Further proof of our Napoleon obsession

Last night, I had a friend coming over to get some updated corporate head shots. With the backdrop and lights set up, I snagged the first kid I could find to pose for a few shots while I tested the lighting.

With no staging or awareness of my Kip post yesterday, this is what he gave me:

Remind you of anyone?

And, yes, I do believe he was imagining himself weightless in the ocean, surrounded by tiny little seahorses.

That was it. That was the one. I think that's going to come out real nice.

Stay home and eat all the flippin' chips, Kip!

Last week, McKay got his braces on.

In case you lost count, that makes TWO children in orthodontia. (Ah, money. How I miss you. We used to have such good times at the mall.)

But I find that braces totally suit my boys' smiles. Gives their crazy teeth a purpose. Makes their smiles seem much more full of promise, instead of just snaggily and crooked in those mouths of theirs.

Lately, though, every time I turn around, I get what we have dubbed, The Kip Face.

For those of you not versed in Napoleon Dynamite speak, I am referring to the scene where Kip and Lafawnduh share a milkshake across the table and he looks up at her through his eye brows while raising them up and down, and smiling like a hyena.

It's oh so suggestive and alluring.

[Turn your sound off though for this clip. The music makes you want to kill yourself. And you really only need watch the first two seconds to get the gist of what I'm talking about)

Meet Kip. And Kip.

Brothers bonded forever by their love of stupid movies, braces, and their need to make their mother crazy.

Seriously, though. How cute is this boy? It's a good thing I like him so much.

J. Golden Stie?

Yesterday I gave a talk in church on personal revelation.

I think it went rather well.

Except for the part where I accidentally and inadvertently said crap from the pulpit.

And, no, not proverbial crap.

I said the actual word crap.

My oldest son told me he immediately looked around the room to see if his teachers were hanging their head in shame and disgust.

My daughter told me she felt I would have to give a quarter to the swear jar.

My middle son was too busy reading Calvin & Hobbs to notice.

Do you think it means they won't be asking me to talk again for a while?

I do hope so.

P.S. Those of you confused by the title, see this article. J. Golden Kimball was a prominent leader in the early days of our church who liked to swear from the pulpit. He's a legend of sorts and it took all my power to convince the husband NOT to name any of our children after him.

The sad, irrefutable truth

Teenage Stie, in all her scary, big-haired, mini-skirted glory

When you're a teenager, you sneak out of the house so your mom won't see you wearing a mini skirt.

When you're a mom, you sneak out of the house so your daughter won't see that you're not wearing the gaudy, homemade princess necklace she crafted for you.

When you're a teenager, you stay up late partying with friends and can sleep in until midday.

When you're a mom, you stay up late doing laundry and cleaning toilets and have to pull yourself painfully out of bed early in the morning.

When you're a teenager, you wear clothes that look cool, regardless of their comfort factor. [Pegged jeans and shoulder pads, anyone?]

When you're a mom, you wear clothes SOLELY for their comfort factor.

Pegged acid-washed jeans and freakishly matchy-match-socks Stie & date
(whose face has been changed for his protection)

When you're a teenager, you freak out when your brothers walk into your room because you think no one respects your privacy.

When you're a mom, you find yourself unable to even pee in solitude because your children are always chattering on the other side of the bathroom door.

When you're a teenager, you have braces, pimples, and feel awkward almost all of the time.

When you're a mom, you have cellulite, under-eye bags, and feel only slightly awkward at the PTA meeting when you look down and realize you are still in yesterday's ponytail and your sweatpants.

Most scary & awkward of all the Sties: Middle School short-haired mullet Stie. Yikes.

When you're a teenager, you fight with your parents for control over your life.

When you're a mom, you fight with the world for control over your child's life.

And when you're a teenager, you eat everything in sight without fear for the future.

When you're a mom, you have to hide in the closet while snarfing down the last of the good chocolate...for fear the children will see you and want some.

Mom Stie: The Happiest (and possibly cutest) of them all

P.S. Have you seen all of the fabulous sessions happening here? Stop by and take a peek. Exciting stuff, people.

Summing it up nicely

Said by Hannah at lunch yesterday:

"I might be a little bit mental, but I've got a great sense of style."

I'm just wondering which part she gets from me, and which part she gets from the Husband.

Never mind. Don't answer that.

The elephant in the room

Since we are celebrating spring break around here, I decided to pretend I'm a good mom and took my kids to the zoo yesterday. We had a lovely time, and I noticed some things when we stopped by the elephant exhibit.

Some things that I may or may not want to admit here.

Things I found that I have in common with the sweet, old girl they call Pearl.

Like I can totally relate to her dry, crackly skin in the wintertime. There isn't enough lotion in the world to moisturize me right now.

And the wrinkles in between the eyes just begging for Botox?

Yep. We've both got those.

Of course, I should mention the obvious: She and I both have similar, um, well, shapes when it comes to our rear ends.

Though I am afraid hers might be a tad bit slimmer than mine.

But the similarities go beyond just appearances. For instance, we both are a little bit clumsy and seem to fall down from time to time when taking a little walk through town:

We both like to show off when we know that people are watching, though we pretend shyly that we don't:

And, sadly, I am afraid that both of us will do tricks in exchange for the sweet treat of our choice.

Hers: A banana.
Mine: Everything in the chocolate family.

(We also both seem to be willing to eat food right off the ground.)

And when we find ourselves exhausted from all that walking, falling, and sweet treat eating, all we really want to do is lie down and take a nice, long nap.

But the most disturbing similarity of all, the missing genetic link between humans and elephants:

We both occasionally find that a teensy bit of pee slips out when we are doing the exercising.

Sorry, old girl. But you and I both know that it's the awful, honest truth.