Stretch Marks

I Like My Bralettes With A Side of Texas Toast.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 05:08:00 +0000

Here, I provided a link for you.....because I'm really accessible like that.

http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-look/everyday-style/staticslideshowinstyle.aspx?cp-documentid=29457591&gt1=32002

Go to it. Go to it and read what made InStyle magazines Top Bras of 2011.

Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.

Did you read it? Did you notice that there were a lot of great bras that look really good worn under Gap t-shirts? Because as you know, nothing says "Middle-aged-mom-of-two" like a form fitting see through t-shirt from Gap. For pete's sake.

Oh, and also one was called a Bralette. Ummmm, girls like me don't wear "bralettes" - and not because it sounds like a vegetable that tastes better when fried ("oh yeah, I'd love some bralettes. Do you have ranch to dip them in?") - but because Bralettes don't work for any and all girls that have graduated from 8th grade.

So now, on to my list. Oh no, don't worry, I'm not coming up with a list of The Best Bras of 2011A. Nope. Been done. I'm doing my very own...

Melissa's Top Five Worst Bra's of All Time

working title: Melissa's Top Five Worst Bra Moments and if You've Had Them Too,

I'm Sorry.

(Here they are in no particular order):

1. If your Granny tells you she wants to take you bra shopping....and you let her....I'm sorry. If she proceeds to take you to one store....in Diboll....I'm sorry. If there is not a bra within a fifty mile radius that has less than six hooks on the back.....I'm sorry. If the only way the store owner can gage your size is by cupping your bosoms and yelling out, "We're gonna need that box in the back!" I'm truly, very sorry.

2. Do not watch infomercials on Sunday afternoons. You know you're tired. But you will be easily swayed by the bright lights and all the women smiling and their super white teeth. And then you will go and get your credit card - just like the robot they have brainwashed you into being. And then you will order what they're offering. A buy 3 for $20 special on Aah Bra's. And from the moment you put them on you will regret that $20 because you could have easily spent $8.99 on mosquito netting and produced the same results. But you still wear them. Only you have to wear all three of them at once. The ladies with the really shiny teeth never had to do that.

3. If it is your birthday and you're mother hands you a check for $50 and says, "Take this check and cash it. Put the money in your purse. Don't pull in to a movie theatre or a Chik-fil-A, do you hear me? Put the money in your purse. Drive straight to Dillards and buy you a bra. A real bra. For big boobs. Because you aren't kidding anyone. Find one that fits and that doens't embarrass your daddy. And then wear it. Day and night. Happy Birthday." Just save yourself the heartache and do it.

4. If your search for a new bra gives you three "Are You Sure's" then chances are you are barking up the wrong tree. Case in point: I bought a beautiful new summer outfit that I just loved and I wanted to wear it to a special event. I tried it on for Meridith who asked what bra I would be wearing. I told her it would only work with a strapless bra, she replied, "Strapless? Are you sure?" Later that evening I tried it on for the Attorney General. He did a once over and said,

"Are you wearing a..."

"No, because I need to go buy a strapless one."

"For who? For you? A strapless? Are you sure?"

Upon entering the store I asked the saleslady to direct me right to the strapless bra area. She mentioned that they had a new line of underwires in; they were in my size and had been made from prison wire from the gates of Alcatraz no doubt. I reminded her I was there for strapless.......she simply asked, "Are you sure?" Turns out strapless bras don't keep me in the game, ifyouknowwhatImean. And yes, I'm sure.

5. It is Christmas. You are at a party. In fact, you are about to sing at said party. Your cousin, who shall remain nameless (MERIDITH!) asks you, "What bra are you wearing?" You know there is likely to be trouble.

"Why?"

"Because I can see right through your shirt and I'm pretty sure I see..."

"I have on a bra. In fact, I have on a cami over it."

"Let me see."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fine." I raise my shirt.

"I can see through this, Melissa! You can't go out there like this."

"But I have on a cami..."

"That I can see through."

"And I'm wearing that over my bra..."

"Which I can see through."

"And I'm wearing my bra over those three..."
"Not the infomercial bras. Enough with those. Throw those away! So you have on three Aah Bra's, a normal bra and a cami? Did you have nothing else?"

"I had a strapless."

"YOU have a strapless? Are you sure?"

Uuugghh.

"I don't understand how I can still see through all FIVE layers, Melissa. Where is the good bra your mom bought you for your birthday?"

"I drove past a Chik-fil-A."

So Many Things. So Very Many Things.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 04:31:00 +0000

I always say, "I have nothing to write about on my blog anymore, Attorney General. You are providing me with no real life-experiences. Take me on a vacation. Take me out on date. Just drive me around the neighborhood!" And then he reminds me, "Did I take you to Dairy Queen last night?"

And I am reminded, once again, of his never-ending and abounding love for me.

And I thank God for him.

And then I roll my eyes at the atrocious lack of real-life experiences I am being given on a daily basis. (Though, for the record: I am taking my mother to see her doctor in Houston on Wednesday. So stay tuned. Surely to heaven something wonderful will come out of that little excursion.)

So, in a fashion that isn't fit for print, here are a couple of things I'd like to say before I close down my blog for another 14 days. Oh hush...I'm kidding.

~~~

My family has often joked about the fact that I tend to have some difficulty in "following along." I don't ever understand rules to games. I have yet to understand one single thing Jason Bourne is doing or saving or killing or shooting at. And I usually sit straight up in bed 20 minutes after Law & Order is over and shout, "I knew she did it! I knew she did." Even though I had watched her be convicted some 30 minutes earlier.

So, what I'm saying is....it takes me a bit.

Take this weekend for instance. We saw Cars 2. For all of those out there who care, I don't like Cars. Not a big fan. Love Toy Story. Adored Nemo. But Cars? Aah. So imagine my delight when the AG took us all to see Cars 2 this weekend. Which I was fine with. There was popcorn. It was air-conditioned. And we enjoyed ourselves. But I will leave you with this: If you have to look at your husband 1 hour and 14 minutes in to a Pixar movie and ask, "I don't understand what is going on. I don't even know who the bad cars are. And I hate anything even remotely having to do with James Bond."

Did you know that James Bond has absolutely nothing to do with Cars 2? Well, he doesn't - even though people are talking in a British accent and driving cars that have guns on the side of them. So even at this moment, I'm totally confused.

~~~

How is y'alls summer going? Mine is okay. We swim alot.

Remi is a great swimmer. Really great. She can dive and hold her breath for a long time and float and do the backstroke and she's really really good. Honest!

Rocco is 100% completely mesmerized by "oobies."

This presents a problem.

We may have to stop swimming for a while.

~~~

I heard a story the other day that has stuck with me.

My Pastor went and preached a wedding in a trailer house to a couple who had just gotten saved. They had been living together and once they gave their hearts to the Lord they wanted nothing more than to do right by Him, so they got married. When the wedding was over they gave him the only "payment" they had.

A bag of cucumbers and tomatoes.

I miss the simplicity of giving sometime. The excitement of taking what I have - as little or as much as it is - and giving it. To God. To others. To my family. To my friends. To those who need it.

I over think it. I balance it in my checkbook. I consider it when payday comes. I add it up in my head and deduct it from my monthly. I set aside time to figure out when I can set aside time. I make a plan to make a plan to make a plan to give. Of myself. Or my time. Or my talents.

And I forget that sometimes cucumbers and tomatoes in a brown paper bag are plenty. When given with a level of obedience and excitement.

It's that simple.

~~~

And lastly, on a completely unrelated note: George Clooney broke up with his girlfriend.

