And a side of pizza

Some happenings...

LAUREN had her baby!!! Deborah Rose joined our world June 8, 2014. She was 9 pounds, 1 ounce and has a ton of hair. Lauren is recovering nicely after a horrific birth experience that she will wear like a badge of honor in about five years as soon as the trauma feelings wear off. My first act as Aunt Kelly was to take Deborah's First Selfie. She can mark that milestone in her baby book.

Other milestones with Aunt Kelly will include:
First Barbell Squat
First Iced Coffee
First Needtobreathe Concert

EZRA is striving for the longest stomach bug in the history of our family. He has spent every other night for over a week now throwing up and poo-ing everywhere. This is disgusting and has made me gag on occasion. Thankfully one of the characteristics of motherhood is that once Nasty is out of sight it is out of mind and I can clean up filth one minute and make myself a delicious breakfast in the next. So, yay survival skills. The weirdest thing is that he is only really sick at night. I discovered a lovely little option on our washing machine called "the sanitize cycle." It is keeping me sane.

I subbed veggies for that mushroom
cap. Because I hate mushrooms,
that's why.

MY IN-LAWS returned from Africa!! They have been living there since February 2013, and I've missed them terribly. We picked them up from the airport yesterday afternoon, visited for a few hours, and then ate dinner at Applebee's. (Where I had one of the best steaks of my life.)(Right?)(At APPLEBEE'S?)(I thought the same thing.)

LIFETIME is closed this week for maintenance. Well, just the fitness floor is closed, but since that eliminates all the weights, cardio equipment, and stretching area that pretty much renders Lifetime useless to me. I worked out at my old gym last night and ran into Trainer Tom. He was all, "YOU LOOK GREAT!" and then asked about my body fat percentage. He guessed it accurately (which I'm pretty sure is his trainer parlor trick) and said he could see a huge difference in my body. I was all, "I'm lifting...heavy," and felt like a total bad-A. Good times.

No Butterfinger candy bars were
harmed in the making of this shake.

THE BEST PROTEIN SHAKE I've ever had was made in my blender for lunch. It was seriously amazing. It's not a clean recipe, and is a pretty hefty meal replacement (it was about 440 calories and 42 grams of protein and was HUGE) but it was such an awesome summer "treat". The only thing that could have made it better was a side of pizza a fun twisty straw.

Butterfinger Protein Shake

1 cup milk (any kind will do, but I used cows milk because I needed the calories)

1 cup water

1 scoop chocolate protein powder

1 cup ice

1 TBSP peanut butter

1 TBSP sugar free, fat free butterscotch pudding mix

Blend and inhale. Or savor. Whatever.

These shoes now belong to me. I spent two days thinking about them after trying them on. It took three Kohls adventures to find them in my size. Totally worth the effort. I'm going to wear them with my elephant t-shirt because of course I have an elephant t-shirt. (Because if I was an animal I'd be a Kelephant.)(Haha.)(Not a fat joke.)(Just a hilarious play on words.)

I am going to enjoy another sunny day here in the Mitten. It is supposed to get really hot and I can't wait to let the kiddos run through the sprinkler while I weed the flower beds, wash the car, and wear a tank top. I LOVE SUMMER!

A velour jumpsuit and some house slippers

source

I really wish I was some kind of fashion blogger so I would have taken a picture of my "running errands on a Friday night" outfit. Because between us, I'm pretty sure I nailed it.

After a long day homeschooling the kids, a library trip, and an afternoon spent doing our Saturday chores because our Saturday was already spoken for, I fed the family dinner (the new way I'm describing telling Brian there was leftover pasta in the fridge) before heading out the door at 6:00 p.m. to handle some of the normal weekend errands that needed to be squished into a Friday evening.

My first stop was Wal-Mart to pick up Hosanna's meds, and I was reassured that my decision* to wear my old running shoes with a pair of bookcut jeans one size too big was spot on. Not only was this pairing a comfortable choice for the task at hand, it adequately communicated "Soccer Mom that has Given Up" in ways words would fail.

The only way I would wear this is if it wasn't a
cute little charm on a delicate chain but a pendant
at least six inches big that blinged out across my
stomach like a Run DMC clock.
(source) 

(*my "decision" occurred without any conscious thought. These items were what I was wearing to scrub toilets and mop the hardwood floors all day, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I saw that look pinned on Pinterest.)

Next I made my way to Target to get wipes - because remember that we only use Target brand diapers and wipes? I am so thankful Ezra is now sans diapers, but we still use baby wipes for a myriad of things that have nothing to do with their intended purpose. Target was also the original home of my new kitchen towels, Eve's birthday presents, and a few odds and ends for Easter and Lauren's baby shower, all of which I adopted and brought home with me Friday night.

The only part of my look that had me a tad unsure was my t-shirt choice. While I originally grabbed my brown Ewok t-shirt from Hollywood Studios in Orlando, Florida (#designer), cleaning the bathroom got unintended Nasty on it, and so I made a last minute grab for my favorite grey boyfriend tee from Target. This is my most loved shirt, and can be recognized by the slight staining in the armpits from two years of faithful wear. On the positive side, it was the catalyst for the decision to go ahead and purchase an identical brand new grey boyfriend t-shirt from the stacks on sale for $5. I will probably keep both out of sentiment for at least a month.

