Tuesday, May 31, 2011

You've come to the right place, my friend...

(That was my best Russian accent.)

Yes, it's still Bogue & Weejer...I'm just an idiot and spent so much time this weekend trying to figure out CSS building my own template and this is what I've done. It's great, right? RIGHT?! Seriously, I'm "almost" finished. The design is done, now I just have to figure out the code to get it on there. I hate coding.

I have lots of pictures to upload from this weekend. I hope you all had a great Memorial Day, btw! We went to the zoo, went swimming, rested, grilled hot dogs, and had a grand ole time.

And I'm hoping the new graphics will be up soon. I hope. I really hope.

Hey, guess what...four day work week...what whaaaaaat!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Happy Birthday, Sara V!

Dearest Sistah...it's your birthday! I know how you are with math, so I'll help you out. You're half of 62. (I'm still in my 20's, but today's not about me.) I know growing up, we didn't always get along. In fact, we were the epitome of the sibling rivalry. But God knew we needed each other and I'm glad he stuck us together in the same family. He knew I needed someone to look up to, and He knew you needed someone to make you look good in public and popular by association.

Remember the time we were in the goat pen and we were playing with Dad's hatchet and you nearly chopped my finger off. Ha, that was funny.

Remember that other time we were in the goat pen and you got quiet all of a sudden, turned to me, your face almost transparent due to the lack of blood, and said, "Uh...I need to go." You disappeared for two hours, so I went to look for you. I followed the trail of blood drops to the front porch to find you sitting on the chair, tears streaming down your face, holding a towel and ice pack to the bottom of your foot...your blood-soaked shoe sitting nearby. You stepped on a nail. But, you were so brave...and milked it for a month.

You told me that an unconnected hand lived in the house, roaming the halls at night. You told me an octopus lived under my bed. You told me that It the Clown lived in my closet. I owe my tactical preparedness and massive weapons array against all things monster to you. I am prepared for anything.

To make me swim faster in the pool, you used to tell me a snake was behind me.

I used to put cicada exoskeletons on your back before church on Sunday mornings.

When I was 5 and had the chicken pox, you told me I would have them for forever.

I used to listen in on ALL of your phone calls.

You used to tell me that bananas grew on spiders' legs.

I used to tell you that you had brown eyes because God ran out of the good ones that day. (FYI, I have nothing against brown eyes...I think they're beautiful. This was just a mean sister thing.)

You used to hold me down, using your freakish height as leverage, and dangle spit above my face.

I used to pee in the pool really close to you.

You "borrowed" my favorite pair of Abercrombie shorts for FIVE YEARS.

I "borrowed" so much of your jewelry...and I'm still "borrowing" it.

You drew on my face with a Sharpie at Saddle Rock in the middle of the night.

We sprinkled Kool-Aid powder around your entire cabin in hopes the ants and wild animals would commune there.

You used to call me "Toddler Shoes."

I may or may not be teaching the girls to moo like a cow whenever they see you.

You let the goat sneeze on and then eat my oatmeal cream pie without saying a word.

I ate all of your Valentine candy from John Stone and haven't regretted it once.

You stood beside me when I married my best friend.

You were there just moments after the girls were born, so early in the morning.

You were there at the hospital every day, holding Piper Lee and visiting Harper so we could sleep.

You spent countless days with us helping with the girls those first few insane months.

You've been to so many doctor's appointments with me.

You've come over to give me company during the week.

You've been there for every event, small or big, in my children's lives.

You're always there (except when you're at the lake and the reception's crappy).

You are an amazing sister and friend and I love you. Thank you for being you.

Happy Birthday, SF!!!

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Poor Herb

You know when there's a story or saying that just gets you every time? There are a few that have me rolling, usually in tears. And I have no idea why...it's not like they're THAT funny. It may have to do with the situation in which you first heard it or someone said it late at night and everybody's deliriously tired late at night. And usually they're not funny to anyone else but you.

Like one time in college (I think I've told y'all this story before), my friend Chelcie was helping me finish an art project and I don't even remember what it was, but we were cutting out squares. It's midnight and we had been sitting in complete silence for awhile and, out of nowhere, she goes, "You know what's so weird about scissors...you can move them at any time." I paused, looked at her, bewildered, and said, "I'm sorry...what?" She responded, "Well, you know...they can go up and down as you cut, but you can move them back and forth whenever you want." I nodded in approval, "That is so true." And then we both fell into a fit of laughter. I still think of that and laugh whenever I'm using scissors.

Another one is that scene in Braveheart where the Irish guy goes, "Wha--that can't be William Wallace! I am prettier than this man!" Gets. me. every. time. I don't know why!

Another one that always makes me chuckle is when somebody, well, rips one...and then somebody else goes, "Hey...listen...you hear them barkin' spiders?" Who even thought of that? But golly, it's funny.

But the one thing that really, really gets me just came about in the past few months. Mom likes to make salads for supper when she's up here helping me with the girls. You know how they have packages of lettuce...romaine, spring mix, iceburg mix, etc. Her favorite is the baby herb mix. One evening, we were fixing our suppers, Mom's quietly adding the lettuce to her bowl, I'm toasting some cinnamon raisin bread. Mom softly ponders as she tosses in the last bit of greenery, "Poor, poor Herb. He was just a baby. He never knew the wonders of this life. Poor Baby Herb." I'm not gonna lie and tell you I didn't wet my pants from laughing so hard, because I did. And now, I can't make a salad without saying, "Poor, poor Herb."

So, I want you to think about that the next time you're making a salad...

Friday, May 20, 2011

How To...

Today's topic focuses on several day-to-day activities that we all, at some point, have struggled with and provides a "how-to" guide which directs you down a more efficient path for said activities.


How to...be a supermodel.

The broken down slouch is very popular in high fashion advertising right now. Here, we see how the model uses elbow dimples to make sure her stripey pants are the sole focus of this spread.

Disinterest, apathy, and all-around whateverness is all the rage in Milan.

How to...ride a rocking horse.

First, you mount the horse.

And then go crazy!

How to...exert as little energy as possible and have Daddy pull you around on the rocking horse.

Whine and whine about wanting to be pushed around the yard on the thing until Daddy gives in and hooks a rope up to it.



How to...drink water from a sprinkler.

There are many variations of this...all are accepted as correct.

How to...remove a wedgie.

Reach behind you until you've located the offending undergarment.
Pull out.

If that doesn't work...lift a leg.

How to...properly mount a four-wheeler and thwart a would-be thief.

How to...DANCE!

How to...make Mom and Dad want to hug you and kiss you and squeeze you and pat you and love you and smooch you and call you their own.