I love the whole world too

It's a girl giveaway.

Check out Devri's hairy giveaway.

Calling all nicknamers

Karen posted this about her son losing his shorts during a flag football game.

It made me laugh hysterically.

I wish I could have been there to see the Bishop's (dad) face!!!

Does anyone have any good ideas for his nickname to remain with him throughout his football career?

Un-scary monsters

Don't you think your kids need some.

Check out Cally's newest creation.

I think if I win, I will give one away on my blog to see if I can boost my readership with shameless freebies too.

Because you all know I ain't makin anything near as good as Cally can.

Hungry?

How 'bout some Southern Fried Chicken?

Do you think that there may be a reason that Tennessee is the 3rd fattest State in the Union?

Is it a sign?

Satan is getting a lot of advertising time lately.

A pig that flies

It's weird news Saturday.

This link is for Cally.

Because we all love the flying pig over her mantle.

It's the favorite choice of artwork for LG and all of his old friends. Who are....you guessed it...getting very old.

And I think that this is Conan on the right of Matt and Scott on the left of LG. Am I right?

Lori...Cally...do I win...do I win?

If I am, I deserve a prize.

How about a flying pig.

Because the day that I can tell the twins apart every time, pigs really will fly.

The summer of their lives.

Yep, it feels like the sun is setting.

They are growing so fast.

I am so glad that I let them play in the water hose as much as they wanted.

Mom's advice for the day is to enjoy the summer of their lives.

Oh, and take swim lessons in the fall.

The weather is perfect.

The classes are smaller.

And the pool isn't crowded.

Be aware:

when the summer meets the fall,

moms can get sentimental

and emotional.

And they may post a whole lot of pictures of their kids.

How to see God

Look up,

Not down.

Don't

look around.

He is not out,

He's within.

He's under your pain.

Over your pride.

Not far away,

Next to your side.

He'll help you climb,

All the way to the top.

Because you looked up,

when you were down.

Bob the Builder

I loved this very short story. Thanks to Kristen.

It's about Bob and his ability to make a child's day.

How tender!

Benson would love it, don't you think?

Playing games

We love to play games with our family and our friends.

Risk is one of my personal favorites. And, ask anyone in the family. I rule at risk. Why anyone thinks that a woman can't be the head of the military is beyond me. I want to rule the world! Oh...hmm...I may have answered my own question there.

Anyhow, back to the post. In our family, we especially like to play cards.

The conversations and laughs that you can have while playing cards with friends are unparalleled.

We really thought it was funny when a new friend who had moved from out West was caught saying the great southern phrase "you is" during a card game a few months back. ie...You is up next. Translation...it's your turn.

A couple of weeks ago we were again playing cards with some friends. I threatened LG that if he gave me that point I didn't want that he would not be getting "any" that night.

He took mercy on me. Isn't he so romantic?

Later as we were going to bed he reminded me that he had been kind. You know...in a hint hint kind of way. I said, "You have got to be kidding me. Your move in cards had nothing to do with my threat. We both know that the only reason you didn't give me that point was because you had a heart and you had to play it."

LG's response: "So, I had a heart, doesn't that count for something?"

"Yeah, I guess it would, if the heart was actually beating and not sitting in your hand having to be played."

The WorldWide Web

There is nothing better than the web bringing people together for a good cause.

We are all so different, yet we are one.

Go Vols!

I knew it was that time of year again when I saw the church sign.

I know you'll all be surprised, but I haven't photographed it yet.

It's along the interstate right after the on ramp, and I am too cautious to stop, and too busy to make an extra trip out of my way to the front side of the building. Although the trip would most definitely be worth it.

The sign reads: God loves a Volunteer.

Knoxvillians are crazy about their UT Vols. Especially during football season.

I'm sure you'll all be impressed that I captured this license plate while driving on the interstate. I think this plate belongs to Abigail's first grade teacher. I didn't get close enough with my camera to make sure it was her. It seems to freak people out when you follow them and then point your camera in their face.

I'm sure my anonymous Southern die hard will be appalled to hear that I don't even own a piece of orange clothing. I am such an outsider. And it's never more apparent than during football season, when Coach Fulmer reigns, even when his team doesn't win. (which seems to be more often than not lately)

Personally, I love football season. I know that I can finally go to Wal-Mart on Saturday and not have to fight the crowd. EVERYONE is home watching the game. And for that, and for my husband's law degree...I say.....GO VOLS!!!

Here is the soda pop display at the local Food City grocery store.

A soldier and a stranger

Oh, how I love it when humanity shows its grace.

