The Foundation for a Better Life

I love these billboards. They are brought to you from an organization called The Foundation for A Better Life. I can't tell you how many accidents I have barely missed while cricking me neck on the interstate trying to read the fine print. Not to mention trying to photograph.

Love these....plan to try and get more for your view.

And, I plan to live by the lessons in them too. I love it when people are inspiring. I also love it when other people spend time and money and buy billboards to inspire others.

Wooden Spoons

Here is a funny little story that I read the other day.

Wooden Spoons

One day during cooking class, the teacher, Mrs. Jones, was extolling her secrets for preparing perfect sauces.

When she ordered us to the stoves to prepare our assignments, she said, “Don’t forget to use wooden spoons.”

As I stirred my sauce, I contemplated the physics behind the mystery of the wooden spoon, and decided it must have something to do with heat conduction. I approached Mrs. Jones to test my theory.

“Why wooden spoons?” I asked.

“Because,” she replied, “if I have to sit here listening to twenty-three metal spoons banging against metal pots, I’ll go nuts.”

And if this was my mom, she would NOT want you to use the wooden spoons because she may need them later to give you a good swift smack on the backside.

Are you kidding me?

I'd take the dairy farm any day. One more example of global warming going too far.

We're all going buggy!

And, I was very happy to find out that I am not the only one who had to pull over because of an insect.

What in the world?

What's worse? Being hit by a car or promiscuity? A koala answers the question.

And, the hotel workers answered the same question.

Hit him with your best shot.

Sometimes your really bad boyfriend doesn't even deserve a decent blow to the head.

Sewage in, sewage out is what I say.

Or, if you must, use the couch.

Yuck

Yuck and more yuck! Here is one lawsuit that I thought was warranted.

And, here is one that isn't. C'mon people. Don't you think that you are asking a little too much. Wouldn't lifetime zoo passes more than make up for your five wasted hours? And, they can't really be considered wasted when you had all those angry baboons to watch, can they?

I beg to differ.

About the smell, not the old people.

Bad Dancing guy

I don't know who the guy is. I just like to watch grown men dance badly.

I read this news story. It made me feel like dancing.

World Wide Wrestling

I have no idea who Eddie Guerrero is, but I just like to watch grown men cry.

(Happy Birthday to the only man that I don't like to watch cry. LG is 33)

And, I really want to be in Eddie's neighborhood in the next life, so that I can witness the embraces of all of the former wrestlers. I could be entertained forever.



Oh, and this video was such a better form of entertainment than the wrestling match that I passed in a parking lot on my way home from Wal-Mart the other night.

I left LG and the girls in the car and ventured into a whole new world of hillbilly.

I thought I had walked into some fictional novel.

And then my camera died.

The End.

Oh, you missed the front view, I am so sorry.

This is the best shot that I got. Notice the classy venue.

Check out the mc's mullet curl!

More church signs.

My previously posted church signs were recently featured at my new favorite church sign blog.

I told you that I had been pewed.

Church sign guy didn't get the reference to being benched, but in a church form,

so I thought I would explain that here for my readers.

Here are some recently found signs.

The last is my favorite of the three.

I have to give myself therapy every day to mind my own business.

Whole grains

I forced myself to have Grape Nuts for breakfast a while back.

I added plenty of sugar like the non Weight Watcher girl that I am right now.

As I was chowing down, I read a post that looked like this.

"That looks like such a better form of whole grains", I thought to myself.

"If I just had that darn Bosch!"

I hope that Marilyn won't mind that I smuggled her post topic and snagged her picture.
(I'm sure she won't. She's good like that. And, heck, I just gave her some link love - Oh, I hate it when people take my topic or idea without a link. It's just blogging decency people.)

The whole reason for this post is to send you over to Marilyn for a great wheat bread recipe. But, of course, I have to add my take on it.

I have stored her blog post for another day. (Like the day that I want to start eating healthy again and I have my brand new Bosch mixer waiting to be used.)

For now, I am just being tortured with the thought of eating the rest of this Whole Grain cereal.

Thanks for a great tease Marilyn.

My little Grape granules just aren't good enough now.
Golly, you use enough energy just eating this stuff that it should cancel out the calories.

Where did this cereal get it's name?

Are these really Grape seeds or something?

Or did they just give it a name with the word grape in it to try and deter you from thinking about the tough and crunchy wheat plant?