I found out this news on Thursday at Chili's as I was eating lunch with some friends. And for one pretty long moment I felt this level of excitement. The kind of excitement you feel when they guy you wanted to ask you to prom asked the girl with swan-like neck instead but then you found out she had a 4-wheeler accident and was going to be in a wheelchair during prom. (TRUE STORY!) And so you get all overcome and excited again because - there's still a chance!!! And that is honestly how I felt before I remembered that I was
a.) married
b.) the mother of two small children
c.) eating at Chili's

Chances are he's not a fan of any of the three.

But my friend brought me back to life when she said the article she read said that if you want to get lucky with Clooney you need to make sure you're a "little-known brunette." That is his apparent taste. So I suppose I will continue to stay married, parent my children and dip my chips in Ranch dressing because I'm a "well-known blond" and I don't see that changing any time soon.

G'day, my lovelies.

Somethin' Bad's Goin' Down At The Maxx.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 09:50:00 +0000

We have a joke in my family. And by "family" I mean, me and the Attorney General. And by "joke" I mean, he laughs - I do not.

Here's the joke: Give Melissa five minutes in a Lifeway Christian Bookstore or a Marshalls and she'll be in the bathroom before you can go "Look! This shirt was originally $40!"

There's just something about those places that have an effect on me.
A big effect.
A big, bad effect.

Yesterday we didn't so much go to a Marshall's as we did a TJ Maxx. Have you ever been to those two stores? They are exactly the same. Marshall's is like the older, classier sister and TJ Maxx is like the younger, slightly prettier but not quite as demure, young sister. And Ross is like their white trash cousin that their momma made them put in their wedding.

Now that we understand each other...

Yesterday the AG dropped me off at TJ Maxx while he went to park. I walked in. I grabbed a buggy. I walked to the sunglasses. And within 3 minutes I was sprinting - SPRINTING, I TELL YOU - to the restrooms. There was not one single modicum of class or self-respect in that sprint. It's a full out, supporting my body weight on the buggy, sweat beads forming, kind of run. At one point I touched an Asian woman on the shoulder and said "Bathroom! Where is the bathroom?" To which she replied, "I no work here."

Ugh.

Finally, I found them. By the men's section - because nothing says "Hey bro, look at that sexy thing over there pushing her cart with her boobs and wiping her sweat from her upper lip at the same time" - like a woman in an IBS emergency.

I made it to the restrooms without a moment to spare. And thankfully, there was one lady in there who was finishing up washing her hands and drying them. "Oh good, she can't be in here long," I thought. Wrong!

For the sweet love of bread, what is taking this woman so long? I wonder what there is left to do? Her hands are clean, they were dry. Her hair was a 1/2 hour and a good hairbrush away from being reparable. So what is this woman doing?

I sit in the stall. Quietly. I wait.

But I got no more time. Time is not always our friend. Sometimes it marches on. Sometimes it stampedes. This was more of a stampeded than a march. So I did the only thing I could think to do, besides, I didn't know her and as I always tell myself, "Melissa, you'll never see that person again for the rest of your life." So I mustered up the courage and with sweat pouring down my face I bellered, "LEAVE!"

And she left.

And then...a bunch of stuff happened and none of it was pretty and none of it should be repeated for fear that it might land me in some IBS experimental testing - for it was not normal and almost otherworldly.

And I'm not being dramatic.

And now I'm going to "cut to the chase" as the folks say and jump past the part where I pulled myself together and wiped my brow and made my way out of the bathroom. And I'm going to skip over the part where I found the AG shopping without a care in the world. And I'm going to forgo telling you how it hit me - again! - within minutes and how the last words I heard the AG saying as I fled down the Men's Active aisle was, "Will this shrink if you dry it?"

And I'm going to go right to the part where this time when I entered the bathroom there was another lady in there. But she was in the stall. And apparently - apparently - something bad was goin' down with her too. Poor lady. You know she wanted to tell me to "LEAVE" but she was wise enough to know she might bump into me again in the housewares aisle.

So there we were.
Just the two of us.
In a two stall bathroom.

Her with her black patton pumps and navy slacks and me with my Irritable Bowel syndrome and my need for complete privacy.

The silence between us would have been deafening had it not been for the fact that nothing, and I do mean n-o-t-h-i-n-g, about her restroom experience was silent. She was apparently from the old school of thought that says, "If you feel it - then feel it. All of it. Deeply. Loudly. Let it out. It's good for the soul." Because she did. And I wondered if I was being punked. Might this be Eddie Murphy sitting next to me making some of his inane bodily sounds? Had I walked in on Tyler Perry doing something as Madea?

But I hadn't. I knew I hadn't. She was as real as I was. And truth be told, she didn't want to be in the stall next to me any more than I wanted to be in the one beside her. But we were two strangers......in a terrible bind. Two strangers.....one with a penchant for poor retail bowel performance and one who had apparently overeaten Chinese that day. But we were there nonetheless. And had the moment not been one of the most awkward of my entire life I would deem it silly. But it wasn't silly, it was real. She was real. She was really hurting. And so was I. And she was, in a manner of speaking, screaming out for help. And so was I. Only I wasn't. I was mortified. I was also quiet. She wasn't; for pete's sake, at one point I thought there were two of her in there. Are you getting the picture here?

A few minutes later I left that bathroom.

I walked out.
I leaned against my buggy.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and took a few slow, deep breaths.
I gained my composure and began looking for the AG who was no doubt looking at more golf shirts, and I saw a young mother with her sweet little 2 year old headed into that bathroom and felt the overwhelming urge to warn her......"LEAVE!" But why take away a story from her? Who's to say she's not at her house right this very minute writing a blog, too?

And who's to say next time it won't be about me? The poor woman in the stall next door. Though if I'm wearing black patton pumps and navy slacks I may be deserving of all that's coming at me.

The End.

I Know Very Few Things.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Wed, 25 May 2011 21:16:00 +0000

Today was a different kind of day.

I knew that it was the last day of the school year. Oh sure, I go tomorrow and watch Remi "graduate" from 4K into Kindergarten, but that doesn't count. Today was the last school day that started at 8am and ended at 3pm. So it was the last day of down time.......for me.

What to do? What to do?

And as I sat and thought about what to do on my last day of personal freedom I realized something....

Some things never change. And some things change drastically.

There really is no definitive. Some things change. Some things don't.

What changes?
The season I'm in. I've never been in this one before. Its new. Its shaky. At times its terrifying. At times its hope-filled.

What never changes?
Whom I put my hope in.

What changes?
My prayer life. Like anyone with a pulse, my prayer life goes from good to great depending on my season. Depending on my need. Depending on my urgency. I am wishy-washy. I am like the wind. I wonder if He gets as sick of me as I get of myself.

What never changes?
Who I cry out to. It has always been Him. It always will be.

What changes?
My family. They grow. They get older. My babies get bigger and The AG finds grey hairs. They drink chocolate milk and suddenly desire Coke. He used to take me to movies, now he takes me to Little League games. We grow and adjust and shift and....change.

What never changes?
My need for my "home" to be in order. I found myself on my last day of sweet freedom, dusting, vacuuming, Cloroxing the counter tops and folding the laundry. I may be a mess but my house must still feel like a home.

I picked Remi up from school today and just like every single day she says, "So mama, what do you want to talk about?" And I said, "You know what never changes Remi?" And my desire was to talk to her about God and His sweet faithfulness, but I figured it too much for a 5 year old wearing a Super Woman cape.

And sweetly she answered, "Yep. The fact that you can't put a collar on a snake."

Some things never change.

A Long Time 'Coming.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 17 May 2011 03:13:00 +0000

It made me sad today when I pulled up my blog.

