Sleep, mountings, and a diet coke keg

I did not get to bed last night until four-in-the-freaking-a.m.

Yeah, I was partying like I am a twenty-something starlet with my peeps.

(Only we were all moms, and I believe most of us were wearing underwear. Except maybe Lori. She's kind of wild like that).

So, actually, I was partying like a thirty-something mom who has not seen her best girls for far too long.

And then the phone rings at the unholy hour of 8:28-in-the-freaking-a.m. It was the Husband, checking in and (really) calling to ensure that no one sleeps in around here.

Lord help me, I love that man, but he has no respect for the sleep in.

I have loads to do today, most of which involve sitting myself down at the pool with a book, though I doubt I will manage to keep my eyes open for even that. Thank heavens for lifeguards.

But before my head hits the desk in a sudden fit of sleep, I do need to address your burning questions about the photo mounting.

And, really, you flatter me. There are a lot of things I am capable of doing, but successfully mounting my own prints is not one of them. I would have no desire to even try.

[Is it just me or does that last paragraph sound kind of dirty? No? Nevermind.]

My secret weapon is my fabulous pro printhouse. I use them for everything. Their work is truly amazing. You will need to have a basic knowledge of Photoshop to order your prints, as you need to upload them in a specific PS format, but their quality is superb. If you are ever in need of any large-sized prints (or small sized, really) these folks are the way to go. They offer print mounting on a variety of substances for a very reasonable price. I've tried every type and have yet to find one that I do not love. They are awesome.

There. That is all. Off to tap a diet coke keg in hopes of making it until lunch time.

Happy Friday.

Oh, I'm totally keeping him

The Husband is not often around.

When something in the house breaks, I am usually the one to deal with it. I have successfully navigated broken toilets, fixed doors, and even saved us what a plumber would cost by unclogging my own disgusting sink.

Yes, I am awesome.

But the Husband makes up for his absence in our day-to-day lives in many other ways.

Like this, for instance:

I saw a similar idea at our local Ethan Allen store and wanted one of my own. I didn't like theirs quite as well, and described to the Husband exactly what I was wanting. He then happily spent his day off doing my bidding and I now have this fantastic shelf above the sofa in our basement.

I wanted prints of all different sizes, textures, and mountings to adorn the shelf. I didn't want frames - felt the naked, raw look of the prints would make the images pop.

Plus, the basement has been declared a breakable-free zone. We want the kids to be able to go down there in the winter and play or toss a ball around without fear of glass shattering on their heads. So frames were definitely an impracticality.

Some are mounted on mat board, some on canvas, some on foam core. They are all pictures of our favorite places and our favorite people. I just love it.

The photos here just can't do justice to the scale of the prints. The larger pictures are like 24x30 and the smallest ones are 8x10.

The display is HUGE.

You know, like my ego.

But I am so happy with how it turned out and am perfectly willing to keep unclogging drains in exchange for the Husband's free time being spent on pursuits that are far more beneficial to me.

It's a win-win for both of us.

[I am also shopping for throw pillows to go on that sofa. Any suggestions or favorite sites? Your help would be much appreciated.]

She's trying her darndest to save my soul

There is a new master in my life:

Thanks to the Hannah, I have been made to be accountable for my sins:

Apparently, girlfriend doesn't like it when the mama swears.

I would not think of myself as a foul-mouthed fiend. I don't swear in casual conversation with friends. I do not ever swear at my children in a fit of temper. And I have yet to fling any expletives at the Husband during marital, ahem, disagreements.

But occasionally, a mild swear slips through my fingers on the keyboard and ends up here as a joke. Or I drop something heavy on my foot and grumble a less-than-choice word in frustration.

Like the hell word.

Or the damn word.

Very rarely, maybe a version of the son-of-a-beyotch word.

Most certainly never the F word. [Unless that word is the frick word. Guilty of that one a lot.]

But on our recent trip to Utah, my lack of appropriate language when joking with my brothers brought Miss Hannah to tears. Her little heart overflowed with worry for my soul. With pleading green eyes, she looked up at me and softly asked why I keep breaking the commandments.

I had no answer.

Clearly, saying to my brother on the phone, who was leaving work to meet us all for dinner, "Hurry up, dammit!" does not a joke make in the mind of Prudence McPrude Hannah.

And so I have acquiesced. After all, were those same words to escape my children's lips, there would most certainly be hell heck to pay.

So consider this my formal resignation from the use of bad language on this blog.

No more hell. Or damn. Or even frick.

[Shoot. I just totaled up the number of quarters alone this post is going to cost me, and I think somebody will be a few dollars richer by the end of the day.]

Crap. [&#@!!#]

And no, I won't share her. She's all mine.

It was obvious to me when I first met my in-laws that I would be marrying into a fantastic family.

That fact has been confirmed to me many times over the 16 years of my marriage, but none more so than at the tea party Oma threw for the little girl cousins while we were in Utah. (Which, mind you, she throws monthly for the in-staters).