O.k...who knew that there was a website called nograpesnonuts?

There's an actual explanation to the name.

I try to be a good Mormon lady, and follow the prophet by keeping a food storage.

I recently stored wheat. (And, I have to thank my mother in law for the wheat loan here.)

Above is a photo of the wheat that we got about six months back.

Yes, it sat in my living room for quite a while.

We told our self righteous friends that we didn't want to store the wheat away until we had a chance to talk to all of our friends about the importance of being prepared.

Mormons will let a lot of weaknesses slide if it means your are doing your missionary work.

(But, really, you all just know that I was blogging instead of worrying about the wheat)

If the amount of time it takes a woman to get her wheat into her buckets is a measure of what kingdom of heaven she will earn, I am going to be in big trouble.

Can you say 3 months?

That means that I am going to be in the third kingdom down.

Well, it's good to know, that I will be in the right place.

You do remember that some of my left over wheat buckets gave me away a while back?

Wow, I guess that God did think of everything.

He made a kingdom just for the white trash of the world.

Revenge on Mommy

Like Cally, I don't usually like tags and memes and the idea of HERE read about me some more.

And then I slap myself silly and remind myself that my blog's whole purpose is for other people to read all about me and my ideas.

So, I decided to play along this time because I thought it would be fun.

I don't look like much fun in this latest photo. LG captured us standing in line.

Here are questions answered by my children (ahhhh, scary)

1. What is something mom always says to you? Clean up. Go to bed. NO!

2. What makes mom happy? When we let you sleep in.

3. What makes mom sad? When we don't listen to you.

4. How does mom make you laugh? Put funny stuff about us on your blog. When you embarrass us and take pictures.

5. What was mom like as a child? How are we supposed to know that?

6. How old is mom? 33, 34 (how old am I, I don't even know)

7. How tall is mom? You never told us before.

7.5. How much does your mom weigh? (I added this one for fun) one hundred somethin' (yeah if I lose 15 lb)

8. What is mom's favorite thing to do? Blog

9. What does mom do when you're not around? Blog, shop

10. If mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Blogging

11. What is mom really good at? Blogging

12. What is mom not good at? Ummmm (long pause - good job, right answer) then she scarred me....losing weight, you keep quitting on everything. (yeah, I liked the first answer better) Ha, now we are embarrassing you! Do you have to put everything I say on there? (Slaps her forehead as I type)

13. What is mom's job? She used to work at Target, babysitting babies

14. What is mom's favorite food? edamames (I think she was just trying to repent for the losing weight thing)

15. What makes you proud of mom? I don't know ....long pause again

16. What do you and mom do together? Nothing, shop.

17. How are you and mom the same? Well, you and Bella both have black hair.

18. How are you and mom different? A lot of ways.

19. How do you know mom loves you? Because you keep telling us over and over again. You give us hugs and kisses (with a look of disgust)

Honorable, huh?

I don't know if honorable is a word I would use to describe myself, but it feels good to get a prize.

Cally and I both received honorable mentions by the Scribbit July Write-Away contest.

It is awesome to share the honor with the creative master we call Calico. I think it makes my prize seem even greater; somebody has put me as an equal to the domestic queen.

So, thank you to the judge, Damelsfly at growingalife.

And, just a sidenote, my greatest honor was Michelle Mitchell telling me that she loved my post title, Earning My Underoos. I am all about the post title.

Romance, Gold Style

Lately, I have read a few different blog posts about men being romantic with their wives. One blogger wrote on a hot dog and one bought a dress. They were both really sweet posts.

And just to save hurt feelings, I am in no way trying to downplay the thoughtfulness of some very sweet and romantic men, but I must blog about the topic of romance for my own reminder that I never signed up for that adventure. My husband didn't even propose. We just kind of agreed to get married.

LG writing on a hot dog would be so surprising that I would feel like I owed the man something HUGE: like the Wii he has been dying for or the idea that I am willing to iron all of his clothes. It's a good thing I don't have to worry about him going all crazy and romantic on me because I never want to be expected to iron. I only want to do it when I am in a good and nice mood.

It's o.k. that LG isn't romantic. Let's just say that I didn't marry the man with any false belief that I would turn him into some romantic at heart. (And, he certainly didn't marry me with some false idea that I would be ironing his clothes for him.) I married him because he was the manly man kind who wasn't romantic. I never wanted a husband who was too romantic. The cheese is just a little much for me at times; it's a delicate matter, and LG is still trying to master a good balance with his finicky wife. I did want a man that was righteous, musical, athletic, kind, smart, and funny. That was pretty much the list since I can remember. I got what I wanted and he came with a bonus of being able to provide for his family and knowing how to be a great father.

