elevators, subways through crowds of upset passengers.

Ultimate purgatory: [uhl-tih-mut pur-guh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee] noun

to lose your iPhone for approximately 12 hours at the start of this madness.

There’s more… so much more. Including why seeing this man forget about sad things for awhile made crazy Houston worth it.

Now if you’ll excuse me… there are 926 unread blog posts in my reader. Off to catch up with you!

because my mother doesn’t Facebook

2012-03-05T04:19:00.000-08:00

… and really, neither do I.

I mean, I only post a status a couple times a month and suddenly the funny blows up into 300 comments.

But this one? Is just for my Momma. Who gave me a well-rounded introduction to the Jesus-loving churches of the world.

(Which might explain the dirty looks I got when I tried to bust into applause as a guest at a Mormon baptism, and when I tried to take the communion wafer out of the priest’s hand as a guest at a Catholic church. Let’s just call it well-rounded confusion…)

No clue who to credit for this – but someone on Facebook may or may not have caused a bladder emergency in my household with this:

I don’t care who you are, that’s funny right there.

(Psst. And for the record, I know some mighty charismatic Baptists who can’t help but bust out a Rocky during worship).

I know which one describes my Mom… which one describes you???

To Gracie on her eighth birthday

2012-03-01T01:19:00.001-08:00

Baby girl,

miss

you.

Beyond words.

The loss of you is only bearable knowing who keeps you until we see your sweet face again.

Have a delightful birthday darling girl.

(I always knew you’d have brown hair.)

Did I tell you we miss you? And we love you madly?

That is all.

Because sometimes it seems that that is all there is.

I saved my marriage for $11.99 plus tax

2012-02-25T21:21:00.001-08:00

Remember the bacon?

And my fabric shears?

And this dude?

And the wailing and gnashing of teeth when he decided to introduce them to one another?

Momma got smart.

She found these at the grocery store:

And she’s sure they’ll work for her redneck.

Because she knows one thing those city girls don’t…

A country boy cannot resist the lure of a tricky tool. And this baby is gonna slice bacon like nobody’s business.

Now… to find me some cute fabric shears.

You’re welcome for the marriage advice.

Now that’ll be $11.99 plus tax.

Our Town

2012-02-22T20:39:00.001-08:00

Welcome back to another episode of Sekrit Ninja Photo Girl!

I thought I’d introduce you to our redneck town. Or more accurately, “crazy stuff as far as two counties north”.

As if that is somehow better than only being in our town.

I must warn you that many of these shots may be disturbing to viewers who have Norman Rockwellian towns and cannot fathom why anyone would ever write the words “pig on a poke” on a sign.

No really.

Meh… it’s somewhat acceptable considering the State Fair environment.

But who on earth thought this was an appropriate environment?!?

A lovely chapel-turned-gun-shop.

With classy year-round icicle lights no less.

Speechless.

A bit less sacrilegious is one of my favorites at the Farmers Market:

But nothing really beats this classic:

At least I can say those were some ha-ha funny people.

This dude?

Earned himself a “ohmygosh Honey, go back! I gotta get a picture!”

What? You don’t see anything amiss in the Target parking lot?

See the corner of the inside of my car? That’s how sneaky I am…

Okay, now the dude is just acting like nothing is up.

No really honey, I saw him! Keep driving!

(and if you’re really tricky, you can spot my reflection in my side mirror ;)

See! I told you! The guy has a full on bbq happening here!

Don’t be fooled… he’s pretending it’s not his.

Quick honey, grab one with pickles for me.

Got anything crazier than a random Target bbq chef in your town?

The Wisdom of Age, by Mr. Daddy

2012-02-17T19:30:00.001-08:00

I remember as a tyke wanting to be wise.

and reading that wisdom comes with age and understanding. I was continually trying to rush into the future, and pushing myself to understand things. Only to realize, some things cannot be rushed and there are some pretty confusing things in life.

I would like to take the time to capture a few thoughts, and things I have realized as I have matured.... :)

Wisdom isn't always the high and lofty advice of disciplined and educated men, the likes of King Solomon, Buddah, Mahatma Gandhi, or Einstein. It goes without saying, that these men will add great value to our own lives if we only take the time to consider the wisdom of their observations....just saying..

But!!

Life experiences can also bring wisdom. Consider this: as a youngster I was all about the right tool for the job. Can you even begin to imagine the size of my toolbox? And yes I would stress about this and obsess, about which new shiny tool I would need, and what my next job would entail...

With age I have realized the there are only two things needed in my tool box... WD40 and duct tap. The WD40 is for the things that are tight and won't loosen, and the duct tape is for the things that are loose and won't tighten... "O" and a hammer, because if it can't be fixed with a hammer, it's an electrical problem.

