SLED of DEATH!!!

For Christmas this year--Santa brought each of the kids a circular sled. And since this has been our FIRST white Christmas ever!!!--my children have spent many gleeful hours shrieking down the neighborhood hill. Every single one of them--except my 6 year old. He's only spent 15 minutes on his.

He has decided his sled is called the Sled of Death...
After his brief excursion, I heard him slam into the house--shivering up a storm. After I stripped him of his wet clothes and bundled him onto our electric mattress pad with huge blanket, and he could finally stop chattering enough to speak... he explained why he will NEVER go sledding again, EVER.

" Mom, have you ever been on a sled before?"

"Yes. Did you have fun?"

"Are you kidding, Mom? That thing is the Sled of Death!"

"The what--?" (chuckling)

"I'm serious. Who invented stuff like that anyway?"

"I don't--"

"It's dangerous, Mom. Totally dangerous for kids. I'm not kidding. You climb up the whole entire hill to the very tip top, then sit on this--this, really slippery thing, and zoom down, faster than the whole world! All the time you're spinning around in circles and screaming until it finally stops and crashes you in a puddle of rocks and water and mud and stuff. Mom! This is very dangerous stuff here. I can't believe you're letting your kids do this thing! And you know what??? There's other kids on that hill, other moms are letting their kids sled too. We could all die. Not kidding Mom. Die. Seriously. Who does stuff like this? Give kids slippery things and says now go zoom down a hill at super fast turbo speeds and see what happens. I don't know if you know, but Santa gave us a very bad thing this year--bad, bad, bad!"

My ever-wise 6 year old, decided to play with his "much safer" train set (also from Santa) for the rest of the day, instead.

Good grief. Well, I feel the need to share that all 5 of the other kids (including my two year old) made it home safe, sound, and full of excited adventurous stories to share. LOL!

5 yr old versus Sprinkler~Sprinkler Won

So living back in the good ol' U.S. of A. has had its surprising moments for my kids. Too many to write them all down actually. And believe it or not we're still getting chuckles out of their amazement over the simplest things, daily.

Take, Carson my 5 yr old, who has apparently never seen an automatic sprinkler in his entire sheltered existence. I know, gasp!, I mean I do try to keep them as sheltered as possible, but I guess a mom can't shield her kids from everything the US may expose them to.

So there was my little unsuspecting 5 year old, gallivanting across the lawn in my mother's backyard. I'd been trying to convince him to come into the house and enjoy his breakfast, but to no avail. I was just at the point of death threats that went something like this--

"Carson Douglas James if you do not get your butt in this house right now, I'll--"

When all at once the nasty, mean sprinklers popped their ugly heads up and pummeled him with gallons of water from every direction. The poor kid froze and panicked. I could barely make out his sputtered reaction,

"Mom! Mom! What... is... happening... to... me?" Spit, cough, sputter. "What is.... this thing?" Hack, spat. "Why is the ground....spitting on me???? WHY??? HELP ME!"

I laughed. Of course I did. What else was I supposed to do? Seriously, he should always listen to his mom in the first place.

But I do have to admit I laughed louder a couple of days later when he came in the house soaked again--having just had his second bout with the sprinklers and lost.

"Mom! Grandma's yard is crazy! It keeps attacking me with water for no reason! I don't think it likes kids on it's lawn. That's it. I don't care what you guys say, I'm playing inside!!"

Carson 0

Sprinkler 2

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!!

This just cracked me up! Who hasn't had to deal with this! Love to all the dads out there today!!! Happy Father's Day!

My Pretty Husband

Every Sunday I let my little girls bedeck themselves in my pot of loose glitter. (The kind they sell in the makeup aisle.) They usually sprinkle a bit on their cheeks and a smidgeon on their hair so they feel like Fairy Princesses in their beautiful dresses from their Fairy Grandmother....

Well, a couple of Sundays ago (our last Sunday in England to be exact) we were running around our hotel room like mad to get everyone dressed. So when my daughter asked if she could put the glitter on Chloe (2 yr old) I thought nothing of it... until she whispered, "Uh-oh!"

When I glanced over the baby's head was literally drenched in a sea of glitter--and the pot was half gone! LOL! --This pot will last us a good year, usually. Anyway, we were super late so I just brushed off what I could and we ran out the door, glitter streaming behind me.

Fast forward to church were my hubby is now holding said glitter pot baby and then zoom forward a little more where we are in our Sunday School class together and Chloe is playing happily in the nursery with the other 2 yr olds. With all the children gone, I can finally snuggle up to my hubby and hold his hand during the class. Which I do until I notice his suit is winking back at me.

At first I just brush off the offending glitter and giggle quietly to myself. Until I notice the glitter doesn't stop. As I pull back my eyes slowly travel up the sparkly suit to the sparkly white shirt and tie to the even sparklier cheeks and jaw line of my totally manly hubby.