He also came with one very important trait to the survival of our marriage. He never tries to tell me what to do. He always humors me and listens to me and sometimes he even validates me. If you were married to me, you would understand that him listening and letting me feel like I am in charge is so much more important than romance ever will be. In fact, him never telling me what to do is all the romance I ever need.

So, I was taken off guard at our romantic moment today. They are few and far between, and for me that's o.k. We went out to lunch. As I dropped him back at work, we turned to each other and simultaneously said, "Thanks for lunch." Nope, I didn't pay for it, he did, but he never makes me feel like it's his money. And, I never have to thank him for that reason. I didn't say thanks because he was willing to fork over the cash, or even because he was willing to eat where I wanted.

I was thanking him for to his mere presence. And he was thanking me for my mere presence. And, in this house, it's all about the presence. (And the tricky game of letting me feel like I am in control, even when I am not.) And my need for control and not romance is a really good thing because I buy my own dresses and we don't put mustard on our hotdogs.

Eat, Drink, and Get a Refill

"The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder."

~Alfred Hitchcock

This summer we have splurged and taken the kids to the real movies twice.

They were the matinee shows, but still a whole lot more expensive than our usual outing to the dollar show.

About a month ago we went and saw KungFu Panda.

And a couple of weeks ago we enjoyed every minute of Wall E.

They were both good, but Wall-E was our favorite.

If you've seen Wall-E, you will know what I am talking about when I say:

"It is plainly coincidental that I took the previous photo of
our HUGE drink two seconds before the show started."

Here is the garbage can on the way out.

The theatre teenage workers were very amused that I was taking a picture of their pain.

It looks like I am not the only one who believes that if you splurge on $40 worth of movie tickets, you may as well round it off with an extra $20 for a large popcorn and drink that can be shared and refilled.

I know you will all think I am horrible when I tell you that I smuggle in the candy.

The real question is, " Who is going to get up during the middle of the movie and fetch the refill?

That would usually be me. Isn't that's what mom's are for?

Moms are also really good at making sure that their kids notice the cool new Dyson hand dryer in the bathroom.

After all that soda, we barely made it through the movie.

Alfred Hitchcock was from a different era of movie watching.

He and his little bladder were WAY before Supersize.

I really think that we should start a mother revolution and request that all family friendly movies implement a mid-movie potty/refill intermission.

And, with all those super sizes,

it's no wonder that all Americans can relate to movies like Wall-E and KungFu Panda.

It's a good thing we had the opportunity to work off the calories in the movie lobby on the way out.

Faith

"You must not lose faith in humanity.

Humanity is an ocean;

if a few drops of the ocean are dirty,

the ocean does not become dirty."

~Mahatma Gandhi

A message from my five year old.

I think she was going to write her name, which is Bella.

(Actually, it's Isabella, but she will be the first to tell you to call her Bella.)

But, I don't think she finished her work.

And so the message of the day is plain and simple:

Be.

I like it.

Mostly, as we work on mastering ourselves.

Sometimes when we get discouraged, we can remember this message.

We can just Be.

Sometimes being is enough.

Being is a great blessing from God.

How to have fun at Chuck E Cheese

Here is a way old post that I had forgotten.
Back in May, we celebrated Abigail's ninth birthday in Atlanta.

We all had a great time.

I have a deep rooted love for Chuck E Cheese because of a memorable childhood experience involving my heroic mom and dad.

I am passing on this love of pizza, games, and rides to my children the best that I can.

I know a lot of you don't care for the photos, but deal with it.

And, I love titling my posts with "how to".

You have no idea how many people search "how to" on google.

With no further rambling.

Here it is: How to have fun at Chuck E Cheese.

Dance with Chuck E. on stage.

Especially if you both are wearing blue shirts and happen to have the same first initial.

Dance for the T.V. cameras.

If you do it with your cousins, it's so much more fun.

Smile while riding.

Or don't smile.

But make sure you concentrate so that you don't miss any simulated roller coaster turns.

Command that someone watches you play.

Beg your dad to ride with you.

Beg the person with the most money for MORE tokens.Compete fiercely. Especially if the game requires your skills from back in the day.

