Will YOU win?

Mother, Grandmother and I attempted, and defeated, a family recipe for Christmas sugar cookies.

The challenge is issued to you- the person who most closely guesses what these original cookies (pre frosting and attack from Kathy with the sprinkles) were, wins a prize. Or the most creative guess. Or the best review. Really, whatever makes me laugh the hardest is going to win.

Ask Meg, the prize is AMAZING.

You have until January 7th.

Time starts now.

Vrooom Vrooom.

Merry Christmas to Katie!

We got to take the bike out when we got to Colorado, wah ha....

He's frustratingly attractive on a bike.

It's Really Not His Fault, Kids...

Conversation. Of. The.Day

At the table eating pancakes.

Katie: One day I'll figure out the whole cooking thing, honey, I promise. But in the meantime, thanks for being willing to eat all of my food while I figure it out.

Jordan: It's not so bad, I figure I could be eating an MRE or nothing at all.

Katie blinks. Jordan's eyes widen and shows immediate signs of panic.

Jordan: Ooooh that didn't come out right-

Katie: It's always nice to know when your food ranks just above starvation and MRE's.

Jordan wisely stops trying to fix it and leans back in defeat.

Jordan: I can already see it on the blog now.

Katie: It's really not my fault you provide so much opportunity.

Blargh...

Mega-nasty-disgusting-flu-yuckiness this weekend. I'll spare you the details, except husband was phenomenal and singlehandedly learned how to fix me jello. Plus, although it might sound corny, he cuddled with me on the couch for hours so I could fall asleep even though the possibility of him getting sick was high and watched Ice Age with me so I would laugh. It worked. My fever broke and my stomach settled. He always fixes me.

I'm displaying my gratitude by stalking the entire house with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of disinfectant. If I even thought about touching it this weekend, it'll be cleaned.

See how much we love each other? Jello, bleach and Ice Age. That's all it takes around here.

A Post Without Purpose

This is why I love my husband.

He defends house, home and cookie dough with single-mindedness and serious moxie.

Note the grip on the spatula and the gleam of those incisors, then back away.

Even when tamed, a wild animal is still a wild animal.

He lovingly got me a drink of water with the explanation, 'Some people put lemon with their water, so I thought you could go pomegranate.'

I love being married to a man that thinks of everything.

I include this only for the lip action happening here. Note the pucker perfection. He gets it from kissing me.

All the time.

:)

This is my goat. I did not name it nor try and bring it home. It was kind of a totalitarian around feeding time and with Husband around, I didn't need more bleating sounds in my house wondering when dinner was ready.

Ice, ice baby.

I feel the importance of this post cannot be overstated. I now call on Tara, Jessica and/or anyone else in anyway associated with myself or my family for backup.

This is husband. (Ignore the goat. It attached itself to Husband and bleated its way into our hearts so we brought it home and named it Dave. Ok, not really. Isn't he handsome? The goat thought so too. We met at a recent adventure we had at a petting zoo in Nashville. Zoos-that's how we roll. But this post is definitely not about zoo's, the infatuation I have with husband or goats in the least. Please, read on.)

Husband is really smart. Wickedly smart. So smart that he has with 100% certainty figured out the single most important piece of information he'll ever need to know in order to ensure the happiness of myself (and consequently his) and our future generations howevermany they may be.

Sonic Ice.

Its sort of a thing with my family. Ok, a big thing. A huge thing.

Comparative to breathing, thing.

I didn't make a big deal of it at first because we all slowly bring things into marriage as we get settled. Well, Turkey day was approaching and I got 2 bags just 'in honor of the season.' (When I say it's a huge thing, I actually mean gigantic. I'm not ashamed to admit we may have bought one of those massive white coolers that could fit a human body in just to have enough space for the 8 bags of Sonic ice we eat in less than week when gathered for the holidays and/or reunions. It's not a problem for when we gather at Scott's- he has a pebble ice machine. Nobel prize for whoever made those available for home use!)

It's like having that ONE cigarette just to calm your nerves after quitting for ten years. Stoooopid.

So, I've re-acquainted myself with the bad habit of chewing ice constantly. (At least now I can say it's not because I'm sex deprived.) But rest assured! I used Listerine Pro Enamel, which counters any damage that Sonic and or the happiness of ice may bring to my teeth. There's something that whispers ecstasy in the deepest chambers of my heart when I have a big cup (preeeetty much always BYU based. Another thing- another post.) with a big straw to stir up the ice and drink. Except now I have to deal with the side effects- like always being cold.

Worth it.

Husband accepts, occasionally participates in and, like a good husband, doesn't mind the massive space it occupies in our freezer.

His and Hers

This is our bed.

This is our bed when Husband is in charge of the pillows.

