Although Shaniqua DOES Have A Nice Ring To It

OK. So I've narrowed my alter ego choices down to three. I think I might keep all of them, simply because I think there might come a time when all of them could come in handy. And it's my blog, so I can do whatever I want. Having said that, here are my final three contestants:

"Veronica Remington" – I could wear long flowy dresses, show lots of cleavage, and pose with Fabio for the cover of Harlequin romance novels.
PRO: Long flowy dress
CON: Fabio. Plus, I don't think I could hold that pose for very long.

"Tee Shizzle K-Dawg" – This could afford me to use my talents as a poor singer to relay my tales of discontent over a difficult home life and the fact that all of my friends would have been popped off by our gang rival, but I could wear jeans, a bandana, and hoops virtually all the time.
PRO: I would never have to do my hair
CON: I didn’t actually have a difficult home life, so I would probably end up singing poorly in front of large crowds for no reason

"Karma von Dharma" – I wouldn’t ever have to shower or wear make up, and I could wear big, colorful prints. Not to mention the Birkenstocks alone would make shoe selection so much easier on a daily basis. With socks or without? That’s all I would have to decide.
PRO: It would give me an opportunity to bring braids back.
CON: I fear I might have to take up tofu

Thanks for playing! You guys are the best.

What Would You Do For A Klondike?

Did you know that Boy Scouts go camping in the snow? True story. It's called a "Klondike", and doesn't have anything to do with ice cream but plenty to do with the butt freezing cold. Since my husband works with the youth at our church who are participating in such festivities, he has to gets to go. Are you with me here people? CAMPING. IN THE SNOW. With 14-year-old boys. Not even Michael Jackson could get excited about that. Speaking of which, Michael, if Billie Jean isn't your lover then who is? I've been meaning to ask you that for a while now.

Anyway, after dropping off Cory at the meeting place, I went to the store and picked up some of these:


I told him that later the kids and I would have a moment of silence for him and take a bite into one of these bad boys while NOT standing by the fireplace. What can I say? I'm a giver. It's about the only thing I'm willing to do for a Klondike.

I Am...

I was not a rebellious teenager, but I was very moody. I swear, some days it was like having Courtney Love on one shoulder and Billy Graham on the other.
“Be happy!”
“Drive a pencil through your eye.”
“Be grateful!”
“I hate you.”
“Life is so marvelous!”
“You are a suck up. Shut it.”

I’m totally over that now. (Lies.) Okay, but I’m not as bad as I used to be. To illustrate, if I still lived at home I don’t think my parents would fantasize as much about little green men coming to steal away with me in the middle of the night. They might finally confront me about snitching all the ice cream, but I don’t think they’d have to ask at the end of every day which one of me might come out tomorrow to play. I bet that’s a relief.

However, I still have moods. Not moods of the Sally Field playing Sybil kind, but more like “I feel like wearing a scarf around my head with big hoops while eating hummus to simulate the Mediterranean” kind. You know how certain people can pull off any kind of a look they want? If they want to dress bohemian one day, they can do it and look legit. The very next day they can put on a dress suit and nobody does a double-take. They can wear hats to the horse races, boots to the rodeo, flowers on their lapels to church, and they can manage an up-do for a wedding or a ponytail for a daily workout. Regardless, they totally pull it off. Unfortunately, not everyone can do this and so you end up with two different groups of people: those who can pull off any look, and those who can’t. Make that three categories. The third being that you think you can pull off any look, which you can’t, but you try anyway. Care to take a stab at where I fit? Bingo! Category 3 it is. It’s such a drag. I think this is why I spend so much time in my pajamas.

But GUESS WHAT? (enter: Billy Graham) I have good news! I’ve figured out my problem. All this time I thought my category 3 predicament was hopeless, like I was just born this way and need to accept myself for who I am - kind of like being in a beauty pageant and winning Miss Congeniality because you’re just not “Queen” quality. Not that I could ever be in a pageant or hope to even win Miss Congeniality (Miss “How Did You Get In Here??” maybe, but not Miss Congeniality) but that is not the point! The point is, a couple of months ago I saw an interview with Beyonce who was promoting her new CD titled “I Am…Sasha Fierce”. In the interview she explained that Sasha Fierce is her ALTER EGO. Here’s what she says:

“Sasha Fierce is the fun, more sensual, more aggressive, more outspoken side and more glamorous side that comes out when I’m working and when I’m on the stage.”