I begin to laugh as I frantically wipe at his cheeks. Glitter is everywhere. Even his eyes, forehead and hair! --And my wiping was only making it worse! LOL! So after a few more laughing attempts I finally shrug and say, "Well, you'll just have to be my sparkly fairy princess today."

Then my hubby, without missing a beat, gasps affronted and says, "Excuse me? I'm your sparkly vampire, remember?"

LOL! So there you have it. Stephenie Meyer has officially made it cool for men to be sparkly. Who knew, glitter would bring out the vampire in my hubby? I sure didn't... but uh, ahem--just where did I put that pot at...?

FYI

IF you take 6 of these (Redheads who have lived in England the past 5 years)












And let them play out in the New Mexican sun









Without thinking about the importance of This:
















You get 6 sizzling bacon strips instead of children.






Just a friendly reminder of course. I always remember to lather generous ammounts of sunblock on my children every single day. ALWAYS. This is just to inform other moms with 6 redheaded children, who are unnaturally white from five years of no sun exposure, who just happen to read my blog. You know, just doing my duty as a concerned parent and all.

Erm, and just as a precaution, does anyone know the best way to change crisp bacon back into skin? You know, in case I ever did need to know.

The USA Rocks!

We're here! We're here! I can't believe it, but we've finally made it home! And even though I miss Europe like crazy, there's no place like home...

It's been so much fun getting to show the kids all of the American stuff they've never seen before like, stores, restaurants, vehicles, signs, MOUNTAINS! But their most favorite thing to see was the US Flag. My kids were so excited seeing the flag as we were driving on the Utah freeway, that they all immediately put their hands over their hearts and began to recite the pledge of allegiance. LOL!

Then as someone would see another flag, they'd quickly place their hands over their hearts and do it again, and again, and again... for every flag they saw. Until soon, they were saying the pledge so fast you couldn't even understand the words.

Finally Maralyn, my 7 yr old said--as each brother pointed out a different flag at the same time-- "Sheez! There's too many! I'm telling you, Utah is is just too American for me. How are we supposed to do this all day long?"

They all agreed that maybe saying the pledge for every flag was just a bit much.

I for one was very grateful they stopped! LOL!

It's good to be home! And back! I'll be checking your blogs on and off all day, I can't wait to catch up with you all!

Love,

Jenni and the whole James Gang!

Wanna Kiss?

Mark & I took all 6 kids to the dentist yesterday for our final checkups before we move. The kids were awesome! No really, they were. Of course it helped that the office had a VHS player and some old movies my kids hadn't seen (They watched 3! LOL!) Anyway, I learned the most amazing thing! LOL! I have Super Powers! True story. Who knew, right?

So Apparently, the reason why I've NEVER had a cavity is because I have Super Saliva. That's right. I'm Super Saliva Girl! (Yeah, I could've hoped for a different super hero name--but beggars can't be choosers!) This super spit is so awesome, it has bacteria that fights off all other cavity forming/gum disease bacteria. LOL! Squirmishly Gross and sort of Fascinating, right? And guess what? I can pass on my uber cool drool to others through Kissing! LOL!

So now I've been tormenting my children. I know, gasp! Me torment? LOL! I've flat out told them I'm giving them kisses--lots of kisses, since once we move back to the States we've got to pay for dental again! LOL! Then I've decided, once I pass on my Super Cavity Crime Fighting Protection Plan to them, we can use our powers for good and continue to combat cavity crime everywhere! Soon the whole world will be protected from nasty cavities and gingivitis! I knew there was a reason I had so many kids! LOL!

So what do ya say? You wanna kiss? LOLOL!

Kids Scare ME!

Do you ever forget you have kids? I mean, like do you ever go about your day thinking you're a whole lot younger than you are--carefree and no responsibilities? Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's my own denial spewing forth to kick me in the butt every now and then. But seriously, I swear I have NO idea when or how I've had the time to have 6 kids. I don't even know where they came from to be honest. It's just been like a blink and Bang! kids are everywhere and calling for me. "Mom! Mom! Mom!" And just between you, me, and the lampost, that can be totally terrifying, especially when you're still one hot twenty year old who's just awakened from a crazed reality show induced dream--only to find out it's real.

Sigh. It's true. Kids scare me.

Seriously. They can scare the holy be-geebers out of me… Picture this:

There you are minding your own sweet ‘much needed special mommy-time’ business, shopping in the clothing department, trying to find your inner youth once again, when-- Wham! Up comes some nasty-haired, snot-nosed, totally neglected kid out of nowhere heading in your direction. You’re instantly drawn to the two very different scuffed up shoes, dirty jeans and backwards shirt. Disgusted, you’re frozen to the spot. As the child (you think it’s a child?) approaches closer the overwhelming aroma from it begins to harass your nostrils… Completely grossed out and hoping it won’t touch you... you unfreeze long enough to try and find your phone… it is your duty as a citizen to call social services and make a report! When low and behold, this grimy dredged up creature stops in front of you and says, “Hey, Mom! Can I have a toy, please?”