There it sat. Untouched. Dusty. No action. No upkeep. For over two months.

Nada.

My history would tell you that if I don't post for a number of weeks then I will be reappearing with a baby in tow. Yeah, I've been known to do that. Disappear. Then re-appear with a baby. Its kinda weird, but I've done it twice and it seems to pay off.

Don't get your hopes up. No baby here.

Just life. The hard kind. The keep-you-up-at-night-kind. The kind that the woman with the issue of blood must have been having when it said...

“As Jesus was on His way, the crowds almost crushed Him. And there was a woman there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind Him and touched the edge of His cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped. ‘Who touched Me?’ Jesus asked. When they all denied it, Peter said, ‘Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.’ But Jesus said, ‘Someone touched Me; I know that power has gone out from Me.’ The woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at His feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched Him and how she had been instantly healed. Then He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace’” (LUKE 8:43-47).

I find it interesting that nowhere does it say she walked steadily up behind Him, gently eased her way through the crowd and tapped Him on the shoulder.

Anybody can do that!

But she (much like myself) wormed her way through the crowd. Chances are she (like I feel I do on occasion) knelt down and crawled through the legs and the feet. Until she (like I am attempting) reached and grabbed hold of the edge of his clothing. And then refused to let Him go until He noticed her.

Here this, my lovelies, I'm not letting go. Not until He's done. I'll crawl on hot pavement, through legs and over limbs, I'll drive Him nuts and I'll beat down His door...but I won't leave Him alone until He has heard my plea and has answered it.

So when you all, my friends, leave me postings that say, "Where are you?" "We're worried..." "I'm praying for you..." to that I say:

Thank you. Its good to be missed. I won't stay gone that long again, okay friend? Because I've missed you, too. So let's crawl along this pavement together. Let's reach Him together, shall we? I'll pray for you. You pray for me. And I'll see you on the other side.

Love,
Melissa

Men are from Tuscon, Women are from Jersey.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 10:45:00 +0000

I'm not really sure how men work.

In fact, men seemed to have really raked in the dough over the years publishing everything from books to videos to movies to cartoon strips about how hard women are to figure out. They're no piece of cake, themselves!

That's why the book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus makes reference to the fact that men are from Mars. If men were relatively easy to figure out and completely simple to understand then the book would be called Men are from Idaho, Women are from Venus. Doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

This weekend was "spring cleaning" weekend. Or at least it was to me. I bet if you had asked the Attorney General on Friday morning, "Hey, Attorney General, what do you think your weekend will be termed?" He would have said, "I think it will be called college-basketball-and- driving-range-weekend." And we would have laughed and laughed. He would have been laughing at how fun his weekend sounded and how it would look cute on a bumper sticker and I would have been laughing at how simple-minded he looked when he was optimistic.

I once heard that anger is what comes when you have unmet expectations. If that definition is true then it would reason that if he spent all weekend driving golf balls into the abyss I was going to be....you guessed it....angry. So I had to come up with a plan, and fast. I needed the man to work this weekend. And not just because it was a wonderful weekend to do all the spring weeding and trimming and mowing and mulching. But also because I had to do all the inside stuff and I'll be darned if I was going to do it while he screamed at Kansas and UConn.

So here are six easy steps to get your man (husband, boyfriend, fiance, any other type of man and your on your own) to do what you need them to do:

1. Make sure that on the Friday before they are met with some unexpected surprises. I started by taking him to lunch on Friday. (And even though my Granny and my mom showed up at the exact same restaurant at the exact same time and even though they waved at us and had the waiter seat them at our table, I was not undeterred. It just meant I had to come up with extra bonuses later in the day.)

2. At some point in the course of the meal he will ask you about money. Its inevitable. Whatever the question is act as if the last thing on earth you want to do is spend more money. "No, I don't want to go shoe shopping. Who has time for that right now?" "Please don't take my car in to be fixed, I'm sick of spilling money into that thing." "Yes, I'm running a fever, but you're crazy if you think I'm giving more money to the medical industry."

3. Arrange a sitter for Friday night and let him pick the movie. Yes, Jane Eyre is playing but tonight he gets to choose. Besides, its only 2 hours of your life. Surely you can watch a bunch of cars explode and a bunch of people die for 2 hours of your life. Surely.

4. If I have to explain number what to do for him at the number four mark then you need to stop reading this altogether and take a long look in the mirror. And be ashamed.

5. Friday night, as your just about to roll over, kiss him goodnight and rather quickly say, "Thank you for being willing to help me get all of the things done around the house tomorrow that we need to get done. Night." He won't know what your talking about but he will momentarily be proud of himself for being so willing.

6. Here is our sixth and final step. Saturday morning when you start to lay out the days plans, "I'm going to start cleaning out closets in here while you start weeding that flower bed right there..." be prepared for some opposition. And when it comes at you, and it will, you can make it all go away with this one little sentence: "That's fine, if you don't want to do it, I get it! But just keep the kids out of my way while I work, okay? Keep them with you."

I worked steps 1 through 5 like a pro this weekend. But I won't lie, step 6 got me fresh mulch, weeds trimmed, new flowerbeds AND a barbecue dinner.

I don't know why men say they can't figure us out.

What A Sweet Heart.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 10:50:00 +0000

If you don't hear from me over the next couple days never fear. I've just taken a few days to go and bask in the glory that is Spring Break with a little get-a-way vacation with the AG and our kiddos. Now, if you don't hear from me on Monday then go ahead and set your TiVo's to record Dateline because it will no doubt be a story on how a mother from a small town in East Texas was found hanging upside down on a roller coaster at Six Flags with a sign around her neck that reads, "Trust me, this is better than going back to a hotel room with them!"