As it turns out, alter egos are apparently all the rage. Eminem, you know, that rapper with no talent who makes more money than me for wearing bad clothes, too much bling and swearing on stage? Yeah, him. Apparently he created an alter ego he named “Slim Shady”, something he was inspired to do while sitting on the crapper. No lie. And that’s when it hit me. (Not the urge to go to the bathroom - duh!) but the realization that it’s not more scarves that I need, it’s an ALTER EGO. That way when someone looks at me and goes, “Um, you look ridiculous – nice try though,” I could be like, “Word up, I’M not ridiculous, that’s my alter ego, Shaniqua. Take THAT.”

Then I remembered this Seinfeld episode where George decides he wants to go by “T-Bone”. Things go awry, and before he can make his new identity known to the world he gets labeled as “Koko The Monkey”. I don’t want this to happen to me, mostly because “Koko” doesn’t suit me and I don’t even like bananas. So here’s the other good news!! (please - hold the applause) I want YOU to come up with a name for my alter ego. I mean it, you can do this. I have total faith in you. But just in case, I’m going to go brainstorm a little myself. You have through the weekend, and by Monday I’ll decide my alter ego name.

Maybe I need to take a potty break and see what comes to me.

"Something Cleverish"

A couple of months ago a fellow blogger extraordinaire, a.k.a. Sue, came up with a great idea. She invited bloggers everywhere to submit a funny post for a book she would compile and use all proceeds to help Nie Nie and her family to tackle their rapidly accumulating medical bills. The internet has been a remarkable tool as I’ve watched the events with Nie Nie unfold, and I can’t believe all the ways that people have been so resourceful in trying to help. This was definitely something that excited me, so when Sue came-a-calling, I couldn’t resist and I submitted an entry. And would you believe…? I got in. I am so psyched for this book! As part of the process, Sue had the grueling duty of narrowing down hundreds of entries into what has been condensed into featuring 43 bloggers’ posts, all worth your time and suitable for putting on your coffee table. Did I mention I am one of them? ‘Cuz I am. And this makes me feel important, which is really all that matters at the end of the day. That and the fact that I can watch “Remington Steele” on DVD anytime I want now.

SO. HERE IT IS!!!



Go here, and order your copy. Please? Pretty please? You can order a hard copy or download it instead. Tell all your friends! You won’t be sorry.

Do I Have To Grow A Beard Now?

I'm a great aunt. Like, officially. As in, my niece had a baby and I might show up on their pedigree chart someday. Isn't he adorable? I need to go shopping.

I'm not totally sure how I feel about this Great Aunt thing. On the one hand, I am so happy and excited for my niece and her husband. They are a really great couple, and they are going to be really fun parents, but they also freely admit that they are not perfect, well, Rachel admits it anyway, and since they keep a blog I will get to read all about it. Bonus!

But I also feel like it's important for little Liam to know that his Great Aunt Vern should be his favorite person. Like, ever. And I'm not sure he'll ever come to this knowledge. To prove my point, have you ever had a Great Aunt that you were close to? That didn't have a beard and live next door to her parents? Who didn't own seventeen cats? Let's be honest. Nobody really knows or cares about their Great Aunts unless they send money regularly. And even then it's like, "Sweet, my crazy great aunt must have won at the slots again. I love it when she's manic and sends me cash."

I think it's time to change the stereotype of the Great Aunt. Liam, listen up. I know you've only been here for twenty-four hours, but time is of the essence. Your great aunt Vern, aside from loving you already would like you to have a concise understanding of the role of a Great Aunt. Ummmm....

((enter: crickets))

Okay, hypothetically let's say we're at a family reunion. It's dinner time, and there are 40 people trying to tell each other what to do, and there are small children in line with empty plates demanding lots of jello and requesting no vegetables. You're in a corner on your dad's lap and he's trying to forget that he married into this craziness, and I'm watching the chaos ensue wondering where I can escape. This is where you come in. Your job is to remember that I'm your favorite and ask for me by name - a simple "Wa-ble-hmmm" will do. I answer to just about anything, but especially to "Wa-ble-hmmm". I'll come get you, and we'll hop down to the beach (well, I'll do the hopping, you just buckle up and stay attached to the hip, alrighty?) and I'll tell you all about how the current Nursery Rhymes are cleaned up versions of their original tragic tales written by manic depressives before the days of Zoloft. You'll laugh and say, "Oh Aunt Vern, you are so funny," and I'll say, "The secret, my child, is knowing where the Zoloft is kept."

