Take It Outside

Now that this blasted brick wall with all it's crevices oh how I love that word has been tackled, this U-G-L-Y light stood out like....well, an ugly light. I happened to be cutting through the exterior light aisle at Lowes when I spotted this guy on clearance for 9.99. TEN BUCKS?? Sold. Of course, the box did read "for outdoor use."

Outdoor schmoutdoor, I always say. Or at least I do now. Perfect for shining down on piano music when I practice. Which is never. Or dust. Which, based on the bottom of that frame, is also never.

Bad Parenting. And Even Worse Video.

We were blessed to have Aunt Brenda and her friend Pat come for a quick Texas weekend trip. It was supposed to be a vacation for them, but it was more like a vacation for me. I got to sit back and relax while they were both subjected to hours of Blockus with the kids, swimming with the kids, playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl on the unlimited time setting with the kids, running around the park with the kids, trunk or treating with the kids, and being disappointed with me for not taking more photos.

Of the kids.

(But I know YOU did Pat....anytime you'd like to send 'em to me, that'd be swell.)

The least I could do was post this video like they begged me to, even though

1. it's about .03 seconds long and nothing is in focus

2. it confirms that they really should do some kind of psychological examination before you're allowed to become a mother

3. especially the kind of mother that would laugh at her children's terror. A lot.

Roger thought it would be funny on Halloween night after the boys were in bed to climb up onto the roof (they're on the second story) and bang on the window.

And I thought it would be funny to capture it on video for all posterity. Roll tape.

Some Spooky Inspiration

After listening all weekend to my kids complain about what a mean mom I am for not buying costumes this year ($20 a piece x 5 children = so not gonna happen), I told them to get creative. You know: what would Adam do? via videosift.com

P.S I have no idea how to make this box smaller.

P.P.S. And why exactly is this is considered "vintage" SNL? I remember watching this live.

Now that's spooky.

Fresno Foolishness

Thank goodness (for the general public, that is) that me and my sisters live states apart. I moved out of California 5 years ago, and that was the last time we've all been together. This last weekend my baby brother got married so we had what was, in essence, a family reunion.

Dad, Liz, Khristie, Benjamin, Jessica, me, Julia, Mom.

Could my hair look any worse? Not possible. At least I have the smallest feet.

Phillips girls are kind of like beans: the more you eat the more you toot best experienced in small quantities. But there is truly nothing better than four older sisters to give the bride a proper welcome to the family. And by older I certainly am not implying more mature. In fact, it's amazing Ben made it out of adolescence unscarred. Relatively.

I suppose, in this case, the old adage is true: what doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

And really hurts.

Nothing like tuning in Tokyo in front of the temple. And everyone who attended the wedding. Mom's proudest moment, to be sure.

Speaking of adolescence, watch what happens when you mix a camera and a camera.

"Lookie there, we done be on that there television screen. Just like them fancy movie stars."

Just a flip of the switch and I had it on video, without telling Khristie, which made for shaky footage given that I almost peed my pants laughing. Which made her laugh. Which made me laugh harder. Which completely embarrassed my dad and made him wonder why in the world he would even consider taking us out in public in the first place.

Or in other words, a summary of the first 18 (32?)years of my life.

And just for the record, Steven in electronics, NO -we don't drink. Thanks for asking.

Is There A Merit Badge For Honesty?

Dear Cub Scouts,

Call me old fashioned, but in this case full disclosure seems to take a little something away from the moment.

Thanks for trying,

Jordan's Mom

Can't Fight It

Have you ever fallen in love with something? Or thought that you were in love?

I remember awhile back I bought a shirt. I saw it hanging in the store, and although it wasn't something that I would normally choose, I was looking for something different. My wardrobe consists of basically three or four styles repeated over and over. Variations on a theme, I like to say. So childish. So rigid. Not any more. This shirt would be a symbol of me trying something new, breaking out of the box and stepping out of my comfort zone. The color was good. It fit perfectly. It was a no brainer.

I took it home, head held high in celebration of my style rut liberation, but somehow every time I wore it, I just wasn't comfortable. It's like I was wearing somebody else's shirt, not my own. Eventually, it got pushed back to the corner of the closet until I could finally admit defeat. I wanted to love it. I tried to love it. But as much as I liked it, never in a million years could that like blossom into love. It just wasn't me.

When we sold our home in Arizona, part of the offer was that the buyers wanted the house "exactly" the way was. Which, translated, means that a bunch of our furniture would stay, one of those pieces being our king size bed. It ended up working out better in the long run, since there's no way it would've fit in our new itty bitty bedroom. Not only that, but I had a chance to do something a little different and get this upholstered headboard that I loved.

Or at least I wanted to love.

But, just like the shirt, it just never felt quite right.

I tried slip covering it. Changing the color of the walls. Hanging different things above it in a last ditch effort to redeem myself. In the end, it didn't matter what I did, because it just wasn't me.

Fast forward to this house, 3 years later, and I couldn't take it any more. It was time to let go. And start my period. Only notable because, as my family can bear testimony to, everything is unbearable to me come the middle of the month. I made the bed, took a photo, and listed it online. 24 hours later it was gone.

We did without for awhile until I found a bed that spoke to me. Spoke to me AND something my husband would agree to. Two things that rarely happen at the same time. The planets must have all been aligned on this particular day, because I found this beauty for only $25 more than I had sold the headboard for. Nothing that my man loves more than good ol' mission style.

Except for bacon.

Too bad you can't hear the angels singing in this photo, because they totally are. I smile every time I walk into our room. Especially when I don't trip over somebody's shoes that were left on the floor.

Guilty as charged.

What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor?

This beast, that sits between our closet and the bathroom, was on our things-that-gotta-go-once-we-move-in list. Did I say "our?" I meant "mine."

In all fairness, Roger's exact words were, "It's fine. I like it. We can put stuff in it."

That is a just a glimpse into the deep, complex man that stole my heart.

And if you think I'm going to go against my husbands wishes, it's like you don't know me at all. That and I realized that the previous owners, who were here for 20 years, carpeted AROUND it.

So here it has stayed.

The upside is that it got rid of some more of my black paint supply, and gave me a chance do a lampshade/hotglue-a-thon/personality lift/improvement thingy using a fabric scrap that was just the right size. As long as you don't turn it around, look at it from the top. Oh, or from below either.

Changed out the hardware with some old pulls that I couldn't put back on our dresser since half of them were missing from my boys using them as hockey pucks, and, of course, a clock. That'll do, pig. That'll do.