My major stop for the evening was Meijer for groceries. As I caught sight of my reflection in the automatic doors as I was entering the store, I was pleased to notice my Mom Ponytail swinging blissfully on the back of my head with every step I took. It was the perfect hairstyle for the rest of my look, and I plan to do a step by step tutorial in the future. (I think the real way to master this particular Mom Ponytail is to need your bangs cut, and then commit to using your mouth to blowing them out of your face for a good twelve hours prior to leaving the house.) Stay on the edge of your seats for the coming of this life-changing instructional video, please.

Please file away this post so you can use it as a point of reference for getting dressed for this coming up Friday night, and please, feel free to share it with all your fashionista friends.

Sex Education Level: Shart

The most needed item on your baby gift registry?
A sense of humor.
(Alternate caption: child saying, "No mama, I don't
want to pose like this. I insist you take a different
pic of me with my arms crossed like a gangster.")

I love my kids. They are a tremendous source of hilarity and joy throughout my day. My kids are awesome.

However. 

Sometimes being a mom is pretty crappy. Literally. It's literally crappy. I want the millions of teens who make up the MTV Teen Mom demographic to know just how crappy it can be before they continue the trend where a fifteen year old mom-to-be gets fame and notoriety and not, I don't know, a giant reality check. (It's been my experience that the giant reality check usually occurs at 3:00 a.m. with the realization that not only have you received zero hours of sleep so far, you won't have any other opportunity for at least another day.)(Also, there is usually puke involved.)(Which we call "yammy.")(As in, "Dude, the baby just totally yammied* all over your back.")(*a verb and a noun, apparently.)

I think we are in desperate need of a new campaign to fight against teen pregnancy. This is mostly because I don't even know if there is a current campaign. The general mentality seems to be "For the love of God, if you are a teen who happens to find herself pregnant, hurry up and at least get a Twitter account, because if you play it right there could be a book deal," and that is just not a whole lot of incentive to keep your pants on/be a bit more diligent about birth control.

"Like this, Mom. Totally gangster.
It's important people see you take me out in public with
 my pockets hanging out and a giant stain on my knee.
Also, both a toilet and a toilet paper dispenser? Pottery Barn
Kids is going to seek you out to stage their
next catalog."

So I came up with an idea.

Expose the masses to real parents. Real children. Real life situations. Let each parent make their own commercial, each with their own tagline. It should totally speak for itself.

Here is the ad for my campaign, "It Only Takes One Sperm".

A gorgeous mama of four children, let's call her Kelly, takes her brood to the public library. She watches her two youngest get out every.single.puppet in the metro Detroit area (seriously, opening the puppet drawer is like watching clowns tumble out of a Volkswagen* Beetle).(I don't mean to name drop, but there are clown passengers that include the puppet versions of Elmo, The Hungry Caterpillar, and a three foot tall Barney.)

(*my whole entire life I've been calling it "Voltswagen." Thanks, Spellcheck*, for the realization that my whole life I've been living a lie.)(*Also? Irony is spelling "spellcheck" incorrectly. Deal with it.)

It was not long before Kelly noticed a peculiar odor in the air. Some creative sniffing led her to the rear end of her darling three year old who no, isn't potty trained yet and you shoosh your mouth about it. After ripping a flailing toddler away from the mountain of his best friends (cue child yelling, "NO!!!!! PLAY WITH ELMO! PLAY WITH POOH! PLAY WITH BARNEY!") she struggles to carry the wriggling mass of boy to the public bathroom, where she can only pray will exist a changing table that supports the vast mass and length of a three year old.

Because 'Murica, the restroom sports a clean and functional changing table, complete with a fully stocked changing pad pocket. (Just kidding. That's called wishful thinking.) What Kelly finds is a changing table six inches too short for her darling child, with loose hinges requiring she balance on one leg, using the other to brace the table against the bulk slight weight of her son. This results in a flamingo like stance, if the flamingo had to bend at the knee and jut out her pelvis in order to achieve just the right angle and pressure needed to bolster the table and generate a steady surface. #Physics.

A teenager joins Kelly and her son in the restroom. She is using the restroom to leisurely wash her hands, because maybe with her disposable teenage income she bought a bagel and a coffee at the library cafe and casually ate her breakfast without any threat of heartburn because for her, smear cream cheese/chew was an "and" situation and not the "or" experience a breakfast with toddlers provides.

The teenager watches as Kelly changes the child. Mom is a magician, displaying mind-bending feats of skill and athleticism as she speedily conquers the task at hand. She is an entertainer, singing songs and playing games. This is simultaneously the peak of her mommy ability, her strongest suit, and her ultimate demise.

The teenager looks on as what was a sweet bonding moment turns to crap. Literal fecal matter. Because what undoubtedly happens next is that our Flamingo Mom, balancing on one leg in order to brace the unsteady changing table, her pelvis grinding the plastic edge like Miley on Robin, is in the worst possible position for self-defense. The muscles used to produce the peals of laughter at mom's hilarity engaged during this diaper change are the same muscles used in the force behind an expulsion of flatulence (i.e. some kiddos that laugh fart at the same time). If lucky enough, one might discover with that expulsion of flatulence the child had a bit more in the tank (i.e some kiddos that fart poop at the same time). Shart = pent up gas with an extra gift. Mom will discover this perched directly in the line of fire, while a horrified audience observes.

