getting crafty

Oh the sad strange little things you can find on the web. Especially on wikiHow. It is amazing!

But it has also inspired me. Here is a little something I thought I might make for neighbor gifts this year.

If you decide to create some for your own friends and family, please heed the warning at the end of the instructions: "This may not be appropriate to bring to church services or more formal occasions. Please be aware that some people may be offended by this bag, and be tactful."

I think I heard somewhere that Martha Stewart was going to demo this in an upcoming show. Just remember, you saw it here first.

come let us adore Him

I taught my first Relief Society lesson in years last Sunday. Here is my handout. It was the best part of my lesson.

the carrot sticks, plaintiff vs. the lunch lady, defendant

The carrot sticks have been busy building their case, proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their parents, despite their best intentions, are, in fact, incompetent.

Exhibit A: The oldest carrot stick was singing primary songs the other day. She sang "The wise man built his house upon the rock, . . . and the rains came tumbling down. The rains came down, and the FLOWERS came up, the rains came down the FLOWERS came up, . . . and the house on the rock stood still." How many years has she been attending church, week after week, and been forced to function under such a gross misapprehension -- that this song is about horticulture -- due to the negligent teaching of her parents?


Exhibit B: The youngest carrot stick was recently retelling the Joseph Smith story. According to him, the young boy Joseph was looking for the right church, and because they didn't have cars back then, he had to walk through the woods and when he was walking through the woods, trying to find the right church, Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father told him not to go to any of the churches. Just think what might have happened had he been on the Interstate.


And finally,

Exhibit C: With the Christmas season upon us, the carrot sticks have been busy decorating the house. The Lunch Lady went into the youngest carrot stick's room, to find the following display:



To the casual observer, it looks like a young boy playing with Cars. Innocent enough, until compared to the following, also displayed in his room:

The youngest carrot stick explained his Cars display thusly:

Please pay especial attention to the label on the 3 Ramone Cars. Not "wisemen" but "foolish men."

The carrot sticks rest their case.

The court finds in favor of the Plaintiffs.

bling bling

I know many of you have been waiting, with bated breath, for the unveiling of the latest bit of bling in my jewelry collection. Well wait no more. . .
The littlest carrot stick is quite thrilled and delighted by this, his find. He gloated several times saying "Dad said you wouldn't wear this!" and his dad, in turn, egged it on, saying (in my presence) "Won't Mom look great wearing your necklace at church?"

I'm pushing the idea that such a fine looking necklace might best be displayed in the most special way possible, on the Christmas tree.

I wish I had taken the picture with a quarter next to it, so you could really appreciate its grandeur.

Let's just say, that if it were a piece of armor, you wouldn't have to add much and you would have a complete armored breastplate.

old, eh??

Though the calendar says otherwise, my daughter must really be a teenager. She has now accused me of not knowing what junior high is like, and not remembering what it is like to be 12.

I must be old.

I must really be old.

Though some might say, "grow old gracefully." I will not. If I have to be old, I am going to be really good and old.

I am going to get a cane, a hairnet, 7 cats, a housecoat, start smacking my lips, dye my hair a really awful shade of red (to cover up all my gray), start calling people sonny, say eh?? a lot, and maybe, just maybe I'll start pinching peoples cheeks (whichever set is closer at hand).

Eh? Sonny? What's that? Well, back in my day we had respect for our elders. Dang whippersnapper.

ugg!

Ugg! It finally happened. I've been booted out of Primary and exiled into Relief Society.

I am sad.

I might just have to go out and get some Uggs in protest and as a sign of my discontent.

On a happier note, look at the crazy obsession people have with Ugg boots. . .

People have a strange fascination with these things. There are a ton of pictures on flickr that are linked to Ugg boots. My favorite caption was "Okay Mr. Jackson Pollock I'm a super hip artist who doesn't bathe because I'm anti-establishment and spends his days working on the boardwalk to seem like a free spirit guy. Go walk around in your Ugg boots and make your phone call."

But, as frequently happens, the picture didn't live up to the potential of its caption.

Maybe I'll get my Uggs in Magenta. . .

another rose in snow picture

the response to my last rose picture was so overwhelming, I thought I'd torture you with another.

Enjoy.

Or else.

hoops and yoyo say hi!