Of course nothing is more terrifying to a mother than sending your gorgeous perfectly pressed and beribboned child on the school bus only to pick up the same filthy snarled-haired walking explosion a few short hours later… which always (yes, personal experience here) goes something like this:

Mother: What have you done to yourself?! Hello? Those shoes were brand new!
Child: I don’t know.
Mother: Do they even have soles anymore? Come here. Come HERE. Come here and let me see your shoes. Oh my gosh! What is wrong with your tights?!
Child: I don’t know.
Mother: We should just call them Looses now, because there are so many holes in them there is no way they can be tight anymore! (GASP!) Did you cut your dress?! Your new Birthday Dress?!
Child: No.
Mother: No! No? Are you kidding me? What is this then? Where did all this stuff --is that mud?-- come from?
Child: I don’t know.
Mother: Fine. (Deep breaths) Okay, then where are Mommy’s barrettes I put in your hair this morning? The pretty ones from Daddy? Are they in your backpack? You still have them right?
Child: Uh--What barrettes?
Mother: The sparkly barrettes with the ribbons you have been asking me to wear for months now--where are they?
Child: I don’t know.
Mother: You LOST my barrettes?
Child: No. My hair was bugging me, so I took them out.
Mother: When?
Child: This morning, on the ride to school.
Mother: You mean your hair has looked like this all day?!
Child: Yep. And my teacher says I can’t play at recess if I come to school with lots of holes in my tights cuz it’s too cold.
Mother: What?!
Child: Sides, I don’t wanna wear tights anymore, they’re too itchy and my legs hurt from scratching them.
Mother: Okay. You know what? Go sit down and put your seat belt on. I really don’t want to know anymore.


--The movers pack up my house in two weeks! My time is not my own, nor is my internet letting me do more than post blogs and answer emails--I'm hoping if you all bear with me two more weeks I'll have AWESOME internet access and be able to catch up on your blogs! I'm having withdrawls--you have no idea! I miss you guys so much! ALSO! I'm doing the winner of the Antique Book Giveaway tonight--It'll be posted tomorrow!--

What is THAT???

Driving around the world with my six kiddos can really take its toll on a vehicle. We clean our van out once a week and I am still amazed at the amount of stuff I find EVERY Friday. It's always an adventure of sorts, because you never know what you'll find. Sometimes I wonder if my kids just try and surprise me to get a reaction. "Let's do something really gross and watch her squirm!"

I’m not kidding, as I was cleaning it out the other day, I came across...

Some sort of rotten (I believe) fruit species… the only identifiable part was their stems (Hence the fruit analyses)
30 sheets of computer paper –some with lovely princess Martian drawings, others completely mark free but wrinkled (basically useless for the printer, now)
About 25 books, I guess to read when they get bored? As if driving with 8 people in the vehicle could ever make someone bored…
3 coats that have been missing
4 half empty various sized water bottles
5 combs
2 pairs of shoes (How they made it from the van to the house without their shoes is beyond me),
A jewelry box (Yes every girl must use driving time to properly select a beautiful accessory for the day)
3 forks (what in the-? Forks? Don’t even want to know…)
2 pairs of scissors (Who got out mom’s sewing scissors? Urgh! And just what have you been cutting?)
One small sleeve cuff off a white Church shirt, presumably cut with the forbidden scissors. (Great. It was the brand new shirt, too!)
6 of mom’s magic markers… (that explains the smell yesterday, still not sure what they wrote on…)
Fingernail polish (Heavens! Maybe that was the smell!)
2 stolen bags of chips from the cupboard (probably a week old… NICE.) now crushed and scattered all over the floor… (Eww)!
Before the cleanup was through I found several candy wrappers, school memorabilia, rocks, sea shells (I guess to keep the rocks company), DVD’s, a lone bag of groceries that had rolled under the seat (thank goodness it was canned goods!), mismatched socks, broken sunglasses and a portable CD player... But the kicker of them all was the live plant that my daughter had apparently been keeping in the minivan…

“Bailey, what is that sitting in your cup holder?”
“Oh! It’s a plant.”
“Yes, I see that… Why is it there?”
“Cause, its our Minivan Plant.”
“Oh-oh, our minivan plant… (As if every minivan had its own live plants in their cup holders) And how long has it been there?”
“Ever since we made them at school, its good for the environment…”
“Bailey, we cannot keep a plant in the van.”
“But, Mo-om, my teacher says it helps clean the air… and I thought cuz the van always smells funny, we could keep it.”
“Good argument, Bailey… the plant stays.” (Who knows, we may be onto something?)
Bet you wished you had your own Minivan Plant!

Caught my sheepish hubby watching Twilight!