And we'll live happily ever after.

Proud Parenting

I'm on such a parenting roll lately, it just seems like I should share my insight. First, we taught our son to fight more while playing basketball. Then last week, I noticed that along with a very cute outfit that my daughter had put together to wear to church, she was wearing a shirt under the sweater that was showing through.
"How does this look?" she asked.
"Cute," I said. "Except that shirt underneath looks a little funny."
"But if I don't wear it, it's too cold."
"Honey, don't you know that looks are more important than comfort?"
Her mouth dropped open, I laughed, said I was kidding and she lost the shirt. It was a tender moment.

Just now we were in the kitchen and Samantha asked how I liked her new sweatshirt.
"It's cute," I said.
"You think everything is cute."
"No I don't, I hate that shirt you're wearing underneath it."
Then she hit me. And I laughed really hard, because I thought I was hilarious and so I came in here to write about it. She followed me, so I asked her to leave. She said no and asked if I was coming in to write about her. I said no. I lied. I'm telling you, there should be a gold plaque somewhere with my name on it.

In A Nutshell

Only one more day until both of my kids are back at school. Not that I’m counting. I’m really not. But seriously, don’t you think that 42 days off track is a BIT MUCH? I’m just saying. The last two weeks have been fun though. For Christmas Drew got an honest to goodness 100% certifiable REAL Indiana Jones whip. As in when my mother-in-law left the store at Disneyworld where she purchased said whip they warned her not to open it before leaving the park, as “it is a weapon”. When he opened it up on Christmas morning and shouted for joy, Samantha noted the contents and said, “Please don’t hurt me,” to which he replied, “We’ll see.” Then, the same daughter who bought herself a new pair of fuzzy socks and gave me her old ones for my present wrote in her homemade Christmas card that I was the best gift she could ever have, and she wasn’t even kidding! I’m going to frame it and put it in her room when she’s 16 so she can remember how she used to feel.

At some point in the day Cory was toying around with iTunes and he blasted a little snippet of David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” before asking Drew if he knew what song it was. “Ice Ice Baby”, Drew stated confidently. Cory tried to bet him a Dr. Pepper that he was wrong, AND HE CONSIDERED IT despite my vehement shakes of the head in the background. Ultimately Drew chose wisely, then Cory played the rest of the song, slammed Vanilla Ice, and a discussion of plagiarism ensued. Later I made Cory take Kacy’s quiz during which he confided that he would indeed accept a makeover from ZZ Top, particularly from the “Legs” girls. And I quote, “I’d love to know what those ‘Legs’ girls are doing now.” He’s really deep.

We went to Utah for a few days after Christmas where we caught up with family. Snowmobiling, sledding, and excessive consumption of Martinelli’s were all checked off of our To Do List. Oh! And cheese fries from Training Table. Awesome. Hope you had a nice holiday too!

Is There A 4th Option?

What do you do when you know your kid's not getting what he wants for Christmas, and he still believes in Santa?

The Economy - Stealing More Than My 401K

Every year my husband’s company hosts a really nice dinner for their upper management. This year, since the CEO was asking each department to cut back and not spend more than was necessary, he didn’t feel it appropriate to follow through with this year’s holiday celebration and a few weeks ago we received notice that it was cancelled. My feelings on the topic were conflicted. On the one hand, I didn’t have to find something to wear. On the other hand, I would not be eating prime rib and cheesecake on someone else’s tab. On the positive side, I would not have to make small talk with 50 people I didn’t really care about. Nevertheless, there are a few people I have made relationships with over the past several years and always enjoy catching up with them. Most notably, however, I would not be making my annual encounter with a woman I have come to know as “Glitter Boobs”.

She earned her nickname by coming scantily clad each year in a low cut number, having sprayed fine, glitter spray all over her tanning bed influenced skin. Every year when she walks through the door on the arm of her husband I think to myself, “Let the games begin,” and I try to make sure we are seated near them at dinner. See, I didn’t grow up going to parties and watching people get wasted so this is the only real experience I’ve had to witness what alcohol does to people. And Glitter Boobs never disappoints.