Hey, it could happen.

~~~

So last week my Granny had a small heart-attack. Now, now, before you start going on over her let me assure you she has been well taken care of. She has been cooked for and cared for and cleaned for and has had someone do her hair and her laundry and her grocery shopping. She's been treated like a Queen, I assure you. And it's not because we're scared of her.

Uh, huh. No way. Nope. Not us.

She's not scary. Not at all.

But despite the discomfort of a heart-attack, despite the pain of having a stint put in, and despite the stress it can put a person under, my Granny just keeps knocking 'em outta the park! Here are a couple of things you might have heard my Granny say had you been standing within 50 feet of her (because the woman cannot whisper.)

"Did you hear that I became friends with one of the nurses? Your Aunt Melba didn't like it one bit. She said I take up with all sorts of stragglers, but what I wanted to tell her was 'SO DO YOU!' She takes up with people just because they're funny - but really they make NO SENSE! And she got mad at me for being nice to this nurse but I really liked her even though her son has long hair like a girl. She works hard and is saving her money for a cow."

"Annette, who is that Doctor? I think he's a foreigner!"

"Meridith, what is that smell in here?"
"That would be you, Granny."
"Well, spray something."
"Well, you're surrounded by oxygen so I don't know if I...."
"Fine, I'll tell Annette to bring a candle and burn it."
"I'm pretty sure that could be fatal."
"Sit down and hush."
(Annette brought a candle. They burnt it until the Hospital Administrator asked them to blow it out considering the oxygen tanks sitting around the room.)

"When they were putting that stint in me I looked around the room and though, 'Good grief, everyone here is so fat.' "
(This is coming from a woman who has never once shopped in the petite sizes.)

And my personal favorite...

(My Granny was assigned a male nurse her first day in the E.R. He was Asian. Bless his heart.)
"You know I haven't stepped foot in this hospital in two years!"
"Is that right, Miss Willmon?"
"Nope. The last time I was here y'all killed my husband!"
"Ohhh...uhhh.."
"You did! You killed him! Gave him all that terrible medicine from CHINA!"

Yep, she's doing juuuuuuuust fine.

Well, That Was Odd. (Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 04:18:00 +0000

For some of you, you'll be happy to know The Bachelor is over. Therefore Tuesdays on this blog can go back to fancy titles like, "Someone Give Me A Chicken Recipe - STAT!" or "You Pulled What? Out of Where?" I know you're on the edge of your seat, aren't you?

But until then, humor me once more, won't you? For you see....I'm kinda dying inside.

For the past ten weeks or so I have gotten together with eight other women. We've popped popcorn, we've added M&M's to it, we've discussed our children, our weight and how our children effect our weight. But more than all of that - we have intently watched as Brad fell in love with Emily. And because our lives don't have a whole heck of a lot going on in them right at this moment, we invested something in to this show.

Call us silly.
Call us romantics.
Call us idiots.
We don't care!

So needless to say we were just a teensy bit excited about tonight's Finale episode.

So excited, in fact, that we decided to start our evening off with some Italian food.
And so excited, in fact, that we decided to wear matching shirts that we made just for this occasion.

And now that I look back at those last two sentences I can see where only the Italian food sounds like a good idea to most of you. Yes, I can see that. But I cannot tell a lie : I loved that shirt!

Oh, the excitement of seeing Brad choose Emily. We screamed and screamed and screamed some more! But then our hopes seemed a little dashed when The Bachelor: After The Final Rose came on. (Stupid ABC execs, don't they know we don't want to see what happens after the rose? We only want to see the champagne and flights of fancy up to that point?) But to then see Brad and Emily come out and look so.............real. It kinda stunk. I wanted them to look deliriously happy. I wanted them to look intoxicated. I wanted them to look like a couple just starting out is supposed to look.

But instead they kinda looked a little too real. A little scared. A little thrown in to the fray. A little dazed and confused.

And I don't watch reality television for the reality. Sheesh.

So there, just below this blog is a comment box. Leave your comments. Tell me how ridiculous shows like this are. Tell me how the couples never make it and they are a lower class of people to have to even go on reality television. Tell me how the women make fools of themselves and lower the standard by which other women are measured. Tell me how foolish Brad is and how he will never allow himself to be happy.

Go ahead. But just know...I've heard it all. And none of it has mattered. I love the show. Its my guilty pleasure, just like reading US magazine in a steamy bubble bath. Dropping a little bit of ice cream into my vat of chocolate syrup. Ordering room service when I'm not even hungry. Or having my hair colored when I'm clearly not THAT blond.

That's what guilty pleasures are: something one enjoys without feeling guilt for it.

Today I woke up to the real world. My daughter in between us in bed because she threw up all over hers. A husband with a nagging cough. A son who wants chocolate milk when I clearly forgot to buy milk. And forty errands I have to run all before noon. I also have a $20 in my pocket that I have to make last for a week.

Now that's the real world.

And if Brad and Emily can make it in that, then more power to 'em! Who's to say they can't? Who's to say they can? Certainly not me. I wouldn't want that job anyway. I just simply want to get together with friends, drown my priorities in some Alfredo sauce and sit back and gab.

Yep, I'm guilty. Who cares!

P.S. To our other 3 compadres, you were sorely missed. (They are school teachers. And apparently at Spring Break school teachers like to run for the border. Who knew!)

Spring Broke.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 10:24:00 +0000

It's Spring Break. The time when the sun stays out longer, becomes bolder and moves in as if to say, "Come. Bask in me. Allow me to move you from melancholy to pleasantly perky. Put on your shorts. Let's frolic."

Spring Break problem #1: I don't wear shorts.

I always look at this week like this, "What can we do? What can we do? We got nothin' planned...what can we do?" Then I do a lot of crying and whining and begging the AG to give me some money, give me some money, give me some money. And he does. And I blow it all the first afternoon at Target and Chik-fil-a.

Spring Break problem #2: I need more money in order to entertain these children.

We actually do have a couple of things planned that we are holding in our back pocket like a Full-House for fear that springing it on the kids too early will result in our favorite series of questions, "is it tomorrow yet?" Followed by the ever popular, "So I'm going to bed tonight and then what happens?" And the one that never gets old, "But you said we were gooooiiinnnngggg..." Ugh. So later in the week we will be taking the kids to Houston for a couple of days where we will (in my mind) pack picnic lunches and spend afternoons frolicking in Herman park and riding the train. But will, in reality, carry a spanking spoon into public restroom where we will not "spare the rod or spoil the child" while their daddy orders 2 Coke's to make up for the ones that are lying on the floor of his car and orders mommy a large fry and a shake...just because.

Spring Break problem #3: I once read where anger comes from unfulfilled expectations. It is highly probable that this will be one very angry Spring Break.

In truth, I like Spring Break. There's a lot of needed laying around the house. Eating lunch with the windows and the door wide open. There is a lot of grilling when daddy gets home and walking down to the pond to feed the fish. Sure there are lots of brother/sister wrestling matches. (But look at the glass as half full, people, that is some free entertainment you might not otherwise get!) There's also time for momma to hold babies while they watch their favorite cartoons and there's always a reason to spread out a blanket in the pasture and pack our favorite lunch of Cheez-Its, M&M's and applesauce.

So this Spring Break don't worry so much about entertaining your little ones. Instead of going out of town - read them a book. If it's too cold to swim - pack a picnic lunch instead. And if you know me AT ALL then you know what I really meant to say in those last few sentences was, "If your husband hands you a $20 scream 'THE LAST ONE TO CHIK-FIL-A HAS TO WASH THEIR HANDS!' and get the heck outta Dodge!!

~~~

What are your big Spring Break plans? Oh, and I only want to hear them if they are sad and depressing. If they, in any way, involve white sand or a child-free vacation then I ask that you please post your comment on someone else's blog. Don't take it personally. Thank you.

Unfortunatly, The Women Tell Nothing (Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 15:39:00 +0000

Enough!

Enough with all this procrastination! What is my problem? Why don't I want to write my Bachelor Recap from last night?? Why? Why?????

Oh yeah...because it makes women look like idiots. Now I remember.

So last night was The Women Tell All. It would have been more aptly titled had it been...
"The Women Put On the 8th Grade Production of: Dumb as Dirt."

Oh sure, I suppose I enjoyed hearing from The Dentist, about how she never could show her true feelings to Brad and then she went home and cut her bangs, yada yada yada. But I couldn't help feeling the rest of it was just sillyness.

So some girl with a face like a Rubix cube was mad at another girl who waxes men for a living.

Who cares!

So some girl who tends bar thinks her mom raised her better than 30th Birthday is raising her daughter.

Who cares!

So 30th Birthday really doesn't want apes to attack My Daddy Owns A Car Lot.

Who cares! (Well, My Daddy Owns A Car Lot probably cares, but other than her, no one!)

So I will be honest and say that I never really care a hoot about that particular episode every season, but my girlfriends still wanted to get together and watch it and who am I to say "no" to Oreo's and cheese dip? I'm not that strong.

So stay tuned for next week when Brad makes his final choice. If you step outside your door at just the right moment chances are you will hear us screaming. IF he chooses Emily.

Our plan is to meet at Olive Garden at 6pm wearing our TEAM EMILY shirts. Our only two rules:
1. Don't bother coming if you aren't wearing your t-shirt.
2. Don't bother coming if you don't eat your weight in breadsticks.

We will then file back to my house, gather around the television like its the moment those two old guys walked on the moon, and sit motionless waiting for his final decision.