If you don't get enough tokens the first time, throw your ball at the flashing light.

Turn in your tickets for prize points.

Divide the points by the number of children, so everyone gets the same amount of points.

Pick out the best cheesiest (that's why the call it Chuck E Cheese) prize you can find because it takes 25 points to earn a piece of gum.

Be enthusiastic while the euphoria last.

Those prizes will all be used, broken, or secretly trashed by mom within the next 24 hours.

Summer Clearance

And, after all the plastic bad news, here is one for those who are a little paranoid and are looking for effective ways to protect yourself against criminals.

The moral of the story: start storing your gun in your cooler next to your bed. That way you will have a working strategy for offense and defense.

And, lucky for you, summer clearance sales are right around the corner. You should be able to afford every plastic cooler of your heart's desire.

Why?

I knew I was afraid of cows for a reason.

Don't wait until it's too late.

You all know that I am huge advocate (meaning that I post about it from time to time on my blog) for mental healthiness. I hate to see people suffer because they are unwilling to let go of their pride and reach out to professionals. What I hate even more is to see people make their loved ones suffer because of their own untreated illness.

What I hate the most, is seeing people and families and friends suffer the effects of mental illness because of ignorance and/or for the fear of being stigmatized.

Here is a tragic story of how PTSD destroyed one of America's heroes.

The argument could be made that the war destroyed this young man's life, and I am open to that argument. I really don't like war and wish it was never necessary to use force. (Although I understand America's God given responsibility to promote freedom) But, really, this man did not have to take his own life. If he would have been successfully treated, he could have lived a long and happy life.

So, if any of you out there are depressed or anxietal or OCD or whatever else that you know deep down inside is not normal. Don't wait until it's too late. With medication and therapy, you can be as normal as me. :) And, don't let that stop you. As bad off as you think I am, it could be so so much worse.

Vu Gi Na

My kids love their Aunt Amy, and her influence was priceless at our house a few weeks ago. Meaning. something that she taught one of the girls was good for a great comical moment.

It has to do with the post title, just in case you were wondering, but you know I have to give all the background first. I was reading on Scribbit this morning about words that Michelle Mitchell detests. It got me thinking of this experience from a few weeks ago.

I while back I wrote a funny post about the different terminology my siblings and I teach our kids to use for their body parts. (I can't tell you how many google searches have led people to my post title Conversation Pieces) Who knew it was such a hot topic? We just had another similar conversation (yet, not quite as racy) for a good 10 minutes with our friends at a cookout on the 4th of July.

So, in this previous post I made it very clear that we try to teach our kids the correct scientific terminology for the human body parts. Our girls know the word vagina, but we don't really use it. To the utter detest of my sister, we use the word crotch whenever we are talking about down there.

So, I was somewhat shocked and very amused the other day at our house. Bella was climbing on her sisters while still wearing her nightgown. She was just trying to get a better look at the GameBoy and Abigail wasn't being nice. Abigail was getting a little irritated with the pestering and she sounded pretty foul as she screamed out, "BELLA, nobody wants you climbing all over them in a nightgown with your GINA in their face."

I guffawed, "Abigail, where did you learn that?" She sensed my shocking tone and tried to calm me down with, "What? She knew exactly what I was talking about because a HUGE smile had crossed her face. She just wanted to make me say it too, hence the question.

So, I gave her what she wanted, "Gina". (My apologies to Gina as this is the same spelling as her name but you all know this needs a long I sound) "Oh, (while trying to play it off) that's what Aunt Amy calls it."

What does a mother say to that? What any decent family member would, "Oh...o.k. well I don't know if I like you saying that, it sounds pretty slang, but if your Aunt Amy taught it to you, then I guess it's o.k.

Abigail replied, "Mom, what's slang?"

Is there a haunted Smoky Mountain?

And, here is some wacky news from right down the street.

This tree art was found in Maryville.

About a twenty minute drive from our house.

It is claimed that it was found exactly as seen above, but I don't know if I'm a believer.

We do have some of the highest rates of meth around these parts.

I wonder if Jeremy participated somehow. (not in the meth - geesh)

He's pretty creative.

And who knows what he is capable after a few too many of his own brewed beers?

What is that?

Yesterday morning I was reading this crazy news story about a woman that had a bat hanging out under her bra.