Our last get together was the most memorable as I sat there and watched her empty glass after glass of wine. It seems so innocent, the wine. It’s basically grape juice, right? Yeah, grape juice that makes people tell naked stories! So apparently she and her husband were on vacation, and they were “busy” and then all of his friends walked in. The details are fuzzy now, but trust me, SHE GOES INTO DETAILS, and as she regaled the account through inebriated tones I kept close watch on her husband, who seemed to be taking it a little too well. Maybe he had enough to drink to dull his senses to the point that “Dude, your wife is talking about the two of you without your clothes on!!” didn’t register.

As we left I turned to Cory in the car and said, “Did that just happen? Because seriously, I don’t think I dreamt it, and holy crap if I ever get desperate and attempt to dull my senses with liquid substance will you please remind me about this experience and warn me that partaking of said substance might find me without my top on at a company party covered in glitter and telling our innermost secrets?!?!” We laugh, and then pinky-swear on a lifetime of sobriety, and wake up the next day with no headaches or remorse. Sometimes for fun I imagine “The Day After” for Glitter Boobs. She wakes up, tries to run her hand through her hair but then it gets stuck in the hairspray, looks at the clock that says 10:00 am as she starts to come to, then she attempts to sit up in bed until her head starts to pound and she moans and throws her head back on the pillow. Her husband starts to stir and they mumble morning greetings and then it hits her, like a ton of bricks. She slaps her husband on the arm and audibly gasps. “Hey! Husband! Did I…? Oh no. I did, didn’t I? Did I tell that story???”
He speaks into his pillow, “I’m not sure. I think so, but my head is kind of fuzzy. Don’t worry about it, everyone else was wasted too.”
“Everyone, you mean, except for Cory and Kristy. They don’t drink.”
“Right,” her husband would say. “But who are they gonna tell? They’re Mormon and I don’t think they’re supposed to gossip.”
“Does she have a blog?”
“I don’t think they’re allowed to use the internet.”
“Phew,” she says wiping her brow. “I guess that’s a relief.”

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a little disappointed about our cancelled dinner. It’s the first year we wouldn’t have to pay for babysitting, and I could use a good “See? There’s other people out there who are crazier than you” experience. Nevertheless, my yuletide visit with Glitter Boobs will have to wait another 12 months, which should give her plenty of time to come up with a great story for next year. Sorry GB, I hope you find somewhere else to wear that dress.

Making Me Look Bad

It's not that hard to do you know, make me look bad. I'm giving people opportunities all the time without even trying. Half the time that's what I write about - how I am lame and you are better. It's my little way of giving back. Deep down however, on most days, I don't really think I'm that bad.

Then again, there are days.

Monday we had what is called a "delayed start" for school. Not enough snow to cancel it altogether, but enough to give everyone a little extra time to get there safely. I translate "delayed start" to "sleep in", so at 5:00 am after checking the internet to confirm the school beginning time I went around and turned off all the alarm clocks and then snuggled back down in my covers to go back to sleep. At 8:30 Samantha came into my room and asked, "Are you ever going to get up?"
"Eventually," I groggily replied.
"All right then, I'm going to go shovel the driveway," she announced as she bounced off to gather the equipment.
So I did what any responsible adult with a 12-year-old daughter about to brave the cold to blaze a trail for the car to get out while I lay there in bed and I...



...stayed there. And went back to sleep.

Getting In The Spirit

Watch this! At first you think, "Ohhhh, this is going to be boring" and then five seconds later you're like, "Heeeeey, this is festive." And this time a year, who doesn't need festive?

Election Day

Not that it's any of your business, but I'm voting for McCain. Not because we see eye to eye on everything (especially 'cuz I'm like a foot taller) but because if he wins I'm pretty sure Susan Sarandon and Barbra Streisand will move to Canada. It's my own special way of saying "God Bless America", and brings on a whole new meaning to "God Save The Queen".

I have to try.

On Halloween

My niece and her husband win for best costume. Unfortunately for them, there is no prize. She is expecting their first child, so they went as "Juno".

The movie poster vs. The Real Thing:



I love it!!! And here are Sam and Drew. When I am old and lonely this picture of them together will be fun to look back on. Unless Sam grows up to be, I don't know, sparkly, and Drew actually grows up to be violent, then it might creep me out.

Under 12 Not Admitted

With a vacant lot to one side of us and zero landscaping on our property, we have been the gathering place for underage testosterone everywhere. There are lots of boys here ranging from age 3 to 14, but when it comes to our front yard age makes no difference. Unless your name is Josh and you're the 14-year-old who can catch air, then everybody else worships you:


For three months we have been the "cool house", not because I'm cool but because you can build ramps here. There goes Drew!