(Rach in: I am totally laughing my elbutt off)

(Mr. Daddy in: SCORE!)

Consider this on marital harmony, I have decided that it is pointless to argue on the etiquette and proper position of the toilet seat. I let Rach win on this one and just pee in the sink... *snort* And yes I hear the collective gasp in bloggy land, but consider this ladies, has your beloved given up arguing about this little issue in your own homes??? Think on it to your mental peril... ~chuckling snidely here girls~ perhaps your own Dear Husband is gaining in wisdom....And if you ever come visit our little corner of paradise, maybe you should wash up in the kitchen sink.... ROFL (just kidding ladies... *maybe*) *snort*

(Rach in: No way. Just NO WAY. Now THAT would explain why your mother always bleached her sinks.)

(Mr. Daddy in: Mom bleached everything.)

A thought for the kitchen: To avoid cutting yourself, have someone else hold the vegetables. It is simply AAHH-mazing how effectively this has worked for me. Although I have had to take a few minutes out of my busy schedule to make a run to the ER for other members of the household... :)

(Rach in: And this with an already accident prone wife…)

(Mr. Daddy: You’re welcome Dear)

And Dear, there is a logical and perfectly sound explanation to the picture that you tried to shame me with on your last post. If you put the roaster pot in that way you get a moister cut of meat from one end and a drier cut from the other, thus saving time and effort for your distinguished guests... (who for some reason have started insisting on using the kitchen sink to wash up in???)

(Rach in: Oh Lordy… I’m actually more bothered by the fact that you cut your meat with your pocketknife…)

(Mr. Daddy in: Whaaat? It’s a TOOL, dear.)

For the medicine cabinet, If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives. Then you'll be afraid to cough. Now before you all go getting in an uproar, I know it sounds like crappy advice, butt if you will put yourself out there to try it, I am quite certain you will agree to the effectiveness of said method.

P.S. please don't choose to visit our corner of paradise while undergoing this treatment!! just saying....

Also For high blood pressure sufferers ~ simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure on your veins. It is important to remember to use a timer if you decide to try this method of treatment.

If you have trouble springing from your bed, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and your snooze button is your nemesis... just put a mousetrap on the top of your alarm clock...You will be AAAHHhhhmazed at how quickly you will spring from your bed ready to talk to God and start your day....

Thanks for letting me share a few of my little insights, and consider the words of ~Piet Hein~
"The road to wisdom? Well, it's plain and simple: Err and err and err again. But less and less and less."

And also the sage wisdom of Red, Green: "If the women don't find you handsome, let them at least find you handy."

You all take care out there.

(Rach in: And no peein’ in the sink)

(Mr. Daddy: In the name of marital bliss… I’ll pee anywhere I need)

Letters of Intent - I promised you a winner, didn’t I?

2012-02-16T22:38:00.001-08:00

First some fun with King Julien… because everyone’s got a letter to write, right?

Dear Ms. Kindergarten Teacher:

I don’t know how you do it.

This deaf chick came to the V-Day party and had her lipreading skills sorely tested by the crazy combination you deal with every day.

Jadyn – Javyn

Ethan – Eastin

Ella – Emma

Rilee – Ryker

Love,

The mom who finally figured out Lyric is a boy and Jackie is a girl

Dear Mr. Daddy,

Really?

You didn’t notice anything was amiss when you put the pot roast in?

Something tells me this might have been part of the creation of the lovely carmelized sauce on the bottom of the oven…

Love,

The woman who loves that you cook

Dear Papa,

It really drives me nuts that you won’t let me post pictures of you on my blog. Cuz then I have to get creative.

That whole parent vs. grandparent thing?

I thought it absolutely charming that you demonstrated one of your signature impressive belches at the dinner table tonight. Then after Itty Bit asked why your burps always sounded like that (“bow”), he was swiftly instructed that he was to come up with his OWN special belch.

It will take months to undo the training he received at dinner tonight, practicing animal sounds and words via gastrointestinal emissions.

Somehow I can’t remember you ever helping me with my burps???

Love,

I can still burp longer than you

Dear readers,

Y’all rock. We loved, loved, loved the entries to this giveaway! And for stories behind this mini criminal’s mugshot? I was shocked at how many of his REAL stories y’all remembered.

By far, the one thing most of you figured was worthy of felony history, was his little escapade of CUTTING MOMMY’S HAIR. (I winced just typing that).

We had a blast laughing through the entries – thank you so much!

A real highlight of this silly contest was guilting poor PamD back into blogging action ;) She did not disappoint… she captured the entire expose from Itty Bit’s nefarious black market elbutt dealings, to Mr. Ed’s relative, and even squeezed a Mr. Braddy reference in there.