Then, the next morning we will wake up and pretend to move on with our lives as if The Bachelor never even happened.

See? We don't take this stuff too seriously.

Not like those girls last night. Oh, the drama. Sooooooooooooooo NOT my thing.

Cough. Cough.

The President's Speech

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 15:17:00 +0000

"Melissa, this is your mother. I want you to take Granny and I to the show to see the movie about the King. So call and find out when its playing and I'll buy your popcorn. And also, I need you to come fix my hair."

I'm not sure if the woman is talking about The King's Speech or The Passion of the Christ, its been that long since she's been to the movies. But I'll assume its The King's Speech until I hear differently. Now I just have to figure out if its the one with Colin Firth or Mike Tyson.

Decisions, decisions.

Fantasy Shmantasy. (My late, but imminently awaited Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 03:43:00 +0000

There is so much I want to say about The Bachelor. But first I have to say this....

* Spoiler alert. Stop reading now if you don't want to know what my cousin Meridith told me that her best friend April told her that she heard Kid Kraddick say on the radio that someone told him. Because trust me, its probably 4% reliable. *

Emily's house is up for sale in Charlotte, NC and Reality Steve (the moron!) has changed his prediction! Can you believe it??

So everyone...
My house!
Two weeks from now!
Wear your Team Emily shirt!
Bring cheese dip!

Okay, enough of that right now...back to Monday nights episode.

So The Dentist went home. Anyone surprised by this?

Anyone surprised that a man who runs a business in Austin and is approaching the age of 38 didn't choose the 26 year old dentist-to-be from Pittsburgh who when asked where she would like to live mentioned fifteen cities without ever uttering the word "Austin."

Yeah, me neither.

Of course I do have some questions about this last episode. Here they are, in no special order:

When you go on The Bachelor that has to mean you've watched it before, right? In fact, you've probably watched it 2 or 3 times. Otherwise you're probably a little miffed that no one has been fired yet or no one has had you spin that giant wheel and win a Pontiac. So why then do they still seemed surprised when he hands them a card with a hotel room key inside of it. Why? When will there be a season with a woman who, for once, is handed the card and before she even reads it says, "Look babe, I know what this is. So let's get the check, call a cab, get that thing out from between your teeth and get the heck outta Dodge." When?

When it is down to the final three women and he has to take each of them to a "fantasy suite" how does he choose which one gets the tree house? Is it the one who in her bio wrote, "I love the outdoors. I have a tree in my backyard. I love to be naked." Is that how they narrow that down?

If a tree falls in the forest do you hear it? And when you spend the night in a tree house how do you flush?

When you are a cameraman and you hear The Bachelor say that he is ready for a family and a 5 year old. That he would consider it an honor to help raise that child and that he would always be a protector for her. And then he tells that child's mother that he is falling in love with her, do you just look at the other cameramen and say, "Let's just call it a day, shall we? I think we have a winner."

When a man tells you to "Wait right here for one minute..." while you are standing in the middle of the South African jungle do you really stand that still and quiet? Because once the AG told me to wait for him by the car while he ran back in for the keys and I screamed four times at the mosquitoes and I pounded the car in anger till he got back.

So when you are on a date with a woman and you are telling her your feelings and all she is doing is cutting up her meat like she's recently been on a 40 day fast, and when you are telling her how much she means to you and her reply is "mmmm...this is really delicious" you can bet on one of two things:
1. She's just not that into you or
2. You are on a date with me.

Until next week when The Women Tell All!

Never Fear....Not That You Were.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 05:01:00 +0000

I watched it, I watched it.

But I don't have time to post about it. Just yet.

Cuz my little man is coughing his head off and it sounds like a small dog moved into his chest. So give me a little while to get him to his doctor's appointment, load him up with some drugs, put him down for a nappy-poo and I'll be right back at it.

Because elephant rides and overnight stays in a tree-house cannot be summed up in two minutes. They just can't.

Doubting Thomas.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 14:35:00 +0000

I don't usually type my posts on the morning of. I type them a day ahead and if I'm really doing good, a week ahead.

Not today.

Today I am typing a post that will go up seconds after I'm done with it. I'm that behind. Because its been that kind of weekend. The kind where you never stop, not once. The kind where every moment is filled with something, or someone, or some situation. The kind that makes you actually look forward to Monday.

Yeah, that kind of weekend.

So today, as I sit on my couch and my house is quiet I think about what it is I want to say. As much I would like to take credit for the wording that I am about to use I suppose I should let the writer of The Message Bible do that. He translates the words, "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!" into words that resonate truer with me.

Look for yourself...

~~~

(Mark 9: 14-24)
When they came back down the mountain to the other disciples, they saw a huge crowd around them, and the religion scholars cross-examining them. As soon as the people in the crowd saw Jesus, admiring excitement stirred them. They ran and greeted him. He asked, "What's going on? What's all the commotion?"

A man out of the crowd answered, "Teacher, I brought my mute son, made speechless by a demon, to you. Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, grinds his teeth, and goes stiff as a board. I told your disciples, hoping they could deliver him, but they couldn't."

Jesus said, "What a generation! No sense of God! How many times do I have to go over these things? How much longer do I have to put up with this? Bring the boy here." They brought him. When the demon saw Jesus, it threw the boy into a seizure, causing him to writhe on the ground and foam at the mouth.

He asked the boy's father, "How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since he was a little boy. Many times it pitches him into fire or the river to do away with him. IF you can do anything, do it. Have a heart and help us!"

Jesus said, "IF? There are no 'IFS' among believers. Anything can happen."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the father cried, "Then I believe. Help me with my doubts!"

~~~

"Then I believe. Help me with my doubts."

Something about these words resonate in my spirit this morning. Its as if I'm saying...

"Yes! Yes, okay? I believe. I believe. I've always believed in You. And who You are, God. And what all You can do. But that doesn't mean that I don't DOUBT. That I don't doubt that who You are - might not be who I need. Or that I don't doubt that what You can do - might not exactly be what I want. Or that I don't doubt that what you've done before - You will actually do for me. So yes, I believe. But excuse me if I still have my doubts."

So this morning, from the coziness of my couch, I will wrestle with my doubts. And I will recognize the normalcy of having them, for we all do. And then, after I've done so, after I've wrestled with them, and laid in them and wallered around in them and journaled about them and confessed them - I will lay them down. All the doubting. And I will pick up faith.

Because although the part that I identify most closely with this morning is the father and his doubts, the part I actually like the best is Jesus' comment, "IF? There are no "IFS" among believers. Anything can happen."

And anything can happen.
Anything.

If we tell him we're doubtful.

He loves brutal honesty.

What is you want to say to Him this morning? Of course you believe, but what is it your doubtful of? Be honest. Because anything can happen.

This Is Just To Catch You Up.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 13:54:00 +0000

There is nothing special gonna go down in this blog post today. You won't want to re-read it or post it on your friends Facebook page or call your momma and read it to her over the phone. Not that you do those things, but I like to imagine the LA Times is abuzz over some of my recent writings.

Anyway...

1. I didn't post yesterday because I woke up at 3AM with a migraine. A migraine! Let me set the record straight: I am not a person who gets migraines. At least I don't think I do. I have headaches here and there, no more or less than the next person, but what I had yesterday was the kind where you can't sleep yet you can't keep your eyes open, you have to shut off the ice maker just to shut off the hum, and no amount of headache medicine will do so you pull out the big guns - Vicodin.

I finally started feeling relief but around noon, when the pain meds wore off it reared its ugly head and took me down again. I came home and tried to sleep but couldn't. Tried to eat but couldn't. Right about the time Mr. Patrick cranked up the mower right outside my window I thought for sure I was going to die. (And I thought the ice maker was loud.)