But as cute as these boys are, it's time to say "Party's Over!"



It's too late to install grass, so that will have to wait until spring, but here's what we have in the meantime. It's so nice to have something besides dirt!

New Season Of Dancing With The Stars

My mom sent this to me, and since I'm desperate for anything to post on this, my forgotten blog, I had to share. Regardless of your commitment level to this show in the past, you can't tell me you wouldn't watch a season like this!

And That's Why The "Imperial March" Is On My iPod

Because my iPod broke, and Cory fixed it, and when he was done he said, "I left a few extra songs on there just so you could think of me when you deleted them."

He's a keeper!

Undecided

The way I see it, around 8:00 tonight I will have approximately three choices:

1. Watch the VP debates.
2. Poke my eyes out with forks that are dripping with jalapeno juice.
3. Rub my butt with bricks laden with razor blades.

Tough call. Very tough call.

Parenting Advice From Kacy

Some of you may know Kacy from my other blog on Light Refreshments Served. I don't know if you have ever checked out her personal blog, but she is drop dead pee your pants funny. Don't let that dissuade you, I mean it in a good way. She has a regular feature for "Parenting Advice" - she just posted volume three, during which she advises the following:

If you take your child to their kindergarten assessment and they act a little bit autistic (even if they aren't), don't sweat it. Think of the improvement they will make by the end of the year.

Isn't she smart? Click here for the full version. Grab the Depends.

Are You Funny? Do You Write? Read On.

This woman is hilarious. She is also very generous, and has come up with a very creative idea for trying to raise some money for Stephanie and Christian, trying to fight their way out of hospitals and back into the daily lives of their children and families. Her idea: to self publish a book full of funny excerpts submitted by fellow bloggers, then use proceeds from the sales of the book to donate to their recovery fund. For a list of all contest rules, click here.

Imagine, you get to be funny, you get to be published, and then you get to help someone! Go check it out. You won't be sorry.

Eyes Wide Open

It's 1:30 in the morning and I'm wide awake. Somebody shouldn't have had a Pepsi with dinner.

What? After two weeks of not posting here are you wanting more than that? Fine. Here's what I've done so far today:

I watched the end of "War Games" on TBS this morning before I cleaned my kitchen.
I taped Oprah.
I watched Oprah.
I fast-forwarded through most of Oprah because the topic was highly disturbing.
I observed my father-in-law fix my malfunctioning garage door opener with duct tape and a sour cream container.
I flossed my teeth with my hair.
I spent the better portion of the last two hours trying to find some kind of blog of an ex-boyfriend I could lurk on (challenging, considering I hardly dated anybody seriously before Cory).
I watched a dancing hamster on YouTube.
I bought Drew some rope from Home Depot so he can use it as a whip and therefore represent Indiana Jones more effectively while playing the theme song on iTunes.
I conducted a search on YouTube for videos of farting babies (Did I mention Drew is off track and we're struggling for time fillers? No more video games! Go ride your bike. Or read a book. Practice your piano. Look! Babies with gas on video!)

See what I mean? Too much caffeine.

Live From The DNC

Since I live in Denver, it feels like I would be shirking my civic duty not to share this with you. It's the part of Obama's speech last night that they didn't show on network television. Enjoy, and thanks Greg for the link!

A Good Cause

As you know, I blog on another site with three other fabulous and talented women. One of my friends over there, Lisa, has been struggling within her family due to a very serious plane crash that killed a flight instructor and critically injured her sister and brother-in-law to the degree that it's going to take many, many months and millions of dollars for recovery. The couple also have four young children. Today, along with many other supporters, we are joining in a silent auction to raise money for the family. Currently up for bid on Light Refreshments Served is a giclee print, tickets to a Maroon5 / Counting Crows concert, a signed guitar from James, lead guitarist of Maroon 5 (and Lisa's brother), as well as a DVD collection and links to many other amazing items.

I invite you to join thousands of others trying to help this young and beautiful family - come bid on something you like or make a donation if you feel so inclined. Thanks everybody - the outpouring of love for this couple and family has been oozing all over the internet since this happened, and it hasn't gone unnoticed by the family. I know they appreciate all the love and prayers that have been offered on their behalf.