She thought the weird vibrating sensation was being caused by a cell phone at first. Seriously. You have to be kidding me. Somebody makes these stories up. How could a woman put a bra on without knowing there was a bat in there?

I was then reminded of something that happened to me just about a month ago.

I had cleaned out my minivan so that I could haul some yard stuff in the back. This included removing the big and ancient middle bench all by myself. (My beloved Quest was engineered before the modern collapsing seats were invented) Removing the middle bench is quite the process and requires a lot of muscle and agility. Not to mention the ability to avoid the showering crumbs of long forgotten food particles and toys.

On my way to our local garden center, I started feeling something in my bra. More precisely in the cleavage. I thought that I may have another stray hair from my thick head of hair. (We've already established that I don't have hair on my chest.) I started to try and feel for it. (I know you women know what I am talking about) As I was driving, I grabbed at my shirt so that I could get a good look down there. Can you even imagine my mixture of surprise and disgust as I caught a vision of the big nasty red and black bug positioned just perfectly to be staring me right back in the face. And, I am not even going to mention the 4 inch long tentacles that almost caught me square in the eye, no joke. I almost swerved off the road.

I stopped the car to get a closer look. I roared in laughter as I realized that the bug (in the same family as the one shown above) was a party favor received by the girls. How relieved I was to retrieve something from my bra that was plastic and dead and completely still compared to what I was preparing myself to have to pry outta there.

Oh the life of a mother. You just can't make up stories as good as mine. Not unless, of course, you are the idiot that put your bra on before checking for a baby bat. Every woman knows to do that.
P.S. I just read this post about the same story from Say No To Crack. You have to read her reference to second base...funny.

Would you offer a burglar some tea and a chat?

Every mother knows how to treat a lost soul. Kidness is the only secret, people of the world.

Earning My Underoos

This was written for the Scribbit July Write Away Contest.

I don't expect to win, but it was so much fun to write,

so thanks to Michelle Mitchell for a beyond awesome topic.

When I was a about eight years old, I remember being so jealous that my sister had Wonder Woman Underoos. I wanted some BAD! I wanted to rule the world.

Before I knew it, I was a young woman, reading the quote, "The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world." I thought, "Yeah right. My mom rocked seven cradles and she doesn't rule the world."

As a young married, I was still trying to figure out how to get me some of those Underoos (that being said with my best fake Southern accent ever). I thought that I would have to accomplish so much more before I could reach that Wonder Woman Underoo realm. I just knew that if I could write and photograph and work as a prized photojournalist, (you know, just after I spent my stint in The Peace Corp) that I would rule the world. The world needed me and if anyone was capable of being Wonder Woman it was me. But I had a dilemma. How could I gain my title when I now had a husband and future family to worry about?

I was struggling with my role in the world. I didn't want to rush into having kids. I had wanted to be a Wonder Woman since my earliest memory, not a wife and mother. I wanted to rule the world, not rock the cradle. I knew that if I were to achieve all of my goals, my husband's may have to take second place, and he deserved his Underoos too. (albeit he would probably choose Spiderman or Batman - "that's a tough choice" he just informed me) I felt there was no winning.

It took months of serious reflection and prayer before I started to understand how I could rule the world. Little did I know that it had everything to do with rocking the cradle. I think I was unknowingly on the cusp of earning my Underoos when I wrote this in my journal:

"I think that I will have serious decisions to make in the near future, and they are going to be hard. I will have to be selfless. I think that the only way I will find true joy in this life is if I can help my husband and my children obtain all of their dreams. I need to make their dreams and goals my dreams and goals. If I get to a ripe old age and find that through my own pride I have deprived them of their potential, then I will be ashamed and sad. I know the way to true joy is in the realm of my own little family. I want to look back and know that I was the greatest cheerleader of the greatest people in the world."

So, the decision was made. At the time I felt like I was giving up my Underoos dream for a while. I felt I may even have to wear Depends first, but darn it, those would be some joyful Depends with stylin' Underoos over the top. I didn't realize that in those early months of marriage, I had found the ONLY way a woman becomes a true superhero. The real Wonder Woman Underoos can only be earned by a woman's willingness to give of herself.

I got pregnant shortly thereafter. I gave up my job. I gave up my full time pursuit of a higher education. Some women may feel like by doing this I have shamed Women's Lib. But, I feel like I joined a higher cause. I gave up the Underoos because I suddenly knew and understood that "the hand that rocks the cradle IS the hand that rules that world".