In my commercial this is where the camera cuts from the loving domestic scene of a giggling child getting a fresh nappy to slow motion. The following shots are shown in sequence:

1. Giggling baby begins to laugh harder, tensing in anticipation.

2. Mom's eyes widen because she is an oracle who knows what the next .5 seconds has in store.

3. The too-late parental cry of "NOOOOO" as the child does a fluffy* and she is sprayed from below with a fine mist of residual waste.

It is Parenting Level: Shart Shower.

In my commercial this is where the camera cuts from a poop-sprayed mom to the horrified teenager watching from in the mirror over the sink. The defeated poop-covered mom will meet her eyes in the reflection and say, "It only takes one sperm."

Thank you, God, for the scarf trend that allows for creative draping and bit of dignity as I leave the library in defeated shame. Also, smelling like roses.

So take heed girls. A shart shower is only one sperm away. #itonlytakesonesperm



(*Does a fluffy = In our house, farts are called "fluffy's". I totally don't know why. Imagine how delighted our children were to discover that the neighbors got a new dog and named her Fluffy. This was hilarious for days.)

Eat your heart out, Joan Rivers

I'm pretty sure if we got robbed the
first thing they would steal is my
SWAG and I just cannot have that.

Drawing upon my extensive collection of standard internet safety procedures, I purposefully neglected to mention I was going out of town (again) last week. This was mostly to deter any shady characters out there who might be tempted to rob our home by denying them the helpful information of when our home would be empty. I'm sorry you had to suffer wondering why I was abandoning you yet again, but that's just a reminder that crime hurts everyone, y'all.

Brian and I loaded up the kiddos Thursday morning for a long weekend of ... camping. (I know, right?) I have lots of camping memories to share (memories I will treasure, I assure you) but I would be remiss if I skipped over the Red Carpet Run race recap.  Because honestly?  I did *not* work that hard on my outfit (i.e. I raided Lauren's stash of old dance costumes) to forego posting photos of all that fabulousness on the internet.

The Red Carpet Run is one of my favorite races.  I ran it last year with Rose where she smoked me in the dress department.  Here is a reminder:

Blue sequined dress and a blinking feathered tiara?  It's like I had no chance.

This year, I was determined to up my game. (I might take a moment to mention that this is actually a 5k. It is a timed 3.1 mile run with bib numbers, course support, and people that actually care about the running aspect. But for this race - I am no longer one of them.  (but remember when I got my sub-30 5k here last year?) This race, for me, is all about the *ahem* fashion.) I may have been thinking about my dress since the drive home from last year's race.

When Lauren gave me her old dance costumes for my little girlies to play dress up, I quickly pilfered the one I thought most likely to fit my favorite. For months it has been hanging in my closet waiting to debut on the red carpet. It was only a few hours before the race that I thought to try it on.  Turns out that it totally had a leotard underneath the skirt.  Who knew? It was like encountering unexpected Spanx and who wouldn't be excited about that? Thank the good Lord that not only do I excel at fashion but I am also a master at sucking in the Mama Gut.  I still had to wear my running capris under the skirt so by the time I was all dressed I was layered like it was 1800 A.D.

The weather this year was pretty decent.  It was in the upper 70's, sunny, and a bit humid.  I was worried about my perfectly coiffed 'do coming undone because that's what it does, and I really needed it to stay in place in order to showcase the loveliness of my dollar store tiara.

"Oh Hair, you are so funny!  Stop it, Hair!"

Lauren, Rose, and our friend Jackie all ran the race.  (Also, one of Rose's students - Rose is a cheer leading coach - ran as well.) We met up before the start to let the paparazzi capture us in all our glory.

Rose's student, Jackie, me, Lauren, and Rose.  And did you catch that tagline?  "For the young and fabulous."  Obviously.

We spent a few minutes posing in different locations.  I mean, give the public what they want, right?

Posed and sassy.

Candid shoe modeling.  And I'm pretty sure I never shut my mouth.  Literally.

Jackie's first race!  I'm like a proud Mama Bear.

Bitter.  The only word I can think of to describe how I felt upon discovering Rose broke out fishnet stockings for the race. She is some stiff competition, my friends. 

I planned to simply follow my half marathon training plan which called for a 3 mile run at half marathon pace.  Since I am aiming for a 2:30 half, that breaks down to about an 11:26 second mile.  I never wear any kind of running watch and I am horrible at pacing.  I know my normal pace is around 10:30, so I just planned to run this slow and easy.

We started all together, and Lauren's husband David captured probably my favorite picture in the history of the world.  To me this is one of those "how many things are going wrong?" pictures.  So.much.win.

Lauren's all, "I'm a ballerina but I'm being a smiley warrior."
I'm all, "I'm a warrior and a ballerina and have a GIANT FRONT LEG."
Rose is all, "I bet I could master the most unflattering positioning of my face and body all in one shot if I just stride far enough and yell out a 'woo'. Also, check out my hair."
Jackie is all, "Rose.is.awesome."