But really, is anyone surprised at his decorating prowess?

The Non-Tornado.

I confess.

I don't like the smell outside after it rains because it smells like worms and I sincerely believe that everything you need to know in life you can learn from Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Last night as I was driving home I noted the weird hue of the clouds I was driving towards, as well as the electrical lightning dance going on inside them with something of a- 'huh, weird.' Didn't really think too much of it until I got a text from my friend that said, 'By the way, tornado warnings tonight.' (Keep in mind it's November.)

Oh that's ok. I got this.

I learned everything I need to know about tornado survival, and fatefully enough, I learned it all Sunday night, as if the tornado gods were sending me a study guide when I read through 'These Happy Golden Years,' by the aforementioned Laura Ingalls Wilder.

All you gotta do is go to the cellar when Pa tells you to go.

Don't start fretting, no tornado actually happened. Well if it did, I slept through it. Which I'm not ruling out as a possibility.

But it highlighted my ignorance.

Luckily, my friend Malisa was a great instructor. When I asked her, 'So... at what point do I know I need to be hiding?' she responded with, 'When you can hear it. If things are hitting the house, don't go outside. That's a really bad sign. So is growling. If you hear growling, you're out of luck.'

Ah, so simple.

When I looked around to decide where I would hide, I immediately ruled out the closet underneath the stairs. I'd run the risk of being buried alive if I opened the door, and that's not even taking into consideration how long it takes to shove everything back inside once you open it. Much too long. There's a certain skill set to flinging the junk in and immediately slamming it shut so it didn't spill back out.

'And you're going to want to hide in the closet underneath the stairs, since you don't have a basement.'

It was that point when I realized we were NOT going to have a tornado because I was not prepared to be so inconvenienced. I had to wake up early to work and I wasn't about to spend my hours dedicated to sleep curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor (it's really just half a bathroom- not even a tub to sleep in) with a 72 hour kit as a pillow.

It's not even that great of a 72 hour kit, to tell you truthfully. There's no sudoku in it yet. And I don't have a flashlight to fit the batteries that are in the kit for the flashlight that I don't yet have.

Annoyed, I finally made other arrangements when I said something like the following to Malisa,

'Hypothetically speaking, if a tornado were going to happen tonight and you were on your way into your basement to protect yourself because it had gotten that bad, do you think you'd remember something like, 'Hey, maybe I'll text Katie and let her know.''

To which she replied in the affirmative.

So I had it all worked out. If Malisa texted me that she was seeking shelter then so would I.(Assuming the text message woke me as I slept through the tornado). If I got desperate I'd play angry birds on my half-bathroom floor until it was safe.

See? Told you. All you gotta do is wait until Pa tells you to go into the cellar.

Ladies and gentlemen... Kathy Shirts!

Give some love and a big fat round of applause to momma who bravely stepped outside her box and went where even I wouldn't go....

The ELVIS PRESLEY BURGER!

I'm just so proud of her I could, and almost did, cry. Bacon, peanut butter, banana and meat on a delectable bun doesn't come around everyday. But it did yesterday.

Hard Rock Cafe Nashville, Kathy Shirts just rocked you.

Claim your prize, winner!

I'm not late posting the winner, it just took me this long to decide.

The winner is.... Megan!

Winning thought- 'I saw this on castaway once, but he used an ice skate.' It won because it made me laugh the hardest for the longest amount of time over the greatest amount of days. I thought about doing categories because the ronchier the joke, the better. (Typically... it's all about place and time) but just decided that's way too much work.

Jed posted a good one on Facebook, and I kept going back to one from the Shane Gang... let's just say it hasn't been an easy decision. All of you are weiners in my eyes! Thanks for playing, let's do this again!

Meg, email me your address and I'll send your treat!

Innocent...

Husband pointed out the other day that I have a habit of leaving clothes scattered around.

I have no idea what he's talking about.

Talk to me...

COTD.

Conversation. Of. The. Day.

Katie's Version.

Scene: (Wal Mart parking lot. Vehicle- Toyota Tacoma that is most definitely named Taki.


They have not left yet. Shopping bags litter the backseat, nasty people walking around with cheap cammo and Tennesseean accents. It's dark outside. A lone box of brand new fruit gushers sits between them. )

Katie: Here hunny, here's the gushers you had to have. (Lovingly opens a package for him. Husband takes said gusher package and noms one gusher down.)

Husband: Thanks hunny, these are so good. (Extends package towards Katie.) Would you like one?

(Katie takes one gusher because that's what everyone in the world know's you're supposed to do when you're sharing gushers.)

Katie: Thanks hunny.

(Husband empties entire package into mouth and hands it empty back to his starving wife, Katie, who was barely hanging on to dear life from malnutrition.)

