Once upon a time, there was a family with a mother who specialized in hare-brained ideas. One day, that mother was visiting the local Deseret Industries. And she found a wonderful vintage gold velour easy chair. It was SWEET! It swivelled and ROCKED (in both ways). But the mother didn’t buy it. It was ridiculous and there was no place in her house for it.
Time passed -- a week or so. The mother kept thinking about that chair. She also thought about Christmas and Christmas Cards. She visited a number of cool photography blogs. All of the sudden, she knew! She had to have that chair so she could have the coolest Christmas Card Picture EVER of her children. But she worried, in her heart, that fate would be against her, and that the gold velour chair would be gone -- as is the way with many things at the D.I.
With bated breath, she ventured back to D.I., dreading the harsh reality she was sure to find in the Large As-Is Furniture Aisle.
When, lo, what did she behold! The chair was still there! It was a sign. She had to have it. Quickly she caught the eye of a nearby Associate, secured a Sold sticker and arranged to pick it up later that evening -- just as a bevy of college-aged girls were eyeing it for their own.
It was fortunate, that at that time, the father of the family was away on his big hunt -- because the mother knew that the father would surely disapprove of the purchase of the chair. Unfortunately, along with his absence, came the absence of the truck which would have been ideal for hauling the chair home.
But the mother had a back up plan. You see, they were a family with too many cars. Yes, it’s true. They had more cars than they had drivers.
But each car had a special purpose and place in the family’s heart.
Take, for example, the mini-van (a relic from the days when the family thought they would have a large family – well, not an Full Sized Econo-van family, but a large-ish family.) But the years passed, the van was paid off, and the family finally realized they were really only a sedan sized family after all. And so it was that the family decided it was time to give up the dream -- and the perfect carpool vehicle – and sell it, so it could bless the lives of some other minivan-sized family.
With that in mind, the family did not renew the minivans registration when it expired in June.
A month passed, they had put off listing the van, and the mother of the family got a new church calling which would require hauling around large groups of giggling girls. The family reconsidered selling the minivan and kept it instead. But they forgot the expired registration.
And the oblivious mother took said van to D.I. and gleefully shoved the coveted chair into the backseat of the minivan.
As she drove home, still euphoric from the find, she chanced to notice flashing lights in her rearview mirror. With a pit in her stomach, she pulled over.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" The cop asked, bating her.
Was she speeding? Had she neglected to signal? These questions flew through her mind. Instead she responded, falteringly, "No?"
"Do you realize your van’s registration expired THREE MONTHS ago? And that I can legally impound your vehicle?"
"No . . ." she said. But in her heart, the mother was protesting: "Come on!?!! Really??!! Don't you have anything better to do!!?!"
And so it was that the mother of the family, with spirits quite deflated, received a ticket and a summons to appear in court.
Suddenly that chair didn’t seem so golden anymore.
Thus the final cost of procuring the perfect chair for the perfect Christmas card picture became:
$25 chair
$35 safety and emissions
$120 registration
$10 on the spot registration fee, so I could avoid driving around any more than necessary with my illegal vehicle
$35 non-moving violation ticket
Ok - that’s $225, not $210 like I originally said.
The end.
And then there's the crazed old farmer that chased me, PB&J, and the kids off his property with a . . .
But that's a story for another day.
Ok, Kellye, what’s the story behind the most expensive frozen yogurt of all time?
The other night, PB&J and I were out for dinner with friends. And suddenly I noticed I was paying attention to the background music and I was thinking to myself, "Yellow, yellow, yellow, green, yellow, green, orange, pedal, blue." Guitar Hero has been going non-stop for days now. There are few things quite as amusing as your little sweet, innocent, six-year-old singing Bon Jovi at the top of his lungs. However, PB&J and I will be glad when they get a little better at GH and we don't have to keep hearing Eye of the Tiger over and over and over.
And Indian Jones Legos have taken over the floor in the Middle Carrotstick's room.
We haven't even started on the puzzles.
7 stitches on the Littlest Carrotstick's cheek from a pre-snowmobiling slip on the ice.
special (and versatile) little number.
Can you tell I had to get rid of a giant weed in front of the Oldest Carrotstick? I hope not. 
The Littlest Carrotstick was a nerd. He had me and PB&J in hysterics. Unfortunately in this picture, his shorts aren't up quite as high as he likes, and the effect is more geeky kid from the nineteenth century than Steve Erkel. But he really was funny. And I am now officially swearing off tie-dying. The Middle Carrotsticks shirt is my third attempt at it, and I'm still terrible. 