Yes, folks. My hubby is a Twilight fan!

I should've known something was up a couple of days before Easter when he unwrapped the new DVD from the store bag and handed it to me.

"Here, ya go. Happy Easter. I know it's early, but I thought you'd want to watch it."

He clearly had just bought it. But what surprised me more, is this man is ALL about gifts. So much so, he'll hord totally awesome presents for months--just so on the "ACTUAL DAY" I get bombarded with the perfect gifts. He loves the wait, because apparently it'll make the holiday much better.

So as he hands me Twilight, I instantly feel guilty. "What? No, don't give it to me now, just wait a couple of days and give it on Easter. If it's my Easter gift then I can't watch it now." Sheez.

"Oh--uh, ok, then this is just something for you and your sisters to watch then." (remember they were here visiting me?)

I smile and shrug at my sisters. "Ok, thanks!"

Uh, hello? Warning flag. How did I not catch it? Oh, I know! Maybe it was because when I had to forcefully drag this guy to the theater to watch Twilight, he grumbled about it the whole way home. "It was okay, not that great. we should've just waited till video. Dumb, chick flicks....Blah, blah, blah...."

Anyway, so here's my poor hubby desperate to watch Twilight and me oblivious. Instead, my sisters and I wait until the next night when hubby and the kids are in bed, and put it on. Of course, we LOVE it.

Now my hubby has a problem. I've already watched it. He can't just ask me if I want to watch it, because he knows I'll know something is up. So instead, he waits a whole week & a half, until I'm upstairs reading and all the kids are in bed, before he sneaks down and turns it on.

As it was, he'd already watched a third of it by the time I came downstairs to answer email. We both froze as I entered the family room doorway and saw the movie. "What are you doing?"

"Just watching a movie, why?"

"A movie?" I grin. His huge eyes are hilarious. "Just a movie? Mark, you're totally watching Twilight. MY Twilight. My Easter gift." I'm so shocked, I begin to laugh.

"So?"

"So? So? I thought you hated that movie. Now i'm coming downstairs and you're secretly watching it without me?"

"What's the deal? Can't I watch a movie before I go to bed?"

"You're so going down. You like that movie, admit it!"

"Aww, come on, Jenni. I'm tired, I needed something to help me fall asleep--you know how I always fall asleep on the couch if I watch a movie. You know that! I'm just using it to fall asleep." This is true, every action movie he watches at home--he crashes halfway through.

An hour later, the movie is finished and my hubby is wide awake.

So now I must ask, should I be slightly disturbed? Or just embrace the awesomeness that is my hubby? LOLOL!

Her Royal Majesty Miss Kathryn Elizabeth James (Our Dog)

What is it with dogs and the second you all settle down for the evening watching a movie/playing a game/wrestling with the kids, whatever… they slink all stealth like out of whichever room you’re in and create havoc somewhere else in the house? I mean seriously, our practically perfect pure bred princess will be sitting/laying in the same room as you and then wham, she turns into this midnight cloak and dagger chief operations manager and literally disappears without a trace. And how is it possible a overly fluffy medium sized black and silver dog can literally creep past without being noticed by anyone in the family?

“Where’s Kathryn?” you ask your room full of children.
All 6 possible witnesses shrug simultaneously.
“Didn’t anyone see the dog leave?”
They all shake there heads no.
“Well, someone better go find her and see what she’s doing QUICK, or the Herby Fully Loaded is getting turned off.”
All six kids scatter.
And what could my practically perfect pure bred princess be doing that would get me worried you ask?

Well, let’s see… what does a beautiful dog normally do all by herself? Umm… Could it be cleaning her dainty snow colored paws? Or, plumping her naturally fluffy fur? Or, gazing flirtatiously at her gorgeous reflection? Or, taking a much expected cat nap to create the perfect beauty sleep schedule? Uh… yeah, right. OK, the answers to these questions and many more of a similar nature are:
No. No. HECK No! And No.

What my DARLING Princess chooses to do is to proceed to the nearest trash can…

Ok are you sure you really want to know? This is making me gag just trying to write it? Are you sure? Because, if you were quite content going about your everyday life not knowing what positively disgustingly gross thing my sensational dog could possibly think up in her little head to do, then I suggest you go on and continue with your blissful day and DO NOT read further. STOP. Warning, what you may read may shock you. So stop already. Stop now, while you still have a chance! Once you read this, I assure you, you will NEVER be normal again! Alright, alright, I can see you are persistent, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! Now where were we? Ah-ha!

What my DARLING Princess chooses to do is to proceed to the nearest trash can and not topple it over to eat left over meat or scrounge for cookies like a typical dog… No, no, no, not MY princess. She must go for diapers. Yep, the dirtier and (Gag) fuller the better. Destroyed Poopy diapers EVERYWHERE! Yum… Ok (Gag) I have a lot more to say on this subject but (Gag) I’ve gotta go! Eww!

