I'd like some condiments for this foot in my mouth, please

This weekend, we attended the baptism of a very good friend's daughter. This dear friend had family coming from all over the country for this special event - family of hers that I was reacquainting myself with, and family that I was meeting for the first time.

So I am sitting in the chapel, waiting patiently for the event to commence. I am thoroughly enjoying myself as I make small talk with those around me.

I turn when I notice a tall, handsome man approaching the pew where I am sitting. He starts chatting with the family on the bench next to me, who I know to be relatives of my good friend.

I reach out my hand to this tall stranger and say, "Oh, you must be Stuart's Dad. It's so nice to meet you."

He smiles, chuckles and says, "Um, no. Actually I'm Craig, his brother-in-law."

HOLY. FRICKIN'. CRAP.

I cringe and felt the oxygen sucked from the room as I realize that I have just mistaken a man in his early 40s FOR ONE IN HIS MID-70s. I reel with horror at my most ridiculous mistake yet, and immediately look to see if it would be noticeable if I crawled under the bench to hide. Better yet, I think, would be a shovel with which I could dig my own grave, and hide in my shame for all eternity.

The Husband, ever on my side, leaned over and told Craig that the only fitting rebuttal is for him to turn and ask me when my baby was due.

Touche, dear Husband, touche.

The very youthful victim of my verbal faux pas

Honestly. How did I mistake him for a man in his 70s? I don't know what I was thinking at the time those awful, irretrievable words came flying out. I have no excuse but my own stupidity.

Fortunately for me, Craig has a sense of humor. Throughout the rest of the day's festivities, he joked and laughed about his old and infirm state. He even smiled and posed the next day while I took some pictures of his darling - AND VERY YOUNG - family.

I think from here on out, I will keep my big yap shut.

These feet of mine don't taste as good as they used to.

Stealing Opa's most excellent idea

My middle son, Chase, has a slight obsession with all things military. And when I say slight, I mean he would literally sign up and head off to war today, armed with his vast knowledge of weaponry and battle, if the armed forces would let him.

When we see soldiers anywhere in uniform, he immediately runs up to shake their hand, and almost tearfully thanks them for their service to our country. I've written before about how he wanted to donate all our money to the marine corp veterans outside the grocery store. And he gets giddy with excitement when he sees recruiting centers and it's all I can do to keep him from just asking if he can sign up.

Because, "You never know, Mom. They might have changed the age limit!"

Heaven help me.

So you can imagine what Pearl Harbor was for him, then.

When he saw this vintage poster in the gift shop, he knew he had to have it.

My problem was how to hang it once we got it home. I did not want the four-thumbtacks-in-the-corners-approach, as I knew within weeks it would be shredded and warped.

Also knowing how my boys play in their room at night, the last thing I would allow was a giant-sized piece of glass hanging over their beds, just waiting to be shattered with a football. A traditional frame would never work.

So, what to do?

Thankfully, I married into a resourceful family. Opa had the idea in years past and we successfully adopted it here. You get a piece of foam board about the size of your poster (or larger, and just cut it down with a t-square and box cutter). Mount your poster ever-so-carefully using spray-on adhesive. You need about six pairs of hands for this step, as you want to ensure it lays smooth and flat without any air bubbles or premature adhesion.

Once that is done, wrap the edges in black tape, and voila! A gorgeous piece of military history that makes my little soldier so very happy.

I think it actually looks pretty cool and am now wishing we had picked up a few more.

Wait! I will volunteer go back and get them. Yeah, that's it. Send me!

Oh, all right. I'll stop.

Maybe.

Last trip post, I promise

I know you are all probably so sick of this vacation that you saw the title and clicked off to hunt for free porn. Nothing like days and days of someone else's boring vacation pictures, right?

Right.

Well, too bad. At least for one more day anyway.

I end the Seattle/Hawaii Trip '09 with some stats and (of course) more pictures. To give you an idea of our endeavors over the last 13 days without writing down every detail, here is some data that is pretty representative of the fantastic experience we had:

• Total number of flights: 7
  
• Total number of bags checked on flights: Zero, thanks to my awesome packing
  
• Total number of hotels we stayed at: 5
  
• Estimated caloric intake per day by me alone: 9,678 thankyouverymuch
  
• Pounds gained while on this vacation: I am sure at least 8.
  
• Number of fish viewed while snorkeling: 756 or more
  
• Number of bloody wounds received from jagged coral while snorkeling: 2 (both mine)
  
• Bottles of sunscreen used: 4
• Number of people in our family who took hula lessons: 2 (all female, naturally)
  
• Number of people in our family who swam in a cage with sharks all around: 3 (all male, of course)
  
• Total number of days before I adjusted to the time difference: 9
  
• Number of days it will likely take me to adjust back: 14
  
• Dollars spent shopping: Much, much less than it could have been, dear Husband. Remember that in the days to come when you look at the bank statement, mmkay?
  
• Pounds of sand washed down our hotel shower drain per day: 3
  
• Number of former KSL weathermen seen at the Hawaiian Temple: 1 (bonus if you guess who it was)
  
• Number of times the natives called me 'Cousin': At least 27
  
• Minutes until I am ready to go back again: I'd say less than one. It actually hurts a little bit to think that Hawaii is still out there in this world, existing, without me in it.

And finally, because my little i-phone picture posts were so tiny (a pet peeve of mine), here are a few of my favorites so far. I have yet to barely wade through the hundreds and hundreds of shots I took, so these will have to do.

Aloha and mahalo

I can hardly bear the thought of getting on a plane and leaving this place, but the time has come.

My face is puffy and swollen from all the sun, my skin is pruned from all the water, and my pants are pinchy and tight from all the food.

Oh, I could write for days about the gluttony alone.

Instead, I will pack our bags and head for home with the memory of a fabulous trip and the relief that no one got sick (except for those few unmentionable hours on the Road to Hell).

Aloha, Hawaii. Mahalo from the bottom of my heart.

--Kiliki (Christie in Hawaiian)

Note to self

When your children want to buy ukeleles for souvenirs, it is a good idea to make them wait until the last day of the trip.

Instead of when you have FOUR DAYS LEFT for them to pleasure you with their plinking and plucking.

Oh the joy.

Giving up halfway to Hana

Let's just say the Road to Hana (or Road to Hell, as we are calling it) is now paved with something other than good intentions.

It is paved with the vomit of all three of my children.

It is a winding, one-lane recipe for car sickness with no room on either side to even stop and puke.

Solution? Let the poor babies hang their heads out the window and let loose on the side of the car.

Please don't tell the nice people at Hertz.

I am pretty sure I deserved this for going on about the blissful trip I was having.

That karma is such a beyotch.