Yesterday was the greatest day of my life. My five-year-old learned how to load and unload the dishwasher, and he thinks it’s the greatest job in the world. I spent the 35 minutes it took to help him through the process telling him how much I loved doing dishes when I was five. Let the brainwashing begin. 

Unfortunately, now he thinks he’s an adult. Today he asked me if he could “help” me sharpen the knives. He offered to hold the knife. 

The only downside to Harrison and his impressive cleaning skills is the fact that he kind of wants to be paid for everything he does. I can’t blame him, I’d like to get paid once in a while. And do not tell me the grocery budget counts as “payment” for anything. It so doesn’t. 

Actually, Jason and I each get $20 every two weeks to “blow” (thank you Dave Ramsey). I got paid at three o’clock last Friday. I blew my $20 at five fifteen.

And Harrison? The second he gets four quarters he wants to run straight to the dollar store to spend it on some crap toy that will break before we pay for it.

My little apple, makes me so proud.

Five Important Statements About American Idol

1. What is the point of Kara again? I keep trying to remember why they needed a female version of Randy. Tonight I remembered: They don’t.

2. Lil Rounds. Michelle Obama called, she wants her dress back. 

3. Adam Lambert is a psychedelic emo who paints his nails and dresses like a girl. He also just offended the entire Johnny Cash fan base and country music in general. I’m trying hard to pretend that I don’t think he’s crazy cool. Okay fine. He’s crazy cool. 

4. Blind Scott, what are you doing on American Idol? You should (and will) be a rising Christian artist who sings blind praise with your slightly nasally and sometimes flat vocals, topped off with that lovely wobbly vibrato. They are really nice to you, and it’s not because you’re an amazing singer. A little more straight forward constructive criticism could actually help you.

5. Last guy who looks like Michael Buble, you are my new fave ever, right behind Michael Buble, who’s right behind Jason (who usually refuses to sing me a note but is still amazingly hot.)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day. As you can see, Harrison, Rex and Rainbow Bright won’t be getting pinched today. It took me ten minutes to convince Rex to let me take a photo of him. I know I shouldn’t post pictures of him because he’s so cute someone might want to steal him. On second thought, I’d love to watch a stranger try to get him into a car. 

Notice all the gaping holes in Harrison’s mouth? His teeth are falling out all over the place. One of his little buddies was over last week right after he’d lost two more bottom teeth. I heard his buddy say, “Oh yeah? It’s probably decay.” Nice.

I  made the kids shamrock pancakes for breakfast. When Harrison went to get dressed, I ate his and told him it was a Leprechaun. He was so ticked off. It took me ten minutes of lying through my green teeth to convince him it wasn’t me. The things we do to help our kids feel festive.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Do you see this cute little robin? This bird landed outside the window by my front door.

“Rex, Harry! Quick! Come see this robin!” They came running and we stood there quietly, talking about birds and admiring it’s breast (why does that sound so odd?).

Two minutes later we were still staring at it and it hadn’t moved a muscle. Not even to blink it’s eyes.

“Um, kids? Why don’t you tap on the glass a little, I think it might be sleeping.”

So my kids start pouding on the glass.

Not even a twitch.

At this point I was kind of starting to freak out. Was it dead? Was it stroking? Did I need to call 911?

I went to the front door and opened it. “Hey, Robin! Wake up!” Holy Frozen Bird, Batman, I think it’s dead.

And if it’s dead, how am I going to dispose of it? Jason is out of town for a week. That means for the next week, we could have a creepy frozen robin peering into our house, because we all know Mama isn’t touching it.

“Okay, kids, everyone stay calm!” Because obviously this robin is a terrorist, staking out my house and launching a suicide mission right outside my front door.

I grab the broom and sneak back to the front door, careful not to let it see me.

I have to add here that I was totally terrified. Of a bird. A frozen, possibly dead bird. Take a look at the photos again. Scary, right?

Cautiously opening the door, I yell at it one more time, just in case it’s revived itself. “Hey! You! Get offa my cloud!” Nothing.

So, moving slowly, with the broom, I nudge it in the chest. It’s little head turns toward me with this look on his face like, “Oh, were you talking to me?”

Um, hello? Do I look like Mary Poppins? Scram! Beat it! I nudge it two more times and it suddenly bursts into flight and zooms away. Gone.

So. Creepy.

And I’ve now counted five fat robins outside my windows. I’m going to get our 72 hour kits ready, in case they launch an attack.

I should be working on my manuscript. I should be doing laundry. I should be feeding the children. But am I doing any of those things? No.

Instead, I have spent the last two hours looking online for dresses to wear to my SIL’s wedding in June. Dresses, I might add, that I have not the money to pay for (yet). It will take me six weeks minimum to save up for a dress that I will feel fabulous and fantastic and not-at-all cheap in.

See, usually I have no problem with disposable clothing. I like picking up a dress for $14.99 at Ross or Target. I feel good knowing that the kids can muck it up with chocolate and snot and in reality, it doesn’t matter because the dress wasn’t expensive to start out with.

But when it comes to special occasions, I want to feel like something special. I don’t want (foot stomp) to wear a dress that’s “affordable”. I do affordable every single day, is it too much to ask for something that’s a little extravagant? Elegant? Designer?

I feel instantly guilty for even considering something full-priced. I was programmed at an early age to buy a bargain; it was hardwired into my shopping soul. I’m the girl who instinctively bypasses everything new and seasonal and sprints for the clearance rack. I do all my kid’s shopping off-season because it’s the only way I know to shop.

But just this once, I would like to ignore the sale racks.

