Love Me Some Sundays

Hi. I think I am stylish.

This is Katie's favorite, probably because I look like a royal imbecile {I was talking when she took this, I don't normally make this face. . .often}

Clearly could use a little work in the "model" department. . .okay so a lot of work, geez

Happy Sunday :)

Sundays are very special to me. I love getting up early and putting on my pretty face. <---oh yes, I have lots of different faces, don't believe me? Just try and eat the last slice of angel food cake and see what my face can do!! 

Taming my hair is always a time-consuming situation, this week I tried a heat-less curling technique that you do the night before! It worked!! If you want to try it go here. . .I will warn you that girl makes me want to stab my eyes with needles but it really does work so hang in there and curl your hairs!!!

Also I realize that my outfit DOES NOT MATCH! I like it that way! Fall is for mixing and matching (or in my case NOT matching) colors and patterns. I love fall!

I am working on self love. I want to be my best friend, not my best enemy. Yep, life is lovely. I am gonna go live mine :) 

Lover-of-myself Over and Out

Modest is Hottest

 

"I find the whole concept of being ‘sexy’ embarrassing and confusing. If I do an interview with photographs people desperately want to change me - dye my hair blonder, pluck my eyebrows, give me a fringe. Then there’s the choice of clothes. I know everyone wants a picture of me in a mini-skirt. But that’s not me. I feel uncomfortable. I’d never go out in a mini-skirt. It’s nothing to do with protecting the Hermione image. I wouldn’t do that. Personally, I don’t actually think it’s even that sexy. What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder. - Emma Watson

May I just say, "Holy WoW I am loving me some Emma Watson?!!!"  

I am not gonna lie, if Emma Watson was a LDS male returned missionary I would totally marry her. Alas she is not! Consequently I will just adore her for the beautiful example that she is!

It is so much fun to be modest!! <----weird statement, I know. But, think about it? When 'sexy' girls wear their ultra-skimpy, low-cut, skin-tight attire they are in constant need of adjusting. Pulling this down, tucking that in, shimmying instead of walking, and for what? To catch the eye of some complete stranger of the opposite sex? That is A LOT of work just so someone random can look at you like an object instead of a person. . . Fun = putting on an outfit that fits and makes you feel fresh and lovely, no adjustments necessary!

Boys may find the 'sexy' girls alluring from afar, but if they look close it's not so cute. It is like the clothes are trying to consume their wearers. If you have to fight with your outfit to get it on OR keep it on. . .I'd say it's not worth it!

Speaking of worth that is what it is REALLY about, your self-worth. Love yourself. For a girl who loves herself and shows it in her appearance and mannerisms will always be hotter then those who don't. 

"Be your own kind of beautiful" 

Modest Hottie Over and Out

Ginger Lumberjack

The love of sisters is beyond measure, there is no such thing as "too hard", "too gross", or "too much information" with sisters if there is a will (in this case a razor) there is a way. 

Katie is the baby of the family, she is also preggo (which means she's HAVING a baby), and being the pregnant baby that she is when she expressed concern over her extremely long leg hair Kel and I decided to become Ginger Lumberjacks. Translation: Katie is a redhead = red leg hair = ginger

Katie can't breath when she bends over (apparently this is a common side effect of pregnancy) so her leg hair was much longer then any females leg hair EVER should be, it reminded me of a forest. One that must be chopped down = lumberjack.    

So we sat Kate down on a lovely stool right outside of the bathtub, lathered up her legs, and started choppin'

It didn't take long at all for us to correct the situation. We dried Kate's legs and then rubbed some yummy lotion on them. Yay for soft, silky legs!

Lessons Learned:

*Having sisters is one of God's greatest gifts to me

*Two razors is better then one

*When I get pregnant I am purposefully not shaving just so Kel and Kate will have to pamper me

Ginger Lumberjack Over and Out

Ma'am Awkward = Me

 I have been practicing my "come hither" look. . .I need A LOT more practice! See!! Therein lies the problem, I thought I knew how to interact with the opposite sex, turns out I'm an idiot. . .cause I totally don't. Awesome.

Yep. Just call me Ma'am Awkward.

Once or Twice in my 23 years I have been referred to as a "flirt". On each occasion I resented the title and quickly dismissed it.

My how the times have changed! At this point I am thinking about creating a craigslist add searching for someone who will feed me false hope. Listen ladies this is a BIG DEAL, I have lost my ability to flirt. My "mojo" if you will.