Soon we split off and I remembered just how hilly this race is.  It was also really hard running in velour.  I didn't realize how spoiled I am running in my sweat wicking clothing until all my sweat and body heat were trapped inside my admittedly beautiful costume.  I experienced my first chaffing since becoming a runner, which I'm pretty sure means I get some sort of merit badge.  My iPod left a painful red patch on my inner arm. It made me feel pretty hardcore, so I probably showed it to way more people than necessary. (Um, like all of them?)

I ended with an official time of 31:01, with an average pace of 10:00 min per mile.  Since I was aiming for 11:00, I need to work on my pacing.  But I'm not going to pretend I'm unhappy with a faster time than I thought I would have. Because that's just stupid.

Just steps from the finish.  And in the middle of an exhale.

Rose stayed with Jackie the whole time, sacrificing a PR and coaching her through her first race.  A fellow runner sought out Rose after the race to share how encouraging it was to watch, and said she wished she had Rose to run with next time!  I love the running community.  Jackie (and Rose) finished in around 45 minutes and Lauren PR'd by about 5 minutes! (The person who won the entire race ran it in 15:03.  Yep. 15:03 - did I stutter? He passed me going in the opposite direction at the one mile mark well on his way to finishing. The dude was flying.) (But? His costume totally sucked ... so who's the *real* winner now, hmmm?)

5k FINISHER!!!

What a great race and a fun time.  I can't wait for next year!

Literally

Life goals = achieved.

Confession: I may or may not be guilty of literally misusing the word "literally".  I mean, it's rare that my head literally explodes.  Sometimes I catch myself before I make the Drama Queen mistake and substitute the correct word, like, "I am so hungry I could figuratively eat a horse". (We've all seen what happens when someone miscommunicates about eating horse meat.)(If you are so hungry you could literally eat a horse, a furniture store that also sell meatballs might care so much about meeting your needs that they make it happen.)(It's okay, IKEA, we've all been there.)(Sike.)

So when I say that "chocolate literally goes straight to my booty," I'm probably remembering yesterday when I sat in chocolate. That chocolate literally went straight to my booty.  I walked around in public all.day.long, looking like I'd literally pooped my pants.  Awesome.

Merry Christmas Brian!

I totally hope the hubs likes his Christmas present.

I'm know I'm going to be all, "I know, honey, but you have to take it off long enough to let me wash it at least once a week."

Long Live the Queen

Kelly:  Esther!  It's time to come out of your room and do some math!

Esther: COMING, MAMA!

Just an average Monday.  This is her "Flashcard Face."

(If you are not familiar with Esther, take some time to read about her in my Super Nanny post.  Or check out the Facebook Friday post staring my little Drama Queen.) 

Mission: Accomplished - Part One

Here are some excerpts from the top secret mission documentation for my covert Black Friday shopping extravaganza.


Operation:  Black Friday.

Mission:  Obtain as many Christmas gifts and/or household goods at the lowest cost in under 17 hours (because that's the length of an Ironman Triathlon).

        Terrain: suburban jungle with some WT ghetto strip malls thrown in for fun.

        Enemy:
            1. Many individual soldiers, but several small squads as well. Most squads appear to be females in a shared family unit.  All are armed with cell phones and seem capable of calling for backup if needed.
            2. Retail store fronts offering merchandise at a bargain.  Some bargains are imagined.

        Weapons:  Mastercard, Debit, Cash, and The Clipboard.


Execution: This is where I will give you an informal report of the mission because since you are reading my blog that brings you into the inner circle of trust.  Don't let it go to your head.  (Also, several *boss* items will be omitted on the basis that the future recipients of said items read this blog.)

If you haven't read my other post on Black Friday you can check it out here.  The planning for Operation: Black Friday took about three weeks.  When I left the house on Thanksgiving evening around 2200 hours (10:00 - ish), I was all ready.

This is my reenactment of Black Friday.  Essentials include:  easy on/easy off clothing, shoes that are both supportive and slip on, layers because outside is cold and inside is hot, my big clear bag, and The Clipboard.*

 *The Clipboard is the most important part of Black Friday planning and execution.  The Clipboard is Command Central.  Within The Clipboard lists everyone's sizes,  my itinerary, and the Master List by store in order of visitation (based upon the itinerary).  Within the store list there is a shopping list for each store.  Mind blown yet?  This is just like Inception but with lists.  Just in case you thought The Clipboard couldn't be more vital, The Clipboard also holds coupons.

FYI - I got it for much cheaper.  Cha-ching.
Also, you owe it to yourself to click on that link.
For real.

I went to Meijer first, because they had a vacuum with on-board tools.  And?  It is yellow.  They were also offering buy one, get one for $1 winter boots, mittens, and shoes for the kiddos, so I took full advantage of that offer.  (I even finagled a way to get every second most expensive pair for $1 instead of the three cheapest for $1, so yeah, I'm a rockstar.)  Champion running gear was 50% off, so I picked up a cheap coat for winter running. I also bought lame things like $.99 Post cereal, $.99 fruit snacks, and buy one/get one free Ibuprofen.