Because I don’t care what anyone says, when you slip into an expensive, well-made dress with a zipper that doesn’t stick, grab, or jutt out, it feels gooood. Fabric that doesn’t ball up when you hold the baby on your lap, collars that fall perfectly around your shoulders, material that DOESN’T WRINKLE during your four block trip to church–just this once, I want these things.

And just this once, I want to wear what the display mannequin is wearing.

And so I will save. And save and save and save. And in six weeks, I will pay cash for something fabulous.

Then I’ll post pictures.

Must. Talk. About. Television.

I stayed up so late watching two-hour show after two-hour show that when I finally went to bed, my husband took one look and yelled, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”

The Biggest Loser. All I can say is that the Blue Team deserves to lose all their challenges. They keep sending home the young bucks and keeping old I-Have-Bad-Knees Ron. Why is he still there??? Over half of their team is practically retired, of course they’re going to lose the challenges.

The black team won 24 hours of luxury and ate it up, then the contestants blamed their trainer on the scales. Come on people, take a little responsibility.

And if you ever find yourself on TBL, please don’t get attached to your trainer. Eventually you’re going home regardless, you might as well sever the ties now and focus on the act of skinniness, not your new celebrity BFF. It’s just a game, people.

American Idol. I thought Lil Rounds did terrible. Adam is freaky amazing, but sometimes he’s so intense and beyond that I kind of think he should go join the circus.

I love the little newlywed who played the guitar, but I felt some serious sympathy for his poor little wife. If Jason was up there and I was in the audience watching girls melt over him, I would be running around with a fire extinguisher. But I’m kind of insanely jealous. Let’s hope she isn’t.

Now, I’ve been an Alexis Grace fan these past few weeks, but hello skank, you have a child. And Megan? Atrocious. Simply awful. “Rockin Robin”? On Michael Jackson night? And the little “tweet tweet” at the end actually made me put a pillow over my face to muffle the scream of horror. My loyalty only goes so far.

But as for you, Danny Gokey, I don’t even care that you looked like my five-year-old when you danced, love ya babe.

And as for DWTS, I am in way over my head with television right now and so I deleted it without even watching, and canceled any future recordings. I’m checking out of that one. My DVR can only hold so much crap.

I was just visiting Wenderful’s blog in which she tells a story of being 15 and stupid. Was I ever stupid? Let’s see…

One time when I was 13 I was going to sneak out with the neighbor kids (Micah and Cale for those of you who care) but I accidentally fell asleep. They snuck into the house to get me, but all I could say was, “I forgot to take my bra off…” and then I proceeded to pull it out of my shirt.

Yeah. That was a good moment.

Then there was the time we decided to vandilize Montesano’s high school with sidewalk chalk (cause we were such rebels). Unfortunately, Carleen took a piece of permanent paint chalk from her dad’s stuff and wrote some obscene comment about a boy she’d recently broken up with.

That one didn’t go over so well. When they called us in for interrogation, I folded like hot piece of laundry. (Not that my laundry is ever hot when I get around to folding it. It’s usually two days old and stale.)

And I won’t go into getting kicked out of girls’ camp, or nearly being fired from EFY for being a little too  loose laced. Suffice it to say, I’ve had my moments.

So one of my sisters asked me the other day if it bothers Jason that I write about him.

“No!” I said. “He’s such a good sport about it, he never complains. Besides, I try to give him equal coverage–the bad and the good.”

Then Jason came home and saw the title of my article in this week’s Vidette.

“Everybody must hate me,” he said. “Why can’t you write about someone else?”

Next week I’ve decided to give the guy a break, I guess everyone deserves a week off. And hey, at least I don’t refer to him as “Fang”.

Click here to read this week’s article.

Yesterday I went wedding dress shopping. Luckily (sadly) not for me, but for my little SIL Hayley who’s kind of the most wonderful girl marrying kind of the most wonderful guy. And not only is she wonderful, she’s gorgeous. Have you ever taken a gorgeous, willing girl wedding dress shopping? It was like playing paper dolls in person.

Why didn’t someone tell me when I got married that you only get to do the dress thing once? I bought the third dress I tried on in the first store. What was I thinking? That I’d get another chance to go dress shopping with the next husband? I have always regretted the chance to try on a zillion dresses just to see how they  looked.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seriously debated pretending to be a newly engaged divorcee (because let’s face it, I’ve been married for ten years and it shows. No way could I waltz in there and pretend to be all young an innocent and unknowing about things like budgets and diaper pails), but I can’t quite bring myself to do more than drive by and sigh.

So yesterday was like having front row seats to the Super Bowl. She tried on such a broad range of dresses (and no, they did not all look alike), when she finally found The One, it was kind of amazing. The most amazing part was that when she put that dress on, she looked like a woman. Not a young girl, not a single sista playing dress-up, a woman ready to get married.

And the best part about yesterday? At the end of the day, I realized that even with all the amazing dresses out there, and even though I didn’t try very many on, I would still pick the same one.

I know I’d pick the same guy.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go put that dress on and make the family breakfast in it. It deserves a little action after all these years.

My five year old is kind of a liar.

Today he told my girlfriend, “When I grow up, I’m going to marry a girl and have two tramplines!” Because obviously the best way to measure your success is by the number of trampolines peppering the backyard.

Yesterday she took him to the car wash.

“I’ve never been to the car wash before!”

“Yes he has,” I said over the phone.

“Harrison, your mom says you’ve been to the car wash plenty of times. What are you talking about?”

“Oh. Well, actually, I think I’ve been there…five times. No ten. No, maybe it was more like…thirty. No, a hundred. Yeah, a hundred times.”

And today when his teacher got him in trouble for back talking? “It’s not my fault! I just have a really big imagination!” She thinks I need to write a chilren’s book SERIES about Harry going to school.

That’s her nice way of saying he’s got character.

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