I use to flirt with Boy all the time. Mostly cause he is handsome, and for sport, or to pass the time, but he's really quite the looker so it's probably more due to that then anything else.

See for yourselves. Boy = Beautiful

 But Boy and I have meandered out of the flirt-able land of friendship into something much more rigid. Not that it would matter because I can't do it anymore anyways. We really can't blame this on Boy. He is not responsible for my awkward-ness. Nope, I did that all by my lonesome. 

Really though, the other day I saw a guy looking at me in the produce section (I was mulling over a fruit purchase, I don't know what in the blazes he was doin' NOT buying produce, just sayin') Instead of smiling politely (because after all this guy wasn't hideous) I spastic-ally jerked my body around till I was facing a display of bananas and then galloped away like the ungraceful boar that I am.

"Believe me produce dude you dodged a bullet, because had you pursued me, you would have been destined for a life devoid of flirting, that and having to bandage me up each time I randomly awkward my way into an injury. No one has enough patience or band-aids for that."

I have been doing a little flirting research (sad, I know) and as far as I can tell girls just get lucky and men are just looking for the "pretties". I mean batting your eyelashes?? What is that?! 

You just look sleepy, or possessed.

Witty banter? Got none. Overwhelming good looks? Not likely. One of those dresses with the hoop skirts and built in butts? Yeah they stopped making those after Cinderella came out. 

Forget it. I give. This is what I have to offer:

BAM!

Shock & Awe!

Holy Yes!

Let all those girls with their flirtation and lovely looks try and compete, the sad truth is that they just can't compare, because I am awesome. Yep I said it. I am an AWESOME flirt-less wonder. So there.

Ma'am Awkward Over and Out

*But just in case you have any pearls of wisdom to relate feel free to leave a comment below*

The Pearl Necklace

Okay, I am not normally one for the sappy story, but for reasons unknown my emotion level is at a record-breaking high. Which among other things (crying, stomping my feet, and tantrums of great proportion) has landed me thinking about this story that I received as a Miamaid

*fun side-note: The spell check on my computer really wants me to change Miamaid to mermaid, not gonna lie. . .I am very tempted to* 

at girls camp many moons ago (do not ask me how many moons ago because relating my age will most certainly bring on the water-works. Considering I haven't cried in a whole 92 minutes we don't want to do that). 

 

The Pearl Necklace The cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!" Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00. If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma." As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace. Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green. Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?" "Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess--the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite." "That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss. About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?" "Daddy, you know I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my babydoll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper." "That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss. A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?" Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver,she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you." With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny. He had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her a genuine treasure. What are you hanging on to?  Couldn't resist putting a picture of my beautiful Kellie-sister wearing her wedding pearls  Sometimes having to let go of things we love can feel like an impossibility; it can feel like the end of the world. How lucky am I that all those years ago a leader received revelation to give me a story about a little girl? A little girl that it turns out is just like me. I can't remember that leaders name, or even what she looks like, but when I am saying my prayers tonight she is going to be at the top of my "I'm thankful for" list. So even though my heart is breaking it is not the end of the world right? Right. Little Girl Over and Out

Ghost Busted.

If you are ever home alone, while taking a shower and for no reason known to you the shower curtain (rod and all) fall completely to the floor, screaming like a ninny will NOT keep the hot air from escaping or the water from flooding your bathroom. It is a much better idea to quietly apologize to whatever ghost you disturbed with your singing and then quickly retrieve the rod and curtain and return them to their proper place.  

No matter how you handle the situation you must certainly will NOT be enjoying the rest of your shower. I suggest rinsing your hair and high tailing it out of there. 

Not that I would know from personal experiance.

But, if I did I would wonder what in tarnation is with my bathroom these days?!?!!! 

First a mouse and now I need to wear a hard hat to protect myself from all the falling debris while bathing?

Trick-y! That is it! I am going to cause a scene! Where is the man responsible for building this place?!!? . . .oh yeah *light bulb* that would be Dad. . .and Mom. . .and me. Poop. Bad plan.

On second thought, I can deal. I am like a baby, very resiliant. You could drop me right on my head, that won't phase me. So what if I got attacked by an invisible somebody while trying to condition my hair? No big. I can bounce back.

Who am I gonna call?

Not ghost busters.

Dang, now I am singing the theme song. . .blast.