Calling All Non Creepy Denver-ites

My internet friend Randi and I have been making comments on each other's blogs for many, many months now, and since we live in suburbs of the same city of Denver we've decided that it's time to meet in person. We'd also like to invite other Denver bloggers who are not freaks or stalkers to join us tomorrow! If you're interested email me at bunsofsteele0605@comcast.net and I'll give you the details. Sorry for the short notice - we just hammered out the details yesterday!

My Best Friend's (ex) Boyfriend

The other night I was having trouble sleeping when I thought up a brilliant idea for my next prank on my friend Ganelle. Recently she stumbled upon a blog of one of her ex-boyfriends – it’s a detailed account of his daily life with his wife and multiple children. As you can imagine, this kind of information has similar addictive qualities as meth, and she’s been stalking lurking for weeks, curiously reading about his life and family activities etc. (I would like to clarify that she is happily married and not pining after a former guy, just curious.) Still, she panicked when he added a site meter to his blog and she wondered if he’d now be able to tell that she was visiting so she stopped.

Lying awake and staring at the ceiling is when it hit me - I knew exactly what to do, and I jumped out of bed to head down to the computer. For the last three days I’ve been pretending to be her ex-boyfriend, creating a bogus email account using his name and then emailing her to say (basically), “Hey, I noticed you’ve been visiting my family blog, I managed to find yours too, how’s life going?” That’s when she called me and said, “Crap! He knows! What do I write back?” So I helped her draft her response, to ME. My final email was sent to her last night – this is what it said:

Ganelle:

Well, I haven't quite adopted the enthusiasm of blogging as much as my wife has, but I’ve managed to catch up with a few friends. So, your husband sounds pretty important and successful. Is that why you chose him over me? I was pretty devastated when it didn’t work out between us. My wife is great and everything, but to speak candidly she’s only second best.

Your kids look cuter than mine, too. I know that my wife paints a pretty happy picture on our family blog, but it’s pretty much a façade. On my darkest days I get out old pictures of you and I in college and imagine what might have been, but I know that’s not very healthy. I had a little bit of counseling which helped for a while, and then I saw your picture in the BYU alumni magazine and saw that you hadn’t changed a bit and it brought back old feelings. At least I don’t put that picture under my pillow anymore.

Even though I don’t contribute much to the family blog, I have a secret blog that no one else knows about that’s dedicated to you. I guess it’s okay to tell you about it since you’re the only who will know! The web address is: http://www.iloveganelle.blogspot.com

If you left a comment it would absolutely make my day!!!

Still Love You,
[he who shall not be named]

She must have checked her email around 10:19 pm because my phone rang at 10:20. Luckily, she was laughing!

Technical Difficulties and June Cleaver

A few weeks ago I tried multiple times to post a YouTube video to my blog and it was giving me grief. I finally got it to work, but apparently the ones that were unsuccessful at the time all the sudden showed up on my blog, making it a little redundant. I really don't love Justin Timberlake as much as you might think at this point, and I feel better clearing that up!

Anyway, we are moved and starting to feel settled. Yesterday I made cookies and delivered them to all my neighbors as if to say, "See how cool The New People are? They're so nice I bet you don't want to let your dogs bark after 10pm or let them loose to take a dump in their yard. You probably don't even want to harrass them about hurrying up already to get their landscaping in, because that's the kind of power that this particular cookie recipe holds. It just says, 'Be Patient. She knows how to operate her oven and that could work to my advantage.'" I met one woman who commented that this neighborhood felt like Leave It To Beaver Street. Better go get myself some pumps and a nice dress.

All along I've been looking for some kind of confirmation that we did the right thing by moving here. You know, nothing fancy, just some kind of message in the clouds that says, "Vern: You did the right thing, and you picked precisely the house that I planned for you. Good job. Love, God." Instead Drew came home on the second day of school and announced that he had made a friend. Then we moved in and realized that this friend lives two doors down in our cul-de-sac. Then this kid invited Drew to his birthday party, which consisted of pizza and the premiere of the new Star Wars movie "Clone Wars" after which they would have lightsaber fights outside. So yeah, it's no burning bush or anything but I'm calling it good.

Yesterday I asked Samantha how she was doing with the changes and everything and she said, "I'm taking it better than I thought I would." Apparently she thought she would be crying herself to sleep every night. Frankly, I had the same concern, but that has not been the case. She said having all of our things in the house made it feel more like home. Plus, I yell just the same here as I did at the other house, so I'm sure that helps. I do what I can.