All is well now. Its been 24 hours, I feel like a new woman, but I have no ice for my tea.

2. I am into my second week of the Believing God Bible study at church. My friend, Karli and I are leading it. We were hoping for 15 women and God sent 30! We are so excited and happy to see what God does with this study but I will admit, I haven't done this study since I was pregnant with Elisha and so some of it really floods my mind with memories, some sweet, some bitter, and its opening up some new emotions in me.

Last night as we were sitting on the couch together the AG saw my little blue bracelet that Beth Moore suggests you were during the nine weeks of your study. He touches it and says...
"I see you are wearing your blue bracelet again."
"Yep."
"I remember the last time you wore a blue bracelet like this."
"Yep."
"I remember what you were believing God for."
"Yep."
"It didn't happen."
"Nope."
"And you're still believing Him?"
"Yep."
"Good to know."

And so he asked me what things I was believing God for this time and I told him. And I was surprised, as was he, that when I said them out loud they were requests that I had not made of God in a very long time. Things that I had asked God for, flippantly, as a young wife or young girl, but things that I had no business receiving and likely wouldn't have known what to do with them if I had. But they are of the utmost importance to me now and they are things I am truly believing for and I won't let go of until I see Him move.

3. If you were wondering above who Mr. Patrick was then you can check that out here, unless you are my mother-in-law, then I beg you not to read it!

4. The Oscars are coming on this weekend and for the first time in my life I am going to an Oscar party. In all my years I have only gone to one and it was because I threw it and I swore I'd never do it again because the people at the party talked! Can you imagine? So I've decided to go to the party, take my dessert to the party and even have fun at the party. But if anyone decides to talk while George Clooney is on the stage or if someone comments on how ridiculous Nicole Kidman looks when they know full well she is perfection - then I will just get my purse and leave. I am THAT fun at Oscar parties! For pete's sake people, that is what the foreign language and technical parts are for.

5. Ronnie is coming into town tonight. I am so excited to see him I think I am going to smother him with kisses, so I hope he's prepared for that. I am making him a big breakfast and a big lunch (because the man can eat!) and the one thing he has most certainly requested, the absolutely-un-enjoyable-to-make but oh-so-wonderful-to-eat Coca Cola Cake. Here it is, if its new to you, but hope to goodness it isn't! Enjoy!

1 cup Coca-Cola
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 cup butter or margarine, softened
1 3/4 cups sugar
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cocoa
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups miniature marshmallows

Preparation
Combine Coca-Cola and buttermilk; set aside.

Beat butter at low speed with an electric mixer until creamy. Gradually add sugar; beat until blended. Add egg and vanilla; beat at low speed until blended.

Combine flour, cocoa, and soda. Add to butter mixture alternately with cola mixture; begin and end with flour mixture. Beat at low speed just until blended.

Stir in marshmallows. Pour batter into a greased and floured 13- x 9-inch pan. Bake at 350° for 30 to 35 minutes. Remove from oven; cool 10 minutes. Pour Coca-Cola Frosting over warm cake; garnish, if desired.

Coca Cola Frosting

Ingredients
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1/3 cup Coca-Cola
3 tablespoons cocoa
1 (16-ounce) package powdered sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
Preparation
Bring first 3 ingredients to a boil in a large saucepan over medium heat, stirring until butter melts. Remove from heat; whisk in sugar and vanilla.

Garnish with 3/4 cup of chopped pecans, toasted.

Death Where Is Thy Sting? Oh, Wait...There It Is. (Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 11:07:00 +0000

Let's take a quiz.

You're a man.

You're charming and handsome, rugged and Texan. You enjoy good food and loud music. You like to have fun and eat barbecue. When you go on a date, do you...
a. Go to a small town diner and taste the local flavor.
b. Picnic in the park, fly a kite, make dinner - at home - with your date.
c. Enjoy nice conversation, red wine and family bonding.
d. Pretend to be dead and imagine yourself being thrown into a raging furnace.

How did you do? Wanna try another one?

You're (still) a man.

You have four dates to go on with four very lovely women. You are excited for all of them because...
a. You get to meet their family and see if you mesh well with them.
b. You get to see the town they grew up in and learn more about them.
c. You enjoy seeing a different, more intimate side of each of them and feel a certain comfort level with them.
d. You get to lay perfectly still while someone pretends to drain you of your natural juices.

You did better on that one, didn't you?

Ya know, there are just some things you shouldn't do on a date. I, personally, don't recommend fairly obvious things like: throwing up, calling him by the wrong name or telling him you voted for Clinton (I'm kidding, y'all). But one would think that at some point in Mausoleum's life someone told her, "Honey, you are so beautiful. You are naturally gorgeous and women would kill for your legs. You really shouldn't bring a date to a funeral home, show him how to cremate people and ask him to pick out the crypt he wants to spend eternity in."

But that's just me. And I didn't date much. So maybe I was doing it all wrong.

But last nights Bachelor was anything but a shocker. All eight of us knew who was going home even before he handed out that last rose. So there was no screaming, no shrieking, no throwing things at the t.v. Just a lot of "I saw that comin'" or "well, what did she expect?" going around.

Next week he takes the last three of them to South Africa where I'm hoping (fingers crossed) that The Dentist gets lost in the jungle, My-Daddy-Owns-A-Car-Lot stands to close to a croc and the Bachelor and Emily decide to get married on top of an elephant. Which might sound completely ridiculous and crazy, but, my lovelies, this is The Bachelor. And I assure you...stranger things have happened.

Take Me Out To The Circus.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 11:05:00 +0000

Several weeks ago I asked for help.

Remi's school was having a Circus for the 4year old class and so we were required to dress them up and decorate a bike or a scooter for them to ride. Some see this as a wonderful thing that the school puts on, I see it as a brazen attempt to punish parents for caring for their children too much, for loving on them, for raising them up right, etc.

But then again, I've always been a glass is half empty kinda girl.

Anyway, I asked for some suggestions for Remi the Lion Tamer. My gut told me that there would be 30 little girls in 4K dressed as dancers and Remi should be something different. My gut was wrong, there were 40 dancers. I've never been so proud to have a child dressed like Elton John in my life!

Laura and Amanda helped me find this outfit at www.leapsandbounds.com (just in case you yourself are trying to outfit a lion tamer, a ring master or an Elton John impersonator.) I knew the minute I saw it that my bloggy friends had not steered me wrong! Thanks, girlies.

Sweet Susie even offered her services for helping me make something. But there was no way I was going to take her up on that for fear that she would ask me to sew on a button or thread a needle. Nope. Wasn't going there.

We eventually had to get my Granny to make the burgundy vest that went underneath the jacket because Remi has recently hit a growth spurt and every time she raised her hands her leotard did some kind of Pamela Anderson plunge that her daddy wasn't wild about.

This is Remi on her cat wrangler bike. I know you wish you could buy a bike like this, all covered in cheetah print and feathers, but I assure you - you can't. It's easy to make, though: you just sit up until midnight in the living room floor with your spouse, wrap a bike in crepe paper, make a sign on construction paper and fight with each other saying things like, "Why didn't I get this done yesterday? Because I was busy eating bonbons, that's why." "Whaddaya mean, I'm not sensitive? I'm wrapping a Barbie bike in cheetah print! I'm working with gold bows and fur. And I think I just hot glued my finger to a training wheel!"