Haunted Over and Out 

The Late Night Visitor

Okay, so I think we have established that I live in the woods in a fort. 

This is still true, however I am not the only thing that lives in the woods in a fort because apparently a little brownish gray mouse does too. That's right people I had my first (crossing my fingers and any other body part that I can manipulate that it is my LAST) encounter with a rodent. EEeekk

That is not even the worst part (I know you are thinking how could it get worse?).

I have a cat. His name is Jules but mostly I just call him Meow. It is not the most creative name, I know, but it works. 

He woke me up, like he always does around 4AM last night and I got  up (angrily) and went to feed him. So I am sitting there (my spoiled little kitty likes me to sit with him while he eats) yawning and mentally cursing Meow's existence because I would much rather be sleeping. When all of  a sudden I see something scurry across the room! At first I naively hoped that it was just an abnormally large cricket, but alas my hopes were dashed instantly as the creature ran diagonally toward the litter box (which is the port-o-potty for it's arch nemesis, possibly this mouse knew that my cat is a worthless sack of fur and not to be frightened of his presence?)

I am momentarily tempted to stand on top of the toilet, but I have only been awake for 10 minutes and I fall over when I am not sleep deprived. . .better keep this little adventure on ground level. I was less aware of my cat's lazy attitude then our mousy visitor, so I shouted at him, "Cat you're a cat go and get the mouse! Go go go go!! Go get it!" then slightly less enthusiastically and a bit more confused, "Why aren't you moving? Caattt go get the mouse." 

Nothing.

This is Sir Lazybutt.

Thinks he fits anywhere, except ya know catching mice.

I am not actually throwing him away, he climbed in on his own. . .its not a bad idea though ;)

Bella Loves Meow. True Story.

She must not know about his worthlessness. She is still young, we can't blame her.

Not only did Meow fail to chase the mouse but he looked up at me bored, and yawned. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? Then he proceeded to walk to the front door and whine to be let out. So I told him in all seriousness, "You are the World's Most Unhelpful Feline. How could you leave me in here with that thing? Fine! Go! I don't need your help anyway." after I closed the door I mumbled, "I hope it rains on your lazy butt."

And it did, that is how I know God loves me! Winner! 

So I am standing there in my exercise room, peering into the bathroom with hesitancy. I figure I am an adult, I am hundreds of times bigger then this little mouse, I AM IN CONTROL HERE. So I did what any other adult who is larger than a mouse and in control would have done. . .I ran right up the stairs speedy quick and burst into my Mommy's room! I sat on the edge of her bed and related my terrible tale. 

*fun and interesting side note: Mom is completely terrified of mice! I mean big time! She is the woman who jumps on her chair and stays there all day long until her husband comes home to save the day. Interestingly enough my Dad is scared of mice too! She should have asked him about that before they were wed, just sayin'* 

Mom listens and says the only logical solution in times like these, "Let's have a slumber party in my bed!" (My dad had fallen asleep out in the living room watching some sci-fi lame-o show) I quickly take Mom up on her offer and I am about to pull back the covers and get in when I remember my teddy bear (whom I have had since I was 2) and my stuffed unicorn are all alone on my bed!! What if the mouse goes in my room? EEEeeewwwwww!! That is when I got up my courage ran like lightening down the stairs grabbed Teddy and Fluffy and hurled myself back up to Mom's room. 

All in all I have decided two things from this experience: 1. Dad is going to have to pull it together, realize he is the man, and take care of this situation. AND 2. If I could train a mouse to chase me while I am jogging I could shave 8 minutes off my fastest time (they bring out the Olympic Sprinter in me). 

This is not the only strange visitor to make an appearance at the fort! If you are in for another giggle go here and read my little sister's blog about the time a bat made its way into our living room. To this day when I need a pick-me-up I just ask Katie (who is 8 months pregnant) to imitate how a bat walks. Let me just say, "Holy preggo lady walking like a bat. Best. Thing. Ever!" No really, it's what dreams are made of. I promise.

At this point I am thinking about snagging an exterminator, I'll marry him and then never have to worry about little brownish gray unwanted guests again. It's either that or morph into a baby elephant and wear a hat in which the brownish gray mouse will ride around in and teach me to fly. Considering I CAN'T actually become Dumbo. . .I mean he's a boy! Gross! I guess I will start scanning the yellow pages for a man who is not afraid of a little mice-ness. 

Mrs. Exterminator Over and Out