My family needed me to be their stabilizing force. God guided me into rocking the cradle of my husband and my children. And, who was I to argue with God? Even if I was Wonder Woman waiting to be discovered. Besides, if I was going to rock a cradle, I wouldn't need those Underoos anyway. (Oh, how little did I know)

Soon after the birth of our first daughter, my husband and I made the decision that his education would get top priority. I had no way of knowing that his education would monopolize the following TEN years. Count that! One, two, three, four....yeah, you all get the picture.

So, now you all can understand that earlier this year, when LG FINALLY got his legal license, I couldn't help but shed tears of utter joy. It wasn't until I processed the good news that I realized that somewhere along the path I had earned my Underoos. I was all of the sudden astonished that those Underoos didn't come while I was a photojournalist. I had been wearing those Underoos for years without even realizing it. If it wasn't for my Wonder Woman Underoos I would have never been able to survive.

I had the greatest joy of all time. My husband had his dream in hand. And so did I. My dream had become his dream, and making his dream mine was precisely how I had earned those Underoos. I was Wonder Woman all along.

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World
~ William Ross Wallace

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow--
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

So, a man walks into a bar

and other funny versions were found at say no to crack.

Backwards could be fun.

We have been getting a lot of practice in the baby department this summer. We love Brayden and Adriana. And look at how good my summer job has been for my girls. Abigail has learned to multi-task at the ripe old age of 9.

I found my most recent photo of infancy to go along with the following scenario.

Thanks to Sheila for the e-mail forward.
I would link her but she went all private on you guys.

I want to live my next life backwards:
You start out dead and get that out of the way.
Then you wake up in a nursing home feeling better every day.
Then you get kicked out for being too healthy.
Enjoy your retirement and collect your pension.
Then when you start work,
you get a gold watch on your first day.

You work 40 years until you're too young to work.
You get ready for High School: where you make all your major mistakes, but you don't have to change because you will soon be under the age of accountability.
Then you go to primary school, you become a kid, you play,
and you have no responsibilities.
Then you become a baby, and then...
You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury, in
Spa-like conditions - central heating, room service on tap,
and then...
You finish off as an organism. (yeah that really didn't say organism, that is just what I read the first time and LG made me change this for my easily offended readers)

I'm joining the big leagues.

I've been pewed.

BIG TIME. I never have to post another church sign again. Lookkkeee what I discovered.

Where are yours?

Tonsils

A young boy of four was going into hospital to have his tonsils removed. He told his playmate I’ll be gone for awhile I have to have surgery.

On the day he was admitted his mother asked if the doctor would please circumcise the boy, since he’s already going to be under anesthesia.

The boy woke up and was very sore “down there” there for several days.About a week later he got to see his playmate again. The playmate informed him that he, too, was also going to have to have his tonsils out. He asked the boy to tell him about the surgery.

The little boy replied, “All I can tell you is your tonsils ain’t where you think they are.”

Brought to you by jokes funny.

Knoxville Blog Network

I just joined the Knoxville blog network. I look forward to reading more on a local level. I encourage ya'll to reach out for some Southern love.

Stranded

If I were stranded on an island, I would ask the genie for my family. They would bring everything I could possibly need, even if it was just a cell phone.

God bless America

It's most definitely the land that I love.

Happy 4th to all you picnic loving families.

I do like Mickey D's

Why does her name have to be Alice?

It's guy love.

This one is for LG. He will laugh. He has to laugh.

This is also for all you blesbian bloggers (you know who you are) who make my cyberlife so much more enjoyable.

The Battle with the Brothers.

In 2001, my family was on The Family Feud.

We had a blast. Louie Anderson was so much fun.

We lost on the money round. We blame it on my brothers. They choked. Just watch and you will see. It is so entertaining.

Renee and I begged Erick and Adam to let one of us be included on the final round during the whole ten hour drive from Utah to California. They wouldn't let us; neither of them could give up the glory. Renee and I really didn't care. We just wanted the money and we knew statistically (from being avid watchers), the families that had a man and woman answer the final round, had a higher chance of winning.

Men and women think differently. Having two men proved to be our downfall. Both of my brothers happened to think a lot alike. You will have to watch this until the end to see what I am talking about.

So, the moral of the story. Men need us. We need them. Embrace it. Or lose $20,000!


Wills Family Feud (Sep 2001) from Adam Wills on Vimeo.