Fashion Faux Pas

I have been very frustrated at my lack of new clothing as of late. I look in the closet, and all I see are the same old clothes that I have been wearing for the last two or more years, dull and boring, that I have worn a hundred times by now. Knowing that I couldn’t get in that much trouble for shopping the day before my birthday, I decided that I should go on the hunt for some fresh new looks for the fall. I was aiming for “Sassy and Classy” at the same time. Reinvention was the key…
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Looking for something to entertain myself while I awaited the end of my husband’s work shift, I drove past the Ross store today. It has been a while since I’ve been in there, and occasionally I find a random item of use on a really awesome clearance or a cheap shirt or whatnot. So I maneuvered my way into the parking lot and purposefully entered the store.
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As I strode past the “junior” section I laughed a bit to myself at the pencil sized pant legs, the “baby tees” and the two prepubescent girls who were asking each other for opinions, surely expecting to get more than the standard “that’s hot!” generic response.
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I found myself browsing through a rack of tops when I stopped at a brightly colored one that caught my eye. I held it up to my torso and was amazed at how cute it was, and grateful at the generous amount of length it had. I searched for the tag so that I might discover who the fantastic designer that made such a great shirt was, and was rather surprised at what it said...
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Junior dress
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Ah, that would explain the fashionable pattern and generous length. It was supposed to be a butt grazing pre teen dress. Well that just made me feel about a hundred years old…
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As I continued my search, I next came across a shirt with quite a bit of flouncy material above the torso area. Although it was a great shade of pink, I imagined my husband’s reaction and him asking me “who jiffy popped your chest?” as I modeled my latest purchase. Prudently, I placed it back on the rack.
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Then, I was pleasantly surprised to find a gorgeous sheer black top with classy pearls and chunky chain attached to it. I held it up and was disappointed when I realized it was missing the lining. I flipped through the tops on either side of it hoping to discover the missing second piece when I caught sight of the “designer tag” attached to the sleeve and was stunned to find that it was meant to be worn without a liner. The “Classy and sassy” top turned out to be more “Skimpy and slutty.” How very disappointing.
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I paused for a minute, wondering why I had decided upon this place as my distraction for the day. What kind of crap clothing store is this? I wandered over to the house wares, hoping to find some redeeming deal that would have made my troubles all worth it, and sadly passed over the one armed ballerina statue, the painting of the back of a shirtless woman (maybe she only had Ross to shop at!) and the mis-matched furniture pieces. I realized the futility of my search and exited the store as gracefully as possible, amidst the glowering faces of the cashiers at the front.
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I guess I am cured of my shopping addiction for at least a little while…

A short conversation

Scott: We should name one of our kids Cracker.

Me: No way! The poor kid would have a complex!

Scott: Then I want to change my name to Cracker. Cracker Smith.

Me: Are you kidding me? That is the most ridiculous name I've ever heard of!

Scott: No it's not! Your jewelry stuff is Cracker Lee!

Me: *Giggle* No honey, it's Cookie Lee...

Scott: Cracker, cookie, whatever!

Scott: I'm hungry, what are you going to make me for dinner?

On the lawn

When we first purchased Grandma's Playhouse, we had scarcely been there a week when I looked at the lawn in dismay and proclaimed that we needed to mow the lawn post haste. We had this moment as we looked at each other and realized that we did not have a lawn mower to use. I lamented at how stupid we were, to buy a house when we didn't even have a lawn mower to keep up on it!

Scott suggested that he could probably borrow one from someone, and I thought about asking my parents to bring theirs up for us. After a few days of pondering our dilemma, a friend of mine showed up with her lawn mower, recently topped off with gas and casually said that they didn't need theirs for a week or so if we would like to borrow it.

Wow.

Grateful for that blessing, we hastily mowed our lawn not once, but twice in a week. Then my friend showed up again and gathered up her lawn mower and trucked it home so she could attend to her own lawn.

Thankful for the time she had bought us, I started scouring sales websites to find a used lawn mower. As I was mentioning my findings to Scotland one day, he brightly replied that we did not need to buy a lawn mower, as someone had offered an old broken down one that we could have. My husband, the optimist, was sure that he could fix whatever was wrong with it and that we would have a fully functioning lawn mower by the end of the week.

I was not so sure.

But one day, I came home from work to find a little gray lawn mower in the garage. When Scotland got home, I watched as he washed it off, filled it with gasoline and started it up. I gleefully clapped my hands as he mowed the front lawn in perfectly straight lines. We had a lawn mower, not old or broken down as we had been led to believe, but absolutely perfect. We can't even find anything wrong with it. Those sweet people had given us a wonderful lawn mower, one that we probably would have insisted on paying for if they had not claimed it was broken down.

What a blessing.

Birthday wishes

I called my dad last night to remind him that my birthday is in a week (a week!) and that we needed to plan something to do.

He presented me with a myriad of options.