Next I braved Target.  I missed most of the doorbusters because $4 pj's clear out fast, and I was there about an hour and a half after the opening.  I missed out on the one doorbuster toy I wanted (a slight setback but I went with a snap decision Plan B and it worked out okay), but did manage to score 600 thread count sheets, a folding chair for Hosanna's desk, $5 sleep pants (also for Hosanna), and a few odds and ends.  I think the best thing that happened at Target was that I convinced a woman she wanted to be my friend.  It only took about 45 minutes of initiating and engaging her in conversation, but since she was held captive by the checkout line in front of us, I knew if I persevered I would be met with success.

I conveniently left Target at 11:56 p.m. (Conveniently?  Who am I kidding, I planned that mess.) Kohls opened at midnight and was just across the street.  I only had a five minute wait before the dam broke and the flood streamed in doors opened and they let a calm group of cheerful ladies to meander to their desired sales item.  (Ha-ha that is a joke because these woman can run and they will cut you for those boots.)

Shoes, not slippers.  $11.99

Kohls was just as busy as I predicted, but it wasn't really chaotic, unless you were shopping for boots.  The only thing I needed in the shoe department was an absolutely adorable pair of mocs for one of my kiddos.  (If you spill the beans I will mess you up Suburban Mom style.)(Meaning I will spit in your Starbucks and shun you at playgroup.)

The set we got is still in the trunk of
my minivan, so here is a picture of
what it almost looks like.  The colors
are the same, but the design is a bit
more contemporary.

Hosanna almost exclusively wears Kohls pants because they are cut a little fuller in the tush and hips - she's totally her mama's daughter that way - and I picked up a few pairs for $6 each.  I got pj's, a few cold weather running shirts for $6, and a lot of super secret gifts.  Awesome super secret gifts. (My biggest Kohl's score didn't occur until the week after Black Friday.  Brian and I needed new bedding.  We got a $200 bedding set: a comforter, two pillow shams, a bed skirt, and three decorative pillows, for a final price of $37.00.  It was 55% off, and then I used Kohls cash and a 25% off coupon.  D*mn, it feels good to be a gangsta.)

I stood in line at Kohl's for around an hour, but thankfully so did my new friend Erin and her mom, who became my Kohl's best friends.  We held each other's spots while we made impulse grabs, and Erin recommended I go to Justice for some of my girlies stocking wants.  Genius.  Justice wasn't on my master list, but since it was so close I thought I could squeeze it in.  I'm glad I did because Hosanna wanted a "fancy pen" and Eve wanted hipster "fake glasses", and I scored both of those at 40% off.

Around 2:15 a.m. I was on to Toys R Us.  This was strategic.  Toys R Us is almost as crazy as Walmart, so I only go way after the psycho doorbusters shoppers are done.  I knew I was taking a chance that everything would be gone, but I value my life more than a $15 Animal Planet Farm. Unfortunately, everything was totally gone.  The ah-may-zing store manager agreed to a doorbuster price on a Lego set that wasn't a doorbuster, so yeah, I was feeling pretty BA until I went to pay and my credit card got rejected.

WHAAA?  This was Black Friday.  This was the night I was to get all my shopping done.  And?  We never use our credit card.  Like, ever.  It was on the tip of my tongue to explain this to the cashier in a musical number to the tune of the hit Taylor Swift song where I sang, "We-ee never, ever, ever, ever use our credit card," just to drive the point home that there was no way possible we were over out limit, but I thought it might work more to my advantage if I left my (almost) purchases with the manager and figured out my card nonsense by myself*.

*I did what anyone with no sleep would do:  I called the hubs at home repeatedly until the phone woke him up.  (This part of the story is called: How Brian is a Magical Prince Who Saves Christmas for Everyone.)  Brian's first thought when I called was,"Please don't tell me she spent $12,000 by 3:00 a.m."  (Ahem - it's probably not that hard.)  In my defense, I totally didn't spend $12,000; not even a fraction of that. (Well, if we are being technical, I did spend a fraction of that.)(It was a tiny fraction and I was just using a figure of speech.)


Brian is a super hero who did not complain that I woke him up but calmly checked his email and found an alert from the credit card company.  They were a titsch concerned that someone stole our card and was making a few purchases because there was way more activity than normal.  We got it cleared and I went back inside Toys R Us feeling vindicated and a little sad that I didn't sing Taylor Swift when I had the chance.  But?  I did get this for Esther:  a Play-doh Spin and Style Cinderella.  You can design her dress out of Play-doh. Best. Mom. Ever.


At this point of Operation: Black Friday I took a breakfast break, and so here I will end part one.  Stay tuned for tomorrow's conclusion of the Black Friday recap.  I will leave you will the mental image of me blissfully snarfing french toast at an all-night diner while reading People magazine.  It's a mental image because I didn't take my camera shopping with me, and therefore can not present you with an actual image of me blissfully snarfing. But it probably looked something like this:

"Mmmmm, French Toast."

Strutting My Stuff-ing

I am so embarrassed at my own laziness.  To
think I could have worn this to the race ...