FYI

For those of you who have not had a two year old in the house for a while, or have never experienced the great curiosity of a two year old... let me give you a little tip.

NEVER EVER leave a perfectly beautified and heavily frosted heart shaped cake on the counter while a two year old is in the house. Don't do it. You may think that the kitchen counter would be the perfect place to sit an unsuspecting cake, but i warn you now... it is NOT!

Find somewhere else to stash your prized dessert. You know, like the top of the refrigerator (Doesn't matter if there's cupboards up there. Trust me, it'll be an easier fate than what a two year old will do to the cake.) Or possibly some sort of old ice chest that locks and can be stored up on that third shelf in the garage. Somewhere, anywhere other than where the two year old has followed you and seen where you're putting the cake... or alas, that too will be found and you will have to start all over creating another beautified masterpiece.

Your best possible course of action is to, of course, distract the said two year old from watching where you place the cake. This may involve a bit of improv, and cleverness on your part and require nothing short of a Teletubbies DVD, a whole slew of hollering children stampeding round and round as if in a makeshift marching band, duct tape, a high chair and a bouncing ball. If you do not have those items... well, then good luck and may the force be with you.

(Picture is for reenactment purposes only. No two year olds were threatened by death, tormented, duct taped, or received damage to their ear canals during the making of this blog. However, the funeral is at nine for the cake. *sigh* such a pretty, good little cake too.)

He Had Toilet Paper Stuck All Over His Head!

HAHAHA! Can I just say I was very impressed by the plethora of guesses! And you know what? Two of you were correct! LOL! Congratulations Kasie and Morgan!

So this is what REALLY happened! (As told by a crazed mom who doesn't have the actual article from last week in front of her...)

It's about an English cricket team who went off to some foreign country to play cricket. Like Madagascar or Bermuda or Uruguay or SOMEWHERE! LOL! Anyway, so they get there and this one team mate decides he wants to shave his head. So he asks the most short-sighted guy on the team to cut his hair. Well, when he shows up to practice, he has toilet paper stuck all over his head due to tons of little cuts on his scalp, thanks to the shortsightedness of his pal.

Insane, right? So after reading the headline and then laughing and then hearing what the article was about... I laughed louder.

Riddle me this?
What's a professional cricket team doing with a shortsighted guy playing for them anyway? And who in their right mind asks someone nearly blind to shave their head???

Sigh. I don't think life gets better than this!

Well, there it is. The wacky truth. May you all feel extremely blessed and appeased in some way, knowing what the article was really about. LOL!

I know, I shouldn't laugh...BUT!!!

I know, I know, I should behave better. I know this. And I try super hard to do it too--Well, er, most of the time. But I have been giggling about this for three days straight now--and if I don't share with someone I'm gonna die! Hehehe! I know, I know.. nothing like going public with this, but seriously... what else can I do?

So Sunday at church--it was fast sunday (Where we fast meals and give that money we would've used for food to the poor) anyway,f ast Sunday is my favorite, because I love to hear the life changing experiences that people share that have uplifted them and helped them on their path of the straight and narrow. LOL! Well, British testimonies are always a bit more exciting, than in the States. Maybe it's the cute accents? I don't know. But one sweet lil' old guy--cane and all--got up to bare (Bear? not sure! LOL!) his testimony and I lost it. Seriously, lost it.

The part that got to me, went something like this:

"So I wanted to thank the young men and women who came to my house and sang carols to me. I especially loved the little cakes you made me. The chocolate ones I ate straight away. But the real pretty white one I saved for a special occasion. It was just beautiful with extra pretty decor and fancy designs. I couldn't wait to eat it and saved it for a whole week, until Christmas Day.

Little did I know that when I finally bit into that little cake--it wasn't a cake at all, but a flippin' bar of soap! Couldn't figure out why I was chewing something so hard till I actually bit down on the thing! So, uh, thanks for that Christmas surprise."

Seriously, I lost it--Bad, bad, Jenni. But I just had to share! LOL! I can't be the only one who knows this. LOL!

Snowman Poop!

So I was typing this on Ang's blog--Hi Ang! (Thanks for the new blog award) Since she was asking for Christmas Stories... when I realized I could totally post this here! Heehehe! So I stopped mid typing and zoomed over here! I know... I'm awful, right?

Anyway, so my family is full of practical jokers... we just are. We love to laugh and tease each other and then laugh about it. It's great though, because we've all grown up to be pretty good sports about stuff! hahaha! So when we were younger one year for christmas my mom thought it would be really funny to give us all the above tag with a bag of marshmellows and have Santa hide our stockings! Hahahaha! So when we came into the family room, we were all surprised to find these bags. But some of us were more clever than others some of us ei: ME thought to flip the tag over and read something like: Santa left your sock in the dryer. Or go find your sock it's in the oven. LOL! Yes, I know random spots, right? but this IS my mom we're talking about and she's never been sane. EVER. heheheh!