I love this picture because her hands were in the air. Which is to say that most of the time they were in her clothes or in her backside. That durn leotard kept creeping into places that it really shouldn't have. Remi was quite upset about it, at one point she dropped her baton and told the little boy beside her to pick it up. I couldn't quite tell what she was saying to him but when I asked her later she said, "I told him I can't bend over cuz my behind will hurt." Four year old men just have no idea!

See what I mean?

Personally, I think they put her on the top because she was the cutest. But maybe it was because no one would be seen over her top hat. Either way, cutest kid there. But maybe that's just me.

The Scream Heard Round The World (Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 04:42:00 +0000

* Please note: The Bachelor came on Monday night, but I was Valentinin' it up with The AG and put off watching it until last night. So yes, I am a day late and a dollar short. Story of my life. Carry on...

~~~

Let's not confuse the issue: It says Bachelor recap in the title, but this isn't a recap at all.

A recap is where you go through the previous night's episode and replay it moment by moment for your friends who missed it.

But to that I say: If you missed it - then you aren't my friend!

Seriously, my lovelies, am I still having to convince some of you to watch this show? Why? Why is that? Is it that you are one of those people who are so self-controlled that you refuse to allow yourself one moment of down time? One moment of such guilty pleasure that you lay on your couch in the pajamas that you've had on all day, the ones with the chili stain on the front, and feed your mortality with Dr. Pepper and Double Stuffed Oreo's?

Not that I've ever done that.

Though that was oddly specific.

So I will not, can not, recap last night's episode for you because if you missed it - well, you missed it. Because in my house, it was the moment we've all been waiting for. The thrilla in manilla. The scream heard round the world.

30th BIRTHDAY IS GONE!

I wouldn't have believed it myself had I not been sitting in my living room surrounded by The Bachelorettes (its the name we've given ourselves, its catchy and it took us literally 2 seconds to come up with it) eating our usual diet of buttered popcorn and peanut M&M's. But there she was and then - poof! - she was gone.

I'm not gonna lie. It was glorious.

* It was like that time in high school when the really beautiful girl who was voted "Best Body" ran for cheerleader for the 15th consecutive year but then actually lost to the new girl with fallen arches and an overbite. Only that never happened because High School stunk!!

We all screamed and rewound it and watched it again and screamed again and rewound it one more time and then didn't scream so loudly the third time because we were all tuckered out.

So there's my Bachelor Recap. It wasn't so much a recap as it was my thoughts on The Bachelor and 30th Birthday and high school cheerleaders. But stay tuned next week when he goes to visit their families. This always brings the show to a different level because families can make ya or break ya.

Take mine, for instance. Were I (or for the sake of reality, Meridith) to ever bring The Bachelor home one could reasonably expect that...
a.) He would be shocked to find that my Granny will never serve a meal that doesn't have all three of these specific elements: wieners, cottage cheese and a half eaten can of peaches.
b.) My mother wholeheartedly believes its okay to give your American Express number to someone over the phone if they're conversation begins with the words, "You've won!"
c.) My dad can fall asleep standing up.

See how the game can change?

Come Aboard. We'I Am My Daddy'Come Aboard. We's And He Is Mine.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 04:19:00 +0000

I think is speaks a lot about a man who takes his little girl out on a date.
I think it speaks VOLUMES if that little girl is Remi Hope.

I wish you could have heard him ask her out.

"Remi, would you be my Valentine and go out on a date with me tonight? I'd like to pick you up and we can go anywhere you want to..."
"To see Gnomeo and Juliet?"
"If that's what you want..."
"And to eat sushi?"
"Yep, if that's where you want to..."
"Well it is."
"Then I'll pick you up at 5."
"Is that when the sun is up or down?"
"The sun will still be up."
"Okay, I'll see you then."

He wasn't aware of the "don't kiss on the first date rule". He wasn't aware of that with me 17 years ago and apparently he still hasn't get the memo. Ah well. He's too sweet to refuse.

(And someone please notice that little foot kicked back. Please! Hers. Not his.)

Here they are headed out. I'm not a proud mama at all, am I? Following them out like I'm a photographer for US magazine. She was somewhat proud of the balloon and rose. It followed her to every landmark they visited. I'm sure the folks behind her at the movies were thrilled about that.

And what kind of date is it if the guy doesn't open the car door for you? Its not a date, that's what! The AG's parents may have messed up a lot of things with him (for instance, he refuses to hang up a wet towel, he's not great at picking up his clothes, he would eat junk food like a Bachelor every day of his life if I'd let him and I have to remind him about the trash every. single. day.) but he treats his daughter like a princess and I haven't opened a car door in 17 years. Hmmm...well, whaddayaknow...I suppose they did teach him some things!

And yes, that is a front seat.
And no, there isn't a car seat in it.
And yes, she sat there.

But they were on a date! Please look up Child Protective Services for the State of Texas if you'd like to have him turned in. But you should feel ashamed if you do.

As much as I'm going to enjoy going out with him tonight it did more good for my heart to see him take her on a date. It probably did more for her 4-year old heart than she'd ever let us know, too. Going on a date with a daddy who cherishes you instills a confidence in you that can't be measured or equaled. Not to mention, later on in life, every man must try and measure up to the standard your daddy set. And having been with the AG for all these years now, I can tell you, no one ever will.

Happy Valentines Day!

Come Aboard. We'I Am My Daddyine.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Thu, 10 Feb 2011 10:50:00 +0000

Love, exciting and new....

Oh yeah. I bought this. And I am thrilllllllled about it.

You can tell me all day that The Bachelor isn't real;l choosing a girl you've only known 30 days, giving her a rose, whisking her off to Tahiti and proposing to her in front of America. You can say that isn't real...

But winding up on a cruise ship with your ex-husband, Chita Rivera and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders all at the same time, watching Gopher and Doc don wigs and pretend to be a cheerleader just to cause you such jealousy that you fall back in love with your ex-husband all the while spilling your guts out to a Bartender who plied you with drinks and gave you sound, love advice?

That, my lovelies, is real.

Anyone wanna come over and join me? It only takes a passport, a drink with an umbrella in it and very very open mind.

And I Though Target Had Bad Customer Service.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 08:57:00 +0000

Its been a while since I have given you any news from the 75904. Its not that we haven't had any. Oh, no. News happens around here on a minute by minute basis. Its just that more times than not its embarrassing. I don't want you all to think that I live in some po-dunk town devoid of real crime. Because I don't. The 75904 is a gang wasteland people. Hardcore. Very hardcore.

Just take the news last week about the man who hit his wife with a plastic baseball bat and sprayed Febreeze in her face because she popped her bubble game in his face. That was our headline in the paper. I told you, we're hardcore around here.

And apparently so is this poor guy who simply wanted what we all want: TO BE HEARD. (Well, he actually wanted more than most of us want unless most of us go to County Road 6101 for our jollies.) But he also wanted to be heard. But he wasn't. The customer service around there was bad, reeealll bad. So he took matters into his own hands. Thank heaven he didn't have a bottle of Febreeze in his hand.

~~~

Nacogdoches man reportedly admits taking laptop as refund from prostitute

NACOGDOCHES COUNTY, Texas (KTRE) - Nacogdoches County deputies arrested a Nacogdoches man early Monday after they say he admitted to taking a woman's laptop computer as a refund to money he paid her earlier for sex.

Carlos Ramirez, 25, is charged with burglary, a second-degree felony, and prostitution, a class B misdemeanor.

According to the complaint report, deputies were dispatched to County Road 6101 in reference to a burglary. When they arrived, a woman told them Ramirez stole a laptop from her residence while she was next door.

Deputies interviewed Ramirez, who reportedly told them he had paid the woman for sex and wanted some of the money back. According to the complaint, Ramirez said she refused to return any money, so he took the laptop, thinking she would be persuaded to return some of the money.