Turkey and stuffing and potatoes and pie!  I hope y'all had a lovely Thanksgiving.  Since I took a monster break from blogging we have much to catch up on, namely, what I did with my hair.

Last time I posted I conducted a worldwide contest to find America's Next Top Haircut for Kelly.  The choices can be seen here.  Haircut number 1 garnered exactly zero percent of the vote because apparently everyone hates Jennifer Aniston.  (Don't worry, Jen, I'll be there for you.)  Haircuts number 2 and 3 tied, each with 50 percent of the votes. Then my awesome hairdresser weighed in with, "Um, Kelly this is almost the exact same haircut, just styled differently and photographed from another angle."  So whatever you voted I totally agree with you and I chose your haircut.

Here is a before and after shot of my haircut.  The after shot is literally a three minute blow out I did all by myself.  Don't get too jealous of my hairdryer skillz.  If I ever get fancied up and curl it more to look like haircut number 3 (probably around Christmas party time) I will post some pics because I know you are dying to see that as well.  Before:

"Awesome dark shot Kel that makes it so we totally can't see your hair."  Also, in my Mom's voice, "Don't look over the top of your glasses, you remind me of a nun."  (She has Catholic school memories, y'all.)  In my defense, I was on my way to the salon and thought, "DUDE!  I totally need a before pic.  I'd better pull over even though it's getting dark and I might miss my appointment and take this picture because I care about authentic blogging."  You're welcome.

 After: In both these pictures I'm thinking, "He-ey!"  You can hear it, amIright? Also, I look super weird without my glasses.  But, did I mention this is a three minute blowout?  I might want to remind you that I have four kids and often fall back on the dreaded mom ponytail.  But no longer will that be the case! Three minute blowout to the rescue.

Glasses on, much better.  And I'm looking in the mirror like a boss.

Snowflake clings on my half bath mirror?  Am I ahead of the game or what?

After my haircut I came home to show off my new 'do.  I walked into my house feeling like a supermodel and was greeted by Esther screaming, "PAPA!  MAMA CUT OFF ALL HER HAIR!"  Eve added, "IT'S RUINED!"  This did wonders for my self-esteem.  Mysteriously, Santa then declared both of them were now on the Naughty list so yeah, sucks to be them.

It has become a tradition (i.e. we've done it twice) that after the Thanksgiving morning Turkey Trot we come back to my house to eat brunch.  I spent the rest of Wednesday evening preparing for the brunch. I made my Grandma's famous casserole (yep, that casserole; I'm pretty sure every grandma makes the same one), a fruit salad (that one took me all night as I had to open up the pre cut fruit I'd bought and dump it all into one serving dish), and did some baking.  I'm not gonna lie; I rule at any kind of food prep that involves lots of sugar and fat, so baking is one of my better culinary masterings.  Also, Hosanna is allergic to milk, eggs, and corn syrup and consequently I am a creative baker.  I made vegan mixed berry cobbler (de-lish-us) and snickerdoodle bread that I call "coffee cake" to justify serving it at breakfast.  The other component of the meal - the frozen Hebrew National cocktail pigs in a blanket (obviously) - would just need to be cooked in the morning.

Thanksgiving morning it was really foggy and about 45 degrees for the race, so Eve and I wore layers and took cheapo cotton gloves.  We got to the race about an hour early because I guess I can't read and thought the race started at 9:00 a.m., so we had plenty of time to people watch.  This race has tripled in size since I first ran it two years ago, so there were a lot of people to check out.  I am slightly disappointed that once again I have dropped the ball and failed to procure an actual turkey costume before race day.  Many others mocked me with their prepared selves happily adorned in giant costumes or turkey hats.

I knew a few other people running (unprepared and lazy as well)(because I'm sure those are the only reasons people run 5K's without costumes) so we gathered for a happy pre-race picture.

The girl right next to me in the purple?  This was her fourth run.  Not fourth race, her fourth run.  I may have wanted to trip her when she caught up to me was super proud and impressed at her natural athletic ability.  And she's a newlywed. 

Proof.  Plus?  Her 18 year old sister-in-law designed and sewed this gown.  You can find her on Facebook here.

The race was nice.  They did drop the ball by not having the first water station available by the time we all ran past, but this was only a mile in and no one was really going to dehydrate (totally a verb) at that point.  (It did cause a moment of panic in my 9 year old "Type A to the Nth degree" child because, well, we planned to drink and walk for 20 seconds at the one mile mark and it didn't happen.)

I was all, "Quick, flex your quad so no one will notice you are bottom heavy."  Totally worked.

We had so many friends and family attend the race as spectators, and it was really fun to cross the finish line when a group of fifteen people are screaming your name. The throngs cheering for me personally is pretty much what the inside of my head sounds like all the time; although experiencing the reality was slightly better.  Because, you know, other people hear it too. (And it's like others are agreeing with my self-proclaimed awesomeness.)(Which makes it no longer self-proclaimed.)(Just General Awesomeness.)

Sarah ran five miles to the race to watch me run.  And then ran five miles home.  I feel like that could have been made into a tongue twister if I tried hard enough.  Now you have a challenge for the day. Go!

Tomorrow I will recap more Thanksgiving festivities in a blog entitled "It's really not Thanksgiving until Grandma drops a 'He/She'."  You may want to tune in for that.

