Pucker up!

Don’t be afraid—or disappointed–this is not a post about kissing. Well not completely. It might, possibly come up, in passing–but that would purely be a coincidence.

It’s much more about the pre-kiss thing people do…you know…the PUCKER. I sincerely believe that some people are genetically predisposed to a natural pucker–whether or not they have any prospects close at hand. They just scrunch up their lips like they are just waiting for something.

Don’t you find that odd?

I do. Especially since there are a raft of these sorts at my place.

Take Dane for instance. He makes this face when he’s being all serious and stoic.

Then there’s Jillian–she makes this face when she’s being demure and playful.

Lyndi swears that she never makes a pucker face ev-er. She is incorrect. She makes the face when she is really mad. Almost too mad to speak. You know, the spitting nails kind of mad. I can’t show you a picture of that because how would I ever take a picture of someone that angry–and live to blog about it?

I’m not an idiot, for Pete’s sake.

April makes the face as more of a smirk–as if to say, “Why am I constantly surrounded by stupid people?” So her’s is an attitude pucker. Again, I have no picture of that because, well, I have no desire to be spontaneously¬† incinerated.

I believe it could happen.

And the bald kid? Well he may be the exception in our pucker-face gene pool…for now. I can’t say that I’ve actually seen it, but I believe it’s in there. He just hides all traces with the willpower and stamina of Jason Borne. Someday I’ll capture that kissy face on film, and prove it to the world.

Likely be his wedding day and involve a pretty girl–but I’ll get it.

It’s in the blood, I tell you.

This very minute…

Do you ever feel like everything is flinging past you at such a fast pace that you can hardly remember what you did yesterday because of how much is going on tomorrow? Do you feel like your days are just a blur?

Well, I do–way too often, actually.

When that happens, I’ve found this little exercise that can help pull you back into the moment. You know…this moment. Not yesterday or tomorrow, but right now…this very minute.

You just take a nice, deep breath and let yourself answer the questions below–as honestly and simply as you can. Pay attention to the first thing that comes into your mind.

It’s usually the truth. Be brave.

Right this minute I am…


–a bit sleepy, a good kind of sleepy–like all I need is a teeny, tiny, twenty minute nap and all the energy will come flying back. Naps are good for you…naps are good for you…naps…are…good…for…you. So is chanting.


–to Lisa Hannigan who soothes me into liquid with her raspy-smooth, Irish ballads and inspires me to get really skinny so I can hang some pretty dresses like hers in my closet—or on my amazing skinny body.


–a piece of string cheese, one pinch at a time, to make it taste better–and drinking my Kangen water because I’m addicted…and it’s a good thing.


–very carefully for any itty bitty sign that Spring is indeed coming. I’ll take just about anything right now because on this fine April day, I’m tempted to build a fire in the stove to warm the place up. The smoke signals to Mother Nature coming from the chimney couldn’t hurt either.


–to buy some packages of every-color-in-the-world Sweet Pea seeds to plant outside my bedroom window even though they are climbers and I don’t really know what they would climb on exactly. Details…details. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I need color, I tell you!


–of a story that I can’t get out of my head, which is usually a sure sign that it needs to be written in the first place. I’m hoping I know someone who can possibly do that…possibly…maybe.


–the little, precious people around me that tug and pull and whine and grin and spit and giggle and walk and evade and stumble and wave and mimic and kiss and bawl and smile and watch absolutely everything.


–that the smaller size jeans in my closet will fit me because I’ve lost 13 pounds since that silly surgery. I know, I know—“that was a BIG appendix!”

I’m afraid that I need a bit of clapping for this one…please.


that Peanut Butter Weebles and Cinnamon Pull-aparts and Easter cookies were a smart, healthy, non-fat part of a sensible, balanced, nutritious diet.



–you the most lovely weekend and a very Happy Easter!

True Confession

Alright, alright, it’s time. You see, I have a secret. A deep dark one. I’ve been having a love affair, and it’s high time I let the cat out of the, um, bag, so to speak. Or actually, the Warcraft character out of the armory. Here’s the thing: I’m a gamer. Some people would even call me “hard core” but that just sounds dirty, so let’s skip it. So, I confess. Even though I rag on my cute bald boy about playing WoW, and try to sabotage his questing by turning his epic flying mount the wrong direction when he’s not looking, I’m secretly just trying to get more achievement points than him. But, since I’ve only been playing in the middle of the night (ever wonder why my posts here show up at midnight? It’s my excuse to stay up the rest of the night doing dungeons and raids!) I’ve had to resort to sabotage in order to beat him.

I’m excited though, because now that the word is out, I expect the rest of you closet gamers to invite me to your guilds, so I can choose the best one. These PUGs are getting old.


P.S. My WoW character is a level 80 (!!!) Paladin. For those of you who haven’t joined the cult played WoW, you should know that level 80 is the highest level in the game. It takes a lot of work and dedication to get a character this high. Not to mention that I have some dang fine gear. Oh, and Paladins? They’re basically sturdy mountain women with plate metal armor and holy magic. So pretty much I can kill anything with a sword or my righteous magic, and it can’t even touch me. I figure that pretty much reflects me in real life.


This whole post is a big, fat fib!! I don’t know how to play this game and APRIL wrote this post. Sheesh.

Connected- 2nd Generation

Twenty-six years ago when Lyndi, my second daughter was born, Grama brought little April to the hospital to see us and of course her sweet baby sister. Filled with new mama hormones and missing my “original baby” desperately, I was nearly in tears when she burst into the hospital room–just a few hours after the birth.

To my surprise, she ran right past me and my outstretched arms, around the big bed and straight to the isolette that Lyndi lay wrapped in. She climbed right up onto the side–with dad steadying it–and leaned over so close that she could nearly lay her head on the baby’s chest.

Because she was only 21 months old I was nervous that she’d be too rough and pokey–but just as I took her little arm to help her back down, she breathed a huge sigh, and whispered, “Ohhhh—I missed you.”

There were no words at that moment…

…and there are no words for this.

Happy Birthday April

On Friday we celebrated my sweet April’s birthday.

April, a beautiful wife to Jacob…

an incredible mother to Lily and Beckham…

a loving sister to Lyndi, Jillian, Dane and Rhen, and an inspiring daughter…to me.

April, who–among a million other wonderful things–creates all the background that is beautiful on this blog.

We love you, Honey.

Thanks for being ours…

Happy Birthday.