Katie: HUNNY! Didn't anybody teach you how to eat gushers? One at a time! They're supposed to explode in your mouth! You're supposed to enjoy them.

Husband: dflkjo adkfo nkwelrod (translation- oh, they're exploding.)

_________________________________

COTD

Conversation. Of. The. Day.

Husband's Version.

Check it out...this is how it really went down. We went to Wal-Mart to get a few food items...but of course while we're there Katie grabs random things from the shelves, like baby food, or some new ingredient she suddenly remembered having a coupon for or reading in some recipe online. Anyway, she had grabbed half a dozen things...so I said to myself, "self...you work hard to bring home the income for this humble family, why don't you grab something off the shelf too?" So what was in front of me at the time?...that's right, Gushers.

Back to the truck, which is NOT named Taki, (who names their truck after a Greek dude in a chick flick?)



My dear, sweet wife pulls out the box of Gushers as I'm pulling out of the parking lot and hands them to me (which is obviously a sign that the little bag is for me, otherwise she would have taken a few before giving me the bag.) Despite this, I still offer her some...and she took a Gusher. Now I mentally commended her for sticking to her healthy diet and only indulging a little. So, naturally, I want to help my wife and decide the best thing I can do is remove any further temptation...so down goes the rest of the bag....and yes, I would have slowly enjoyed them had I not been driving down the most dangerous street in Clarksville with young Privates on their crotch rockets flying by and old hicks weaving back and forth between lanes in their rusted-out Chevy's that are billowing black smoke.

I just get so angry!

....is the new global landscape of our lives.

It was a BIG moment for me when I realized that I have successfully transferred my unhealthy addiction to Angry Birds to my husband!

It's true, he's a believer. (Chorus of applause to Husband for giving in!) Now, when I'm really stumped or angry at a level I pass it on to him and say, 'Husband, I can't get 3 stars. Save my maidenly honor and beat this level for me.' And he always does, because he's at times more stubborn than I am, my knight-in-shining-pig-killer

You may be wearing these question marks above your head yourself, inquiring, 'What's this madness?'

WELL, let me summarize for you.


It's a completely free, completely pointless game I play on my Droid that involves hurtling birds to kill the pigs. That's it. Birds killing pigs. It's what ties Jordan and I together as I curl up next to him after we say prayer together at night and teach him the best way to throw those angry birds and use their tricks to his advantage.

Yes, Daniel-sahn. You learn quickly.

The pigs stole the birds eggs (hence the picture) and the birds are angry. So they break down the structures around the pigs to kill them. You are on the bird's side because the pigs have an evil laugh. There is something extremely satisfying about the destruction and explosions the birds can, if you are talented, leave in their wake. No really. Try it on a day you're really riled about something.

But also be aware that this game also gives me stress. Sometimes I have to put it down because I get so angry.

To those who have never played, to you I cannot explain.

They have 3 different games with like 80,000 different levels. My personal favorite:

It's Christmastime with Angry Birds! It's fun because the snow crumples beneath the deathly blow of the birds and everything falls into chaos and pigs die. Then I rack up points. Then I congratulate myself on being master of the universe when I get 3 stars.

I'm not sure what cultivates the Christmas Spirit more than this game. They also have Easter, Moon Festival and like a bajillion others like Angry Birds Rio which I uninstalled from my phone because it wanted to track my phone calls and hijack my life.

To put this in perspective, we got my grandma an iPad. She plays Angry Birds. Alot. Ok, right here she's playing Bejeweled but she still plays with The Birds.

If you're not playing, and you know my grandma is, then maybe I'm trying to tell you something....

Friday Night Lights

Most Friday nights with J and I involve working out, dinner, a thriller/war/alieninvasion/western/jimhensonmuppets/psychoneurotickiller kind of movie and then going to bed. Occasionally we'll order Applebee's/Chili's/Olive Garden/Papa Murphy's to go (strictly To-Go. We don't mess around with 'crowds' when it comes to food) and chow down, but we like to reserve those for weekday events.

A lot of the time I have random nightmares afterwards, like last night, when I dreamed I killed a man and was then shunned from my family after watching 3:10 to Yuma. (They are SO not supportive with murders anymore.)

Husband didn't seem to mind when I woke up and informed him that we now had to run and hide for the rest of our lives because in the dream I had escaped prison with the help of some guys off of the TV show The Unit. I think he was up for the adventure, and it's always good to know he's willing to work through issues in our relationship.

Of course, his dreams typically involve shooting people as well, but he's normally killing the bad guys invading our house while we're sleeping and defending my fragile virtue instead of running from the law like his rebel wife (I don't even know why I killed the guy). He even does it wearing this uniform. He's the best. Sure love him!