The Rules of Invisibility Are Clear

I hate when this happens.
Sometimes you really need a pickle.

There are times when it is polite to treat people like they are invisible.  I've discovered, with some concern, that recently more people are ignorant of what used to be the unspoken rules of invisibility.  Which is leaving me no choice but to review a few here on my blog because I care about the future of a society in which I am raising my children.  I can't imagine leaving them to inherit a world full of people that aren't practicing the rules that provide an opportunity to be open-minded and compassionate.  Otherwise, what kind of world are we leaving them?

Rule #1:  People are invisible while they are in their own cars.

When one is in their own car, minding their own business, and makes the responsible decision to keep their hands on the steering wheel at ten and two because they are being trailed by a cop and are slightly tense because they might be 1. missing a taillight and 2. have a speedometer that frequently spontaneously quits, it might occur belatedly that they've rendered themselves unable to accurately communicate through dance how they feel about the music on the radio.  This is when the more creative members of society (or those with a Can-Do Spirit) explore other means of expression.  Including, but not limited to, conducting the music with one's nose*.

(*Before you hate on this and shrug this off as a non-option, consider that the nose sticks out of the body much in the same fashion as an arm or leg.  It's almost/kinda like another appendage.  Plus it can wiggle, scrunch up, hold up your glasses, and even houses one of the five senses as a conduit for smell.  In fact, the nose is probably way more useful than your right elbow which you use all the time when you dance and it's time to rock out a lasso.  Not so much a stretch now, is it?)(Also supremely underused?  Eyebrows.  And since I'm not one to discriminate I employ both of mine as often as possible.)(When I'm alone.)(I try not to be too much of a spazz in front of others.)

Actually not as hard as you would believe.
Because windows are already clear.

But just because people understand the availability of the nose for rocking out doesn't mean they will accept it when they see it happening.  However, those with any sense of propriety will observe the situation, make sure that the driver is not having a seizure but just dancing with their nose, and turn away and giggle at the spectacle.  Because the unspoken societal rules clearly indicate that while one is in their car they are in a bubble of private personal space and are therefore clearly invisible.  And for no reason is it copacetic to blatantly stare and silently judge.  (It is okay to take a picture if you are not driving and can do it in a subtle nature.)

Rule #2:  People are invisible if it is dark-ish.

Like, maybe you're spending a week at Disney World.  And maybe you've been walking around all day and you're super tired and even the trip back to your cabin was sidelined by a stop for dinner at another resort meaning that you still have an additional boat ride back to the bus stop that will take you back to your cabin. (First World Problem alert!) And maybe the Disney meal plan allows a dessert with your dinner and so you order an awesome looking granola cookie bar thing to take with you because you are sufficiently full now but will totally be ready to indulge later.

However.

On the boat ride home you make the mistake of taking one little bite and discover that the granola cookie bar thing is the most delicious thing you've ever eaten in your entire life.  And so you keep taking minuscule bites for the duration of the ride because you're holding a wiggly two year old and trying to eat without getting crumbs in his hair because you don't want to bathe him that night trying to be a responsible eater. (But then you remember that you're pretty sure the chocolate in the bar is dark and the coconut is organic, and probably the whole thing was handmade on some kind of free-range farm by free trade workers*, so it's totally just like health food.)

The clippings are a breeze to clean up.

When the boat docks, the best husband in the world takes over the care of the two year old, leaving you with two free hands to dedicate to mowing this dessert.  Since there is about a two hundred yard walk to the bus stop, mainly on barely lit paved pathway, and it is late at night and therefore very dark and less populated than in the light of day, you feel okay about eating with less decorum than usual.

(Have I mentioned how good this granola health food made by rescued baby seals and wrapped in biodegradable plastic wrap tastes?)


And maybe in your haste to finish it before you reach the bus stop, you may literally break off more than you can chew and some will fall from your lips (not chewed yet, chill out) and slide down into your bra (take a minute to thank the good Lord it won't be wasted).  This is when you automatically reach down into your bra to dig out the cookie bit that fell from your lips into your bra.  You might need to embark on a bit of a search as it is dark and the morsel landed among crevasses.   Once you have procured the crumbling chunk, you, without any delay, eat it.  At that exact moment of the boob to lip return you will look up and catch the eye of Disney Dad of Dastardly Deportment, the fellow that not only watches you remove food from your bra but sees you eat it as well and doesn't even have the decency to look away and pretend he didn't see it.  He's either the rudest person at Disney World or it's like he doesn't even know the rules of invisibility.

This situation is clearly a time when you are invisible.  Let people grope themselves for snack food in peace.  Duh.

IS THAT A TIGER?  It's like invisibility of a whole 'nother level.  Welcome to the jungle, Kitten.

In conclusion, there are probably more than two rules of invisibility, but that's all I have time for today.  So remember, next time you are witness to some "I can't believe I just saw them do that!" moment, ask yourself, "Are they actually invisible right now?"  Let's keep America kind.

* the only proof you have of this is your own assumption.

If I wasn't a mom I'd be a Rock Star. Or more likely a Roadie. Either way I'd have access to a microphone, so yeah, WIN.