I have heard the tales of the famous tea parties, but scarcely could have imagined the complete and utter genius that is the Oma.

First on the agenda at the tea party, is decorating a large banner. Crayons, markers, and colored pencils await the creative minds and hands of little girls. There are no lines that need to be stayed in. There are no rules. The more colorful and garish, the better. Little scribbles are at home next to neat, detailed words.

And what could possibly be better than hanging your masterpiece with tape onto the mantle?

After all, a tea party must be properly decorated.

Next, the girls are divided into teams of two, with big girls happily partnering with little girls. Every pair is handed their very own scotch tape and several rolls of crepe paper. Decorating of furniture is highly encouraged.

Next, the girls are whisked off to the beauty station. Each girl competes for space at the full-length mirror where hair do's are coiffed and created using the ribbons, bows, and curlers from Oma's stash. Pink foam curlers provide the ultimate in ladies hair fashion and magically are "ready" in about eight seconds.

After the proper time has been spent in the beauty salon, it is time for the fitting of the gowns. Stylish traveling trunks have been brought for the occasion and somehow eight girls manage to find just the right outfit without any fighting or tears. There are shoes, accessories, hats, and gowns enough for all.

This Oma knows what she's doing.

Once all the divas are properly attired, it is time for the fashion show, complete with runway walk and color commentary by our hostess.

Twirling is highly encouraged.

No tea party would be complete without an excited interruption by the big brother, just returning from his antique store shopping with the Opa. World War II weapons and artillery are the souvenir du jour in the 10-year-old boy crowd.

Sadly, I am not sure any of the girls even noticed.

The brief interruption over, and it is time for tea. Every girl receives her own pitcher of cream, a tea cup, and saucer. Tiny treats and bite-sized fruit delight even the pickiest of palates.

And one must always remember to raise her pinkie when drinking at a ladies tea.

Tea-time entertainment is provided in story form by the seemingly tireless Oma. Quite fitting, naturally, that all the stories are tea party related.

Once the food and drink have been devoured, it is time for the clean up. Eight little heads bob happily into the kitchen for dish washing. That task is completed, and they return with disposable wipes for the tables.

Cleaning has never seemed so fun.

The grand finale is a game of artistic freeze dance, after which everyone is declared a winner and receives a bracelet and some lipstick.

Is it wrong that we're considering moving here, JUST for the tea parties?

These are the memories that generations are made of.

Bless you, Oma.

The one in which she keeps posting about her travels...

So, the fry sauce was a dead giveaway, was it?

You crazy Utahns. How you came up with the genius that is fry sauce, I will never know. But in all our travels, we have never found its equal.

Though the Husband will not touch the stuff with a ten-foot pole, I, however, could bathe in it. It is the only way to eat deep fried potatoes and I will forever be grateful for its discovery.

But while we were in Utah, we did a lot of fun things.

We took time to smell the roses:

We rode up our beloved mountains on ski lifts and marveled at the view.

Once at the top, we exhaled, sighed, and wondered if there was any place on earth quite as lovely.

That spectacular view was somewhat diminished during our hour-long wait to ride the Alpine Slide. Apparently, the track is quite deadly after a rain and it took several runs for the employees to get it dry enough to let us go down.

I was quite content to wait, even though some in my party were less than patient [cough*the Husband*cough].

One of us jumped from rock to rock. Again and again. And again. And again.

Honestly. All I need is a pair of rocks and this kid could entertain himself all day.

[Note to self: See how exciting the rocks seem when he opens them Christmas morning.]

We (some of us more than others, of course) had really good hair days. Ah, that dry desert air. Does wonders on the humidity-drenched locks that adorn my head.

Please give a moment of silence for my perfect bangs. They will never look so tame again.

And, lord help me, did we eat.

And eat.

And eat some more.

I am ashamed to tell you the number of pounds gained in just ten days' time [cough*five*cough] but it was worth every fat-filled calorie.

Tragically, it will take me about 10 weeks to get it off again, I am sure.

Anyway, thanks for playing along. Courtesy of random-dot-org, the winner is:

Julianna said...

I'm going with the majority and saying Utah... I may just need to visit, that fry sauce looks yummy!

July 26, 2010 6:44:00 PM CDT

Send me an email with your address and a little something is headed your way, chica.

Stay tuned tomorrow for a tea party that will make you weep with jealousy...

Priorities

We have been in this state less than 24 hours and already we have hit one of my must-eat spots.

Because it's all about priorities, you know.

Can you guess what state we are in?

This one ought to be easy for a lot of you, and because of that, I will throw all entries (whether correct or not) into a hat and send the lucky winner a prize.

Contest ends 24 hours from right now.

Happy speculating!

(And here's hoping that sometime soon I will stop posting about food, vacations, and food eaten on my vacations)