Of course, he gallantly offers to let me pick whatever movie I want, chick flicks included (although there's always some tone of nervousness in his voice when those are brought up). When we were first dating, oh-so-long-ago, I forced him into my Big Fat Greek Wedding for purely selfish reasons- I quote that movie incessantly. He did well, infact, we had our first make out session to the credits. But let's face it, watching sappyromancegirlpower movies just isn't the same with a guy.

Try watching Tangled with a mega athlete soldier West Point grad who has an off day when he runs anything greater than a 5:50 mile. It sort of loses the sparkle and giggle.

Anyway, last weekend.

After work I lovingly gathered up some goodies from home and skipped on down to post in the Jeep. J had staff duty (aka babysitting) all day/night on Friday. We scarfed down sushi, kashi crackers, powerade, Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia Fro Yo, salad, hummus, pita chips and some nectarines and/or Dove Peanut Butter bar. Then we snuggled up on the superbly comfortable couch made of real fake pleather. (Martha Stewart would be proud of that cardboard box holding the laptop.)



And proceeded to watch one of the world's weirdest movies ever. (Keanu Reeves, what happened to you?!)

Then I went home by my lonely self, terrified that some demon was going to drop down from the nearest light pole as I drove past, trembling in the front seat. Or awaiting an evil female Gabriel to be sitting on my couch when I walked in the townhouse and I would have to fight sans frying pan. Fortunately, there were none of these things.

So instead I watched a Tyler Perry movie and then went to bed.

That's pretty much how our dates go around here, even when he is home and not on duty. At least our fridays. We have really adventurous Saturdays, but Friday around here is pretty lame. And we like it like that.

Contest!!

Best caption wins an incredible prize.

No truly, I'll mail you a prize.

Place it by Halloween. Captions limited to 3 per person, no purchase necessary. See store for details.

Adventure: Dunbar.

Husband and I had been frantically busy one Saturday doing chores, running errands, working out, saving small children in Africa and donating loads of clothes and money to charitable organizations when we decided to take a break from our demanding, hectic schedule and check out a local 'touristy site' called Dunbar Cave.

Ok, I lied a little. It was 6 or so and we had only just changed out of our pajamas, finished our 3rd movie and our Olive Garden order was going to take 20 minutes before it we could pick it up, so we were just wasting time.

However, I was glad we finally went, because I see signs for it everywhere and was getting annoyed that I still hadn't been. Now, by default and obligation, I have to go back and run the trails.

In fact, I'll go tomorrow.

Sometimes when I'm running around places like this I stop and think, 'Geez, where am I?' Not because I'm lost (that never happens. Ever. I've never driven the wrong way for 25 minutes before realizing it wasn't going to loop back to where I thought it should. No one consults my opinion on roadway management...) but because it's so green. We 'westerners' don't quite understand what all of this is.

I've stopped putting out buckets on the driveway when it rains, though.

Also, I did not stand in front of here and think of Pride and Prejudice. Or Mr. Darcy diving into his pond. Or Emma. Which means I definitely did not stand there somewhat dumbly waiting for a carriage and horse to drive across the bridge with Elizabeth inside, hearing violin music in my head. So naturally there was no idea in my head of walking through the countryside and going back home to a massive English estate with a library...

Good thing I'm not so girly as that.

Dunbar Cave seems somewhat anti-climatic in pictures, but it was a pretty little place (not counting in the serial killer murders that happened there). That may have been because it was the first taste of fresh air we'd had in awhile, but that doesn't matter.

Regardless of how it looks, I can promise he isn't peeing on the sign.

I think it is 8.1 miles long. We didn't get to go inside, it was barred.

Maybe tomorrow. (Yeah right. Like I'd go into a damp, dark, enclosed area by myself.)

And so we begin.

If you leave a comment that remotely resembles the phraseology 'took you long enough,' then you will not be a freend on my blogroll, ok?

Although there's so many right now on it, I'll squeeze you in should you desire to be linked to me forever. Which you do.

Technically, it's 'our' blog (chorus of ahh, how cute!) but let's face it, we all know Husband could care less. In fact, it may more or less just be a platform for me to spout off on tirades but I feel like it's the right thing to do to link him into it somewhere. I've toyed with the idea of waiting to see how long it takes for him to notice it. I'm typing it up next to him right now in fact, and have been for a long time. WIth no signs of recognition I'm confident I'll be able to get away with a lot for a long time.

Don't worry, I'm not going to turn this into an Army Wife blog. (Not that those are bad...I just reserve my opinion on them.) In fact, I'll try and not mention the military as much as possible. It pervades our life, so the blog may be a new sacred cow for me.