I'm pretty sure Bear is singing, "Kelly is our
NUMBER ONE FAN and she is so awesome."
I'm fairly certain those are the lyrics.

I'm not going to downplay it.  My weekend was pretty boss. (Yeah, you read that right.  I'm bringing boss back.)(This is kind of like when Katniss was bringing earmuffs back in book two of the Hunger Games series.)(Because I know that I will someday lead a revolution just like Katniss.)(But mine won't be a revolution against a tyrannical dystopian society.)(Mine will be a revolution of Awesome.)(I don't even know exactly what that is, but it's gonna be boss.)(And will probably include free Iced Capp.)(And definitely have it's own soundtrack.)(Comprised mainly of Needtobreathe.)(That was a segue....)

Needtobreathe?  Oh yeah, I totally saw them this weekend.  Again.

A few months ago Lauren called me in a panic because we didn't have tickets yet for their fall tour and this was the first NTB show where there were actual seats. For someone who is only 5'3" and NTB's NUMBER ONE FAN, this was a bit disconcerting.  I have never, ever seen NTB from anywhere other than the front row.  Also, every single time I've seen them play I have spoken personally to at least one member of the band.  Because that's what NUMBER ONE FAN's do.

Because Lauren is a cuh-razy good friend and also loves NTB (like any person with impeccable taste should), she immediately drove fifteen minutes out of her way to procur tickets for us.  We ended up getting second row seats, but it was after the orchestra pit full of folding chairs, which made us more like tenth row.  This was a huge disappointment for me, someone who actually paid money to join the Needtobreathe Fan Club strictly so that I could have first dibs on ticket sales and meet and greets.  But I totally dropped the ball and my ah-may-zing bestie picked it up and got us the best tickets possible.  That's why she's on my team.

Proof?  This is my actual fan club membership card.  I even signed the back.  You need a photo ID to use it, so don't even think about trying to steal it.  Also?  It's Non-Transferable, so no, you can't have it.

Saturday afternoon I got all dolled up and took this picture.

"Hey!  Imma Blogger and this is a pic I took of myself."

Then Lauren showed up and Brian helped in the photography department.

See?  I do much better with others around.

We left around 3:00 to drive to Kalamazoo, MI, home of Western Michigan University.  We made decent time even though Lauren graciously had to accommodate my many pit stop needs due to my uterine/intestinal issues.  I was allllll a mess up in here.

We parked for free (whaaa?) and had to pass two tour buses and a semi truck previously full of NTB gear on our way to dinner.  It took HUGE amounts of self-control to refrain from "dropping by" in the form of stalker-like knocking, but I was determined to play it cool.  Biggest mistake ever. (Decision? I'm totally done being cool.  Like, forever.)(Brian thinks this decision won't have much affect on my current lifestyle.)

We ate at a bar next to the theater and just happened to sit next to one of the opening acts. (Parachute?)(They were awful.)(Musically, I mean.)(IRL they were really polite to their server.) But they weren't NTB and I'm not a groupie for the sake of it, so I just kept devouring eating my baked potato soup like a lady, and left them alone.

We went next door and were ushered to our seats.  

See what I mean?  Like, tenth row or something.  But it was something different and I'm ok with it.  Really.

Drew Holcomb played first and the dude is funny.  It was just him and a guitar because his band was all back home, but the man was personable and owned the power southern growl.  Lauren surprised me by buying me three of his CD's because once again I am spoiled rotten by my awesome friends.  I heart new music.



The next band was the aforementioned Parachute.  I think that's all I have to say about them. Except I was actually grateful for our ticketed seats because I had freedom to leave the theater during their set and frequent the privy without suffering a huge line.

NEEDTOBREATHE! NEEDTOBREATHE! NEEDTOBREATHE!  The excitement of waiting for NTB almost got the best of me, but fortunately I was distracted by this:

Can you see what this is?  It's the floor of the theater aisle.  And where it changes from carpet to the cement of the orchestra pit was a 1/2 inch piece of molding.  (Where the dark part and the bluish part meet.) This is when we giggled like teenage boys every time someone tripped over it.  It happened a lot.  The time flew by.

Then ... there was Needtobreathe.  A moment, please.

I love them.  That's all I can really say.  They played a new song that was gorgeous.  And they finished with an acoustic song, which I always love.  And they are amazing and someday I will win some kind of grand prize that allows me to spend an entire day in studio with them.  Like a Make A Wish thing, but without the sickness requirement.  And I will officially be dubbed their NUMBER ONE FAN.  (This is kind of starting to remind me of sixth grade when I had New Kids on the Block bedding.)(But not as weird ... right?)

NTB went on at 9:30 and they played for around two hours.  I danced and sang and got my NTB on, but at 11:30, since we had a two hour drive home (3 for Lauren), we decided to be adults and not wait around for the band.  Which (sad face) was a good decision, because half the venue was outside waiting for the band.  I'm sure Bear, Bo, and Seth all grieved a little because we didn't get to hang out, but whatever, I'll see them in a few months.

Until then, boys, until then.

There's this thing they do at the end where they pull out all these drums and do a crazy rockin' out song with lots of bass and I dream air drummer dreams of greatness.