So I have this one brother... he's a middle child... so no offense to middleans out there... just know.. he's cute and all, he's just got issues! LOL! If you've been around this blog awhile.. you'll remember him from my SPIDERS! story that won the halloween contest. Anyway, he didn't catch on right away that his sock was somewhere else. Instead, he just sat on the couch--in all of his pouty 15 year old glory and sulked--until he noticed one by one the rest of us running to get our stuff. THEN! He flipped his card over and read:

Trent--Your sock is in the roaster. Which really meant the large roaster oven my mom has next to the stove. But what Trenton read was: Your sock is in the ROOSTER. LOL! He spent twenty minutes running around the house yelling, "Where's the rooster? Where's the rooster? I didn't know we had a rooster? Sheez! Come on, someone please! Help me find the rooster!" until one of us took pity on him and read his card. --Not mom though, she was laughing too hard. She still couldn't speak an hour later when she was describing it on the phone to HER dad. Yeah, Trent sulked a lot that day. But, hey! At least Santa didn't stuff his sock into a rooster. Now that would've been a mess! LOL!

ACK! BATHTUB SLIDES!

Do you want to know what the worst sound is ever? I mean the worst? Well before you start envisioning hysterically screaming children, rabid snarl-toothed bunny rabbits or something, I’ll tell you. Dripping. Dripping is the absolute worst sound you can hear. Drip, drip, drip… its such a quiet sound… very stealth, yet instantly wreaks havoc on all those who hear it.

The worst way to hear a drip is coming from the ceiling and kurplunking all the way to the floor. Splat. Just like that. There you are minding your own business, washing dishes and splat. There it goes again. Splat. Where is that coming from? Ah-ha the ceiling. Splat. Definitely from the ceiling. Why is my ceiling leaking? Splat. Is it raining? Oh, wait this is a two story house! Splat. Why is my ceiling leaking if I’m on the bottom floor?! Splat-splat. Wait a minute. Is the Dripping getting worse? Splat-splat-splat. The dripping is definitely getting worse! Splat-splat-splat-splat! AHHHHH! OK, Ok don’t panic… go check. Just go sees what it could be- Splat-splat-splat-splat. Don’t be scared, go… Splat-splat-splat-splat-splat. NOW!

So you run. As you are climbing the stairs two at a time you begin to hear mad-crazed giggling. So you run faster. This cannot be good! You are renting this house darn it! The giggling is coming from the bathroom. You remember too late, the two boys you sent up to take their bath over 20 minutes ago! You also remember in a split second, the scene of a film you were watching recently when the whole entire bathroom falls through the roof and lands on the dinner table, because of a leaking ceiling. You run faster! The giggling turns into howls of laughter shrieking with excitement at some unknown catastrophe exactly at the same second your hand reaches the handle and finds that it’s locked. By the way, you’re also standing in a growing puddle of water.

HEY! You yell, as you pound on the door. But this cannot be heard over all of the uproar. So you use every superhuman ounce of strength you possess and pound on the door hard enough to rock the house and scream, “TURN OFF THE WATER NOW!!!”. Silence. Finally. Now you can very clearly hear water pouring downstairs onto the tile. “OPEN THIS DOOR!!”
“Mom, is that you?”
“OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!!!!”
“Mom, did we have an earth quake?”
“OPEN THE DOOR!”
“But, mom, we felt the whole bathroom shake, was there an earthquake?”
“NO THAT WAS ME! NOW OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!”
“Why?”
NNOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!
“Ok, Ok, I’m opening it. There. I had to get a towel.”

What you see will shock all forms of mammals, fowl and even fish life:

Every towel you own (and even some you don’t own) will be soaked at the bottom of the tub, which is brimming full of water, so full that as your four year old son who is happily swimming (definitely swimming, not bathing) in this towel chaos stands up, water pours over the edge and soaks through your shoes. Great. Fabulous. But, oh that’s not all… you find your two brand new bottles of kid’s shampoo, empty and lying on the floor. Next to 5, yes five, rolls of soggy toilet paper. Along with this, is their saturated clothing and shoes, the bathroom rugs and a whole slew of hot wheels cars scattered everywhere.

Let me warn you now--when this happens to you--at this point do not, I mean whatever you do, DO NOT ask, “What have you been doing in here?” You may think that now would be the perfect opportunity to know and that you would really like some explanations but trust me on this, you don’t. Just drag your children out of the bathroom dry them off, ground them until they are 50 and put them to work cleaning up the mess. I promise you, just leave it at that… Because if you don’t, if you just have to know, Then I am sorry. You will have to suffer the consequences as your darling four your old, smiles very widely and exclaims, “Bathtub Slides!” Then before you can even protest, budge, shriek, whatever… one of the towels will be behind his behind and he will be sliding down the edge into the brimming tub, literally shooting gallons of water over every dry area of your body.