Camping

Boating

Fourwheeling

Is that what I want for my birthday?

I always experience a slight discombobulation when I have to make birthday plans. I feel guilty that I don't plan to go feed the homeless or do yardwork for the elderly or plan peace talks in Somalia.

I feel like those are the things I should be doing. But instead, I usually want dinner and shopping and presents like some greedy little kid who rips into the gift wrap like the last gulp of oxygen is inside.

And then I feel like a terrible person.

Where was I?

Oh yes, so Dad was asking me what I wanted to do, and I realized that I just want to be with my family for my birthday.

And I am not saying that to earn beauty pageant points (world peace!) or anything like that.

I just want my family back. I want everyone to be smiling and happy and to be in the same room together and have cake and talk and laugh. I want us to sing the happy birthday song really really fast and really off key. How can things have changed so much in just two years?

I keep this video on my phone, not because it is the best video ever, but because of what it reminds me of.

truth

The truth is

I love my quirky little house

The truth is

I love my hodgepodge crazy job

The truth is

I love my big goofy husband

Super Seven Camping Chaos

We went to the Super Seven Campout this weekend and hung out with the Hunter clan. Aunts, uncles, cousins and their kids, even a couple of friends and dogs were there. It was quite the partay....

It has been a while since I did the whole "tent camping" thing. Usually we go with my parents and lounge about in their motor home, watching movies on the couch while enjoying the air conditioning...

I know, right? Roughing it...

Anyway, since they were still on their vacation back east, we decided to just borrow a tent and head up there on our own. We called dad and asked if we could grab some equipment since we had to go through Pocatello anyway to get to the campsite. We took a tent, a tarp to set it on, a sleeping bag, some chairs and a water cooler. When we got there and went to set up the tent, we discovered that it had a few missing parts (surprise!) which were quite necessary to the setup procedure.

Tent poles.

So, my aunt Cindy took pity on us and let us borrow her two person dome tent.

After the campfire and waaaayyyy too many roasted marshmallows, we went to bed.

And I froze. The whole night.

In the middle of the night, as I was hunkered way down in the sleeping bag, I heard a small psssttt noise. I fought my way up and out of that sleeping bag faster than a mouse out of a drowning hole! I was desperate for fresh air, even as cold as it was. Scott's response?

"Sorry about that, I forgot you were down there!"

Asphyxiation would be a terrible way to die...

The next morning after we had packed up camp, we started to leave. We said goodbye to everyone and walked to the car together. Scott opened the door for me and I was moving the things that had inadvertently ended up on my seat when we heard urgent yelling from back at the campfire. My dear aunt Barb was yelling for us to freeze right where we were and not to move an inch. We looked back at her, standing there at the campfire and she said to her husband, my uncle Kim;

"Look, he even opens the door for her!"

Everyone laughed in relief, and uncle Kim started walking toward us, and then said;

"Come here so I can bitch slap you"

Next year I am renaming it the Super Seven Crazy Campout...

...

...so I am officially the worlds worst blogger. I could sit here and give you excuse after excuse about why I have failed to write on a regular basis, why my last posts have consisted mostly of random pictures and no actual writing and why it has been almost two full weeks (two full weeks!) since I last put anything up...

I could, but I won't.

Instead, let me regale (regale!) you with a lovely little story about Grandma's playhouse...

I was working in the basement the other day, organizing, cleaning and the like, when I decided to move the bookshelf that is under the woodworking bench. I wanted to put the little bookshelf next to my washing machine so I would have a place for all the chemicals and soaps that one uses for ones laundry needs (said in a British accent). Well, when I moved the bookshelf, a crush of items went crashing to the floor in the process, being that they had been stuffed between the top of the bookshelf and the underside of the woodworking bench. As I went back to clean up my newly made mess, amidst the odd pieces of wood, I found a little surprise...

There it was, laying wide open on the floor from the fall...A playboy magazine...

My jaw dropped in surprise.

And then I started to laugh.

I could just imagine, little grandpa, working away at the woodworking bench, and as soon as grandma hauls another load of clean laundry upstairs, he slides out the magazine from in between the bookshelf and bench and opens it up. He is languorously perusing the pages when he hears grandmas footsteps on the stairs again. He hurriedly shoves the pages back into their hiding spot and picks up his wood project just before grandma comes around the corner carrying another basket of laundry. He innocently peers over his spectacles at her as she loads the washing machine behind him.

Anyway, I picked up the magazine and took it upstairs to the garbage, laughing as I did. On the front cover was a woman in a trench coat with Farah Faucet hair. It was from 1974.

When Scott got home from work, he went to put something in the trash, and noticed the magazine with the trench coat woman staring up at him. He gave me a puzzled look and I realized he was confused as to why there was a Playboy magazine in the trash.

I threw my hands up in the air ..."It's not mine!" ... I said in outrage.

Duh.

picture this...