The Saints

I was at Wal-Mart doing my late night shopping last night.

I am known to hum or sing softly to myself while browsing down the aisles.

For some reason the song When The Saints Go Marching was stuck in my head.

While inspecting the breakfast cereal for the best deal, a woman stopped me in the middle of my measure. "It's so nice to hear from a good Christian", she declared.

I said, "Oh, excuse me, I just get a little carried away sometimes."

She said, "Please don't apologize. It's wonderful."

I was happy that she was happy. I was happy that she was a Christian too. I was happy that she took the time to tell me that she was glad that I was Christian. But, I was skeptical that she would still think so after finding out that I was a Mormon. Most protestant people in the South are taught by their clergymen that Mormons are not Christian.

I didn't say anything to her. I didn't want to burst her bubble. And, I was a little embarrassed that I was caught in my musical praise while dissecting the price per ounce of the Life cereal.

But, I would just like to take my Sunday post to declare. No matter what you have been taught by your pastor, please know this....I am true believer in Jesus Christ and his saving grace, and so are my other Mormon friends. We truly believe that we belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And so we try to be saints.

And, if you don't think I am a Christian because I don't put something so sacred like my testimony of Jesus Christ on my bumper, I will gladly give you my best rendition of any gospel song of praise in the cereal aisle: "Oh when the Saints go marching in, how I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in."

Codependent Elephant?

It took three years for this elephant to master his addiction! Yeah, that's a long time.

I hope it won't take me that long to maser my addiction to food.

How long do you think it will take this guy to give up the Big Macs?

Cook with common sense

Mom's advice for the day is cook with common sense.

And if you've don't got any, watch your mother in law while she cooks mac n cheese.

I used to always put the pasta back in the sauce pan and then add the rest of the ingredients in one at a time.

It was horrible.
The bottom would burn and the cheese would be clumpy and the pasta would crumble.

I may not have common sense on my own, but I do know how to watch and learn.
And, trust me when I say that I learned the much more effective method.

Leave the pasta in the colander. Then melt the butter in the empty sauce pan, add the milk and cheese, whisk, and wha -la...it's creamy sauce. Not clumpy or burnt.

And, THEN you add the pasta. And, it won't crumble.

It's as simple as well, should I say it? It's as simple as mac n cheese. And so was this post.

How to know the hurricane hit...

......without watching the news.

Beer alternative.

We had a talk with our daughters last night about what it means to be worthy to go to the temple. (For those of you who aren't Mormon and are curious as to what it means to be worthy to go to the temple, I suggest you read this.) Here's the conversation.

Me: "So girls do you know what you have to do to be able to go to the temple someday?"

Abigail: "Yeah, we have to keep the commandments?"

Me: "So, what exactly are you not supposed to do if you want to be able to go in the temple someday?"

Abigail: "What?"

Me: "Well, dad is about to tell you."

LG: "You have to keep the Word of Wisdom, The Law of Chastity, pay your tithing, have a testimony."

Abigail: "What is the law of chastity again?"

LG: You know, it's the law that says you can't have sex until you get married."

Abigail: (embarrassed) "Oh yeah."

Later in the conversation. Thank me for sparing you the details of the sex talk.

LG: "So girls, just don't have sex and no drinking Budweiser, and you'll be worthy to go to the temple someday. Got it?"

Abigail: "What's butt weiser?"

I guess we've been successful in indoctrinating our kids to not want that drink. Who wants to drink anything that originated from the butt plant?

LG: "And girls, trust me on this, it's a lot easier to not have sex after you are married than before you are married." (with a wink in my direction)

Abigail: "Yeah, that's because you have all these kids now."

More than words

I loved this song when I was a teenager.

I would fall madly in love with any boy who could play it on his guitar.

And, I am tired and must go to bed and it was the best thing I found on YouTube for my Tuesday post.

I hope you enjoy.

It was red.

It was red. It was perfect. And the story goes something like this:

The anticipation of Mother's Day was slowly putting my husband over the edge. How the man ever buys a satisfactory gift for me with all that intense pressure, I will never know.

On Saturday morning I chuckled inside as he begrudgingly announced that he had some business to tend to and would be home shortly. As he dragged himself out the door, I hollered out, for the twentieth time that week, my short list of things that he could buy for me. I try to help him out like that. That's what mothers are supposed to do and I wouldn't want to shirk my responsibility so close to the holiday, would I?

Less than ten minutes later, he walked in with a good size box under arm. It was all wrapped up. What in the world? He confessed; he had gone to work to pick up the gift that he had really purchased several weeks back. He had been acting worried for two weeks just to increase the surprise.