It’s well worth the click… here it is.

It sent Mr. Daddy into a coughing fit, so I think we have a winner! Congrats PamD! Can’t wait to see what you choose from the talented Katie Lloyd! (A huge thank you to Katie for her generosity!)

And from the follower comments; I totally did not do this the proper OCD way. I plugged in the total of all comments and hoped it would land on a follower one. Forgive me? (If I could even talk about the suckage of this past week, you would immediately order me to eat all of the prize chocolate).

…the bonus “My Favorite Things” prize goes to:

Oh no way… it’s LITTLE JO!

If you can’t quite place Little Jo… she’s my photobombing niece below:

(and yes, that’s Ju and little May-May and Itty Bit… I miss that itty-bit-ness!)

And the little karate skills vs. furniture episode might be kinda sorta inspired by this:

Thanks for playing along! Congrats to PamD and Little Jo!

Mugshot Madness Finale

2012-02-15T22:36:00.001-08:00

ENDS TONIGHT!

Prizes include:

Get your last entries in here. Two winners, unlimited entries.

Confession: I can’t stay up until midnight to post winners. I am insanely exhausted. The “situation I can’t talk about” has beaten me up this week. Badly.

Always look on the bright side though, right? Five pounds down in three days has got to be a record for this chick.

So much I wish I could say. So much I wish I could write about how kindness in children needs to be nurtured because grown up bullies are incredibly destructive.

It makes me appreciate – all the more – the incredible kindness and humor within the safety of these four cushy blog walls.

(That was a Thank You, in case you didn’t know :)

So I’m repeating what Mom used to say to me…

Stay blameless.

Gosh I miss her.

We’ll come back with the winners and have some fun with all those comments. We are loving those funny mugshot stories!

Giveaway here.

Mugshot Madness #3

2012-02-13T05:54:00.001-08:00

So really, this is just about photobombing.

Because I really love me a good photobomb.

Ever upload a bunch of pictures, hit delete, then think,

“waitaminute… what was that?”

Yeah… I kept the first one, deleted the second… then UNDELETED it after I took a closer look.

Am I mean for laughing?

(in an oh poor baby kind of way)

Seriously, have you ever seen a sadder pilot?

And speaking of photos… we only have 28 entries in the awesome Katie Lloyd Photography giveaway.

I usually purchase all the giveaway prizes, but Katie was generous enough to offer an 8x10 print from her shop – so I would really love to knock this giveaway out of the park for her.

You don’t have to be a follower… unlimited entries for coming up with a story behind our son’s mugshot!

It couldn’t be easier… just being a follower gets you an entry into the bonus prize round if you leave a comment. Bonus round?

$20 giftcard to your choice of Target or Starbucks:

Some decadent chocolate deliciousness:

And some Bath & Body Works yumminess:

Plus some stuff to make your house smell good too:

Let’s extend the giveaway another couple days to show Katie Lloyd some love. Wednesday night sound good? I’m slowly catching up on your blogs and can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to!

(Hopefully an update post from Mr. Daddy soon… wish life could be ALL as fun as giveaways and blog buddies!)

Mugshot Madness #2

2012-02-11T21:27:00.001-08:00

Seriously you guys… there’s only 24 entries in the giveaway.

(My son has burped at least 24 times today, just to put that in perspective for y’all).

But if you’re still on the fence about it, let me assure you that if you like either of these, you’re in luck for the bonus prize:

Who can resist that dangerous Dollar Aisle or some caffeine?

(are y’all tired of this picture yet? Because it still makes me laugh my elbutt off)

So it wasn’t just Itty Bit that deserved a mugshot…

The Mister also earned one of his own.

His crime? Just check out the Facebook deets:

Yes, you read that right.

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN comments.

That tells me y’all thought it was quite felonious.

(I don’t even want to tell you how crazy that Facebook conversation got… I am just continually in awe of how randomly funny people are)

“But I’ll wash ‘em. They’ll be fine.”

Seriously… this stuff? With my pretty girlie scissors?

See that yumminess dripping off? That does something to the chemical composition of metal. Something that makes them completely unworthy of contact with pretty fabric ever again.

(Moment of silence for the shears now relegated to utility tasks)

A hunting buddy jumped in… you rednecks always stick together!

Methinks the redneck owes Momma a cute new pair?

(go ahead honey… the picture links to the website to purchase them ;)

And that redneck?

Thoroughly unrepentant.

Now hop on over and add your entry! One for being an awesome follower, another for blogging or tweeting about it, and UNLIMITED for exposing the crazy stories behind Itty Bit’s mugshot! Until Monday night, enter here!