After you recover from the shock of lukewarm bathwater drenching you from head to toe, you will not even be able to sputter out the proper scolding. You and your boys will be laughing so hard that any scold at all sounds even funnier and not at all believable. Believe me, I know. Sometimes it's just better not to ask.

Finished!

So Emmalee is done! YAHOOO! I'm doing the happy dance of joy! You have no idea! Not a mean feat either, I tell you! Writing three books in 7 1/2 months! I'm going crazy! ACK! But I can't stop! Writing is sooo much more fun than I ever imagined it would be. Seriously, ever toyed with the idea of writing? Well do it! It's soo cool creating something and laughing and crying and well.. going through everything with your characters! So AWESOME!

Now if only I could get published! Sheesh! So update there. STILL have 9 majorly cool pubs reading book one: Pride & Popularity. It's been four weeks. I had 12 at the beginning that quickly pared down to the 9 I have now! At this point, I guess no news is good new right?

So, what crazy things have happened to me the last couple of weeks? --Since I vowed I wouldn't really post until I finished the book!? Well, here goes:

First.
Have you ever gone to a Super cool costume party one year and then gone back the next and been the ONLY one dressed up? Yep. That was me. Went as a Gothic Princess. Black wig, super scary makeup, spider in my tiara and all. Okay, so let me amend--There were other costumes, if you count the two girls that showed up in hats. (you know I love you!) and the other lady who wore a pumpkin pin. Sheez.

So nothing like scaring the crazies out of your littlest monster when she sees you coming down the stairs! Or hey, scaring the life out of the poor British woman driving in front of you in bumper to bumper traffic on your way to the party. I KNOW she thought I was some punk using devilish curses on her, her car AND her 16 cats. I know it! She was so freaked out! A couple of times I thought the poor lady would ram into the car in front of her--since her eyes never left the rear view mirror! And what is with English cars and not having shaded windows? Honestly. Does EVERYONE need to know just what is inside your car at all times? Ugh. Oh! But hey, on a more positive note. Won the costume contest. I was relieved there was a contest. honestly. I was wondering if it was more a--hehehe! Let's get Jenni this year! Muhahah! I know she loves to dress up! She'll so fall for this! *snicker, snicker* who's got the camera? hehehe! This is SOO going on myspace.

No autographs please. Just throw money. thanks

Also, I invited over one of Britain's most elite Chefs. No joke. He serves the royal family every time they come to Cambridge. This is what happens when you go to church and brag to everyone what an amazing cook you are! okay, not EVERYONE just overly confident Chefs who need to be taken down a peg or two. LOL!

Okay, so the LAST time I had this guy over... I made my award winning apple pie. And this pie is AWESOME! Unfortunately, so was the long piece of hair that came out of HIS piece. Ugh! It would've been HIS piece. LOL! I nearly died laughing because--well, that's so murphy's law right? You brag and brag and then get nailed. So gross. I would've thrown the pie away. Any lesser person would've too. Not this guy. After very charmingly (I say charmingly, because only brits can get away saying stuff--the accent!) roasting me on the hair, he proceeded to lay it across his knee and continue eating! No joke. To return the favor he invited my hubby and I over to his house for a five star meal--that was SO AMAZING! still craving it.

Yeah, well.. I'm an american. It's my turn. I never step down from a challenge. Just gonna have to keep my hair up this time! ACK! LOL! Bring it on. Sunday will be awesome! LOL!

So speaking of church and makeup and scaring people.... I would also like to personally thank all of my church friends who not only allowed--but smiled happily in my presence--as I walked around church with raccoon eyes. Yes. Just for the record ALL mascara should be waterproof, okay? Honestly. None of this accidentally picking up the wrong mascara as you're frantically running around getting 6 kids ready for church! Only to find out as you get home and look in the mirror--you're already ready for Halloween! Evil, evil, Brits! This being polite at ALL costs needs to be addressed here and now. Look people! If I have my skirt tucked into my pantyhose, hot rollers still in my hair, peanut butter on my shirt or raccoon eyes PLEASE have the decency to tell me!!! Yep, church. Never a dull moment.

Thank you.
I will be playing live all week.
Come back. There's sure to be more. I mean, this is my life we're talking about, right?
I laugh in the face of embarrassment! Muhahaha!

Can we say Birth Control, anyone?

So I was reading my sister blog about her baby daughter’s poop issues, and as I was commenting on her blog, I was reminded of this story. And since it’s in the spirit of Halloween and all, I thought I would scare you all big time. Hmm... Maybe I’ll title this blog Birth Control. LOL!