Sheriff Thomas Kerss explained that Ramirez said he "paid the woman by the month, and did not feel she gave him what he wanted" enough times.

Deputies arrested Ramirez on the burglary and prostitution charges, in addition to two municipal warrants.

According to the Texas Penal Code, a person commits prostitution if they pay or receive a fee for sex.

Kerss said his office is investigating prostitute charges on the woman.

"Those cases are hard to prove, but we're looking into his allegations," he said.

~~~

When you think about it, the man could have taken some Tupperware. Maybe a cast iron skillet. Or a box of laundry detergent. But a laptop? I'm not sure what she short-changed him on but it appears that she owed him, big time.

I also think its funny that the article referred to the "Penal" Code. But again, that's probably just me.

Cattiness is NOT Next to Godliness. (Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 05:50:00 +0000

So here's the problem with women...

Sometimes they can be catty.

I say "they" as if I'm not one. But I am. And sometimes I can be catty, too. Like a couple of days ago when I met someone who reminded me of someone else so I decided not to be friends with the NEW person because they reminded me too much of the OLD person and I was still mad at the OLD one, as if it that were the NEW one's fault.

Ridiculous.

But last night, the Bachelor was filled with such cattiness that all of us watching shrieked and clawed and growled our way through the episode wishing to goodness we could scratch a couple of their eyes out. (The Bachelor tends to bring out the worst in us, I can't lie.)

Last night's episode of the Bachelor was filled with so much 30th Birthday that it would make any man in America run for the hills. But not our Bachelor. Bless his heart, he must have signed some kind of contract that legally ties him to the crazies whether he likes it or not. At some point he has had to find himself sitting across from a producer saying, "Please, can I let her go? I've woken up the past two nights to find her staring at me with a pair of scissors."

30th Birthday spent the entire episode telling him what is wrong with the other ladies in the house - and what is right with her. He doesn't need that! I'm sure he can hear all of us screaming at the television, "Her boobs are fake! Send her home!" Or "Everyone she knows is dead.....let her staaaayyyy!!"

But Brad, in his usual Brad fashion, kept 30th Birthday around one more week and let I-don't-have-a-petite-behind go home; which was only a matter of time - good Lord, watching them on a date was like watching two strangers on a subway try to kindle a romance, only way more awkward.

He also kept around her-daddy-owns-a-car-lot, which I'm suspecting is going to stay around for a while given her penchant for sauntering around in his shirt, telling him she loves him and proclaiming that every day with him is sweeter than the day before.

And then there's sweet Emily, who we all decided is most certainly invited to come and watch next seasons Bachelor with us if she promises to gain a lot of weight, complain that her joints hurt whenever the weather changes, and let her roots grow out a little bit; because all of her perfection is starting to rub us the wrong way.

And I didn't mean that catty in the least.

Meow.

Can You Believe They Let Me Take My Dog In Old Navy?

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 11:21:00 +0000

Me: No, you can't stay here with them the rest of the day!

Her: Why not?

Me: Because you're not a manneq....uh, you know what?

I'm not discussing this. We're going home.

Her: Why don't you like them?

Me: I like them fine.

Her: Is it because they don't have belly buttons?

Me: How do you know they don't?

Her: I spent some time lookin'.

The Enemy of Union.

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 11:12:00 +0000

She told me, "I'm going through a divorce. A terrible divorce."

And exactly 48 hours later I was still asking myself, "Am I dreaming?" "Did she really just say that to me?" "Am I sure I was talking to her or did I just create this fantasy world in my head?"

So I asked her again.

And she told me again. "We're getting a divorce."

And that was when I began to put thought to the words. I began to think, aloud, all of the things that were going through my head. And I went to my husband and I sunk down in front of him and asked him to remind me why really crappy things happen to really special people.

I didn't take her news so hard because it was HER. Though, if you knew her and loved her like I do, you might have wanted to scream a little (as I did). And it wasn't because I thought she was immune to anything that the rest of us mere mortals must deal with. It wasn't because she hid a breaking heart so enviably. Or because when she cried her mascara never ran...

It was just because the news - "divorce" - is all too common. Its as common as having the flu; only with consequences a mile long. With the flu you are down, but you get up and eventually your body carries on. With a divorce, you are down and it wreaks its havoc on the whole family. Everyone suffers. No one is immune.

And I thought about my own marriage. I thought about how I want to run away sometime just so he'll have to empty the dishwasher. I thought about how if someone held a magnifying glass up to it they might see all sorts of holes filled with putty and rag-tag patches holding seems together. But that at a distance it is quite lovely and certainly fun. Just like yours, probably. Pretty on the outside. Weathered on the in.

Mine is mis-matched but lovely.
It is worn, but fits perfectly.
It might be shabby, but its mine.
Look closely at our seams, you'll see they've been stretched, but never faltered.

So what, then, is the difference in her marriage and mine?
My marriage and yours?
Your marriage and your neighbors?

Not much, really. Both are sought after, day after day, minute after minute, by an enemy intent on our demise. Sometimes its not the dishwashers that need emptying - its the bushes. For Satan lies wait in them, seeking whom he may devour. His goal is only the marriage; kill that, and he gets all that dies with it.

Anyone feel like puttying up some holes, today?

Patching up some tears?

Protecting some valuables?

You Have A Little Leakage On Your Chin. (Bachelor Recap)

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Lee) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 11:09:00 +0000

There are 3 guaranteed ways to know that The Bachelor episode you are about to watch is going to be stellar:

1. You are surrounded by friends.

2. You are surrounded by twice as many Peanut M&M's as friends.

3. Within the first five minutes he goes on a date with an embalmer who talks to him about "vein drains," "leakage," and "molding a face."

Aaaaahhhh. Pass the popcorn, won't you? Mama's suddenly got an appetite.

I suppose I could recap this past episode for you, but it wouldn't do you any good. The Bachelor at this point is like the tenth week of American Idol: You still got four terrible singers and a guy with a sob story you gotta vote off before you can get down to the ones who should really be there.

And that's how The Bachelor is right now. Oh sure, we're getting closer and closer every week, but we've still got Not a Petite Behind and Food Critic that are weighing us down like dead cargo. We gotta throw those suckers overboard so we can move this ocean liner along.

See how crass I get when I watch this show?

You should see me when someone steals my popcorn bowl.

Sure that will leave us with nutso-crazy 30th Birthday, the high-maintenance Dentist and the Embalmer, but if a Dentist and embalmer don't sound like a good time waitin' to happen - you are wrong! (Actually, it sounds like some B-horror movie just waitin' to happen.)

So The Bachelor this week was just another episode where we sit through the ordinary to get to the extraordinary: The moment when we can finally say...

"Here we are, the last four. This is the time when we dissect these women down to their smallest pinky nail. The moment when we follow them on home-town dates and tear their families apart piece by piece by piece. The moment when we see them interact with his family and make classic fools of themselves and we sit back and laugh at their pain while thinking to ourselves, 'Brad, it could have been worse - she could have been an embalmer.' The moment when we ask ourselves 'will it be Emily, the angelic choir-girl who just wants to love and be loved? Or will it be 30th Birthday, who appears to be one hairstyle away from killing everyone she rooms with?' The moment when we pause the television to ask, 'Is she really wearing those shoes with that dress?' or make comments like, 'If I had a body like that I'd wear that bathing suit, too.'"...

and it will be all the more sweeter because I will be saying it with good, Godly women like myself.

So pop the popcorn, pour in the M&M's and wipe that leakage from your chin, cuz this is about to get reeeeeal good.