Nan is to blame for my love affair with Hoops and Yoyo. She sent me my first Hoops and Yoyo e-card for my birthday last year, and I have been hooked ever since. (However, you can now buy real cardboardy Hoops and Yoyo cards at Wal-Mart and I feel a little betrayed.)

But, in honor of the upcoming holiday (Who's Excited for Thanksgiving????!!!!!!!!!!!! ((was that enough ? and !, Kate?))) here is a little Hoops and Yoyo fun.

cool pict, huh?

just another cool fall day.

happy halloween

the little trick-or-treaters . . .

a bloody vampire, a mighty hunter, and busy, busy bumblebee (actually, I think the tiara by her antennae means she is a Queen Bee), and the ladybugdog.

One kid in our ward came to the trunk-or-treat dressed as "A One Night Stand" -- a box around his body and a lampshade on his head. Appropriate? Or not?

bad to the bone

It was just a day, like any other day. I was driving through town, between the hours of 3 and 5, weekdays, and found myself pulling into the Sonic drive-thru. I ordered the usual: large diet Coke with lime, 96 cents please pull forward. And then something went terribly, horribly wrong.

He emerged, blinking, out of the Sonic building. Slightly pudgy. Pasty white. Greasy dark hair. Post-pubescent acne. A fast food by-product. The coin dispenser jingled at his side as he skated by on his Heelies, my drink in one hand, the receipt in the other. It wasn't until he mistakenly stopped at the car in front of me, that I saw it. His tattoo.

There, tattooed down the inside of his right forearm were the words . . .

"c'est la vie"

I grabbed my Coke and took off as fast as I could, not even waiting for my 4 pennies change, the words tattooed into my brain.

C'est la vie, carhop boy.

oh. you got a new outfit.

A while ago I bought this hip new outfit. I was nervous about it. I'm really not very hip. Hip, no. Hippy, yes. Hippie, not really. Hippo, I hope not.

I wanted to get Katie's approval on it before I wore it in public, but alas, she moved! Finally, I showed it to Mom and Liz, and they said it was ok, it wasn't too young, I didn't look too ridiculous. Still apprehensive, I wore it in public.

Everywhere I went, people complimented me on my outfit -- at the orthodontists, the mall, primary presidency meeting, and even at lunch with my in-laws. I never get compliments like that.

I have been trying to analyze it,to figure out what is

so appealing about this cheap outfit.

In trying to figure this phenomenon out, I mentioned the outfit's popularity to Mom and Liz.

Mom said "Well, you do look so cute in it." (Thanks Mom)

Liz said, "It could be people were so aghast at it, that they couldn't think of anything else to say, and so they LIED."

And then, realizing what she just said, she lamely added

"or else they wish they could look as cute as you in leggings."

(Yes, it was her birthday and she was feeling over-worked, grumpy, tired, and smelled like a campfire, but really, is that any excuse?)

What do you think?

Hip? Or horrible?

Feel free to vote in my poll. But only if you have something nice to say. Liz.

a funny thing happened on the way to the football game

At our house, BYU football reigns supreme.

Here's a few pictures to show why it rates so high in the Middle Carrotstick's book.

He went a game right after he got baptized last year,

and ran into L. Tom Perry.

And then there was the time he had to fight off the BYU cheerleaders . . .

The Sack Lunch Conspiracy

Were you ever the kid sitting at the lunch table, with a smashed and slightly stained brown paper bag sitting forlornly in front of you, while all around you your friends were triumphantly crowing over the glorious icing covered cinnamon roll sitting like a sticky gooey present in the middle of their hot lunch tray? Were you ever that kid, dejectedly opening their lunch bag, embarrassed to pull out the homemade-with-love-this-morning-now-smashed-by-an-apple-into-something-resembling-a-pancake-pb&j sandwich on white bread? Furtively looking around to see for the one person lower in the lunchroom hierarchy than you -- the poor kid whose mom made their sandwich on wheat bread?

Were you ever that kid?

Well, that's how I'm feeling. Everyone I know has an awesome entertaining blog. A blog with cinnamon sweetness rolled up in it and luscious icing dripping over the top. A blog that other people look forward to checking and reading and laughing and commenting on. And to be honest, I really want a cinnamon roll.

Really, I LIKE half of Fruit Roll-up in my lunch. A whole Fruit Roll-up would just be too much. But enough is enough. And so, this is my blog. Welcome.