When my oldest son was a baby he had the strangest habit of only pooping once a week. And what an explosion it was! Seriously nasty! Thank goodness I breastfed the baby! I cannot begin to imagine what formula fed-once-a-week-poop would’ve been like! ACK! Well, because it was once a week, we had it down to a science. On Sunday evenings we knew to watch out! Literally. Some nights the lil’ pumpkin would spend hours in an empty bathtub playing with his toys. We lived in Phoenix. It was warm. We could do this. At the very least he spent his evening on a towel and had yucky old clothes on. I cannot begin to tell you how many outfits this tyke went through before we caught on it was on a certain day! LOL! I did mention he was my first right? So onto the story…

There we were—my hubby and I--on a normal Saturday afternoon minding our own very unsuspecting business. --So we happened to be in an airplane travelling home from Florida. And never mind the fact that we paid extra, to fly on a Saturday, so we wouldn’t have to deal with our son's lovely Sunday eruption as we travelled home. Oh no, seriously, it was no big deal when we first caught wind of his erm… windiness—that first sign he gave us that we were about to really regret bringing him with us at all. I mean, it’s cool. Mark and I were both adults. We’d had our son a whole 7 months by then and were definitely experts in the art of babycare. What we couldn’t depend upon was the reactions of the people around us!

Oh, to be a fly on the wall when my hubby and I both panicked and realized our little sweet cherub was about to turn the happy narrow airplane into a scene from a horror film. And then it happened. Just like that. Quicker than usual. Just as my hubby was reaching down to grab the diaper bag so I could flee to the bathroom—my son giggled once and then the volcano detonated. Large quantities of squishy orange-greenish mass shot out of the back of my son’s diaper, and up and out of the top of his onesie and shirt, down the ends of his cute little overalls and all over us. I mean, ALL OVER US. And the seat. And the back of the seat in front of us. And the window. We were a mess. We were a huge mess. A huge, nasty, scary, groady, mess.

As quickly as I could, I unfastened my slimy seat belt, grabbed the coated diaper bag and headed for the itty bitty bathroom. Except there was one flaw here. One small flaw. Okay, two (There was no changing table in the bathroom, so I had to work in front of it in the aisle, on the floor) but the one I’m referring to, was one very feminine gay male flight attendant who thought it expedient to scream in shock and horror when he first beheld me and my son coming towards him. Now the other flight attendants were all mothers and absolutely wonderful! And amazingly efficient in helping me. It’s just the one guy—girl wannabe—I could have cheerfully strangled with my dirty hands had he slowed down long enough for me to get at him.

But no, I wasn’t that lucky! The man literally ran up and down the aisle screaming the Lord’s name in terror, arms flailing wildly in the air from side to side as he ran. Now if that wasn’t enough each time he would get to the front of the plane, he would--I don’t know think to himself he could help?—and then come tearing back down the aisle to see me try and take care of the mess. This repeated at least three times. So helpful. You have no idea.
Now I don’t know about you, but the second someone starts gagging that’s it for me. I tell you, I’m gagging to. This was not the time for that man—on his latest run back down the aisle--to start gagging and fluttering his hands about, looking like some demented chicken! I was barely hanging in there as it was! Was there no professionalism here people? Don’t they train you to be able to handle all kinds of emergencies? For crying out loud!

Needless to say, I lost it. Yes, under pressure with a poopy baby, stinky airplane, no room to deal with it, and a whole slew of travelers positive I was hijacking the plane and gonna kill them all! Yes, at that moment I wanted to condemn every gay man that thought a woman would ever look that stupid.

“Will you knock it off??? PLEASE! Seriously! Do you see me? Do you? I’m a woman! Yes! ME! You know why, I know this? I gave birth to this monster, okay!?! And let me tell you, I have never acted as demented as you are right now! Now suck it up! If you think you’re gonna pass in this world as a woman, then boy you better stop acting like a MAN and Deal WITH THIS as a WOMAN would!”

So he was a little huffy when he stormed off. At least the screaming, flailing, running and gagging stopped. And just for the record, I do have a heart… Much later as we were leaving the plane and I saw him sniffling and wiping his eyes in the corner, I did apologize. Not that he acknowledged me. In fact he stubbornly turned his head away. But, hey, I tried, right? Sheez!

England Police

This so cracked me up! Having lived in a town where there were countless bored teenagers, here in England, I so relate to this email. Hope you enjoy! LOL! Brits ROCK!

This is a genuine complaint to Devon & Cornwall Police Force (England) from an angry member of the public. A true email sent to the force, lengthy but brilliantly written....

Dear Sir/Madam/Automated telephone answering service. Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Bodmin police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Bodmin, by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board. As I'm writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in St Mary's Crescent, which is just off St Mary's Road in Bodmin. Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout the entire building. This game is now in its third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon. The remaining five walking-abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of Calor gas that is lying on its side between the two bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches. Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just finished decorating the kitchen. What I suggest is this - after replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a Panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like. I trust that when I take a claw hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me. I remain sirs, your obedient servant