I gasped for air. Had he really bought me a gift two weeks in advance? I must be getting more special by the minute. Or was I just better looking when I was 8 months pregnant with number three? He never buys Christmas gifts until Christmas Eve; he learned quickly to put off the torture as long as possible. Wow. I couldn't have been more speechless if I had won the Grammy for mothering.

I was in a trance. I sat and I unwrapped. I felt like the luckiest mother alive. And let's keep this between me and you, I was taking my time because I was a bit worried about what he may have picked out all on his own. Ideas were flowing freely into my skeptical brain. What if it was horrid? How would I play it off? The worry lasted for just a second. The picture on the box stole away all of my spousal anxiety and mistrust.

My jaw dropped. If the box was correct, he had purchased my coveted Kitchen Aid mixer. I can't even tell you how many times it was on the long list of gifts to buy! It was the gift at the bottom for another day when we had more funding. It was a gift of such magnitude that it was never on the list that I typically yelled to him while he stomped out the door. How could he have remembered?

When I started to tear up, it was a little more emotion than he was ready for. He quickly explained, "I hope this gift lasts you for the next three years because you probably won't be getting anything else for a while." We would all become law school orphans soon enough.

The gift couldn't have been any more phenomenal. Except maybe if it was a new couch. That is still on the long list. I tore into the box; I couldn't wait to make some homemade rolls; I would finally be free of the torturous duty of kneading. I made a vow, the man would never hear me complain again.

But, wait! What color is that? It's not the same as the picture on the box? It's not the plain old white model. Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. My eyes did not deceive me. My man had given me the moon and the stars just as promised in those old fairytales. My new mixer was a mixer with a purpose; it made a statement as grand as mine.

My new mixer was the color of my personality. My new mixer was my favorite color that I had never dared to declare. It was red. It was perfect. It was the color that I always described like this, "I don't have a favorite color. I love them all. How could anyone declare a favorite color? All of the colors are beautiful in their own way. Oh, if I had to choose one? Well, I really do love the color red. It would be at the top of my list."

I am sure that LG has given me great Mother's Day gifts over the last ten years, but I can't for the life of me, think of one. How could he top perfection? And not because it was from the long list, but because it was red. He had chosen my favorite color. And it was beautiful. And if his 8 month pregnant wife wasn't beautiful, you could have never convinced her of it. Her husband had reached perfection in the gift giving department. And he did it just for her.

And I am now proud to exclaim my favorite color. When people ask, "What's your favorite color?" I proudly reply. "It's red. My husband chose it for me. It was a mixer. It was red. It was perfect."

Now honey, don't be getting any crazy ideas. A red couch would simply not do the trick for my upcoming birthday. Please keep the couch at the bottom of the long list and don't EVER try to pick me out a couch, o.k.? Really, I want a say in the couch department. I am serious.

Oh, and I love you. And, I love red. And, I love my red mixer. But, I won't love a red couch. Got that?

I will be submitting this to Scribbit's September Write Away Contest. Just for fun. And as my way of saying thanks for the topic.

Ta Ta's

Here's a car magnet I saw while driving around town the other day.

I want to get this cute little saying on a t-shirt.

I'm just a little worried that it might give too much attention to my ta ta's.

And, that would not be very modest, I'm afraid.

I guess I will just have to settle with adopting the cute little name.

I am thinking about doing the Race for the Cure
to celebrate Debbie McFarland.

She's the secretary at the girls' school
and I am happy to report that she has beat breast cancer.

And, I must say that her ta ta's are looking as good as ever.

Three cheers for modern medicine.

Or should I just give modern medicine just TWO great big cheers?

That may be all it needs to keep on saving those ta ta's.

Pray for Your Pastor

Here's a whole new concept.

Pray for the pastor you've got.

Who do you think changes the billboard?

The pastor or his wife?

Bald is beautiful

I found a way for LG to make a little extra cash on the side.

Anyone else interested?

Seatbelt Security

I have posted before about some of our family's seatbelt dialogue.

Here's another one that happened the other day.

LG: " Girls put your seatbelts on.

Do you guys want to know why you need to wear your seatbelts?"

Me: "Because you don't want to die if we crash, that's why. Now put them on."

Abigail: "We know mom. You've told us that a million times."

LG: "Yeah, but there's another reason. I was reading a Reader's Digest article the other day and it was talking about people who die in car crashes. 90% die because someone wasn't wearing their seatbelt. And lots of times the person that was wearing their seatbelt died, and the person who wasn't wearing their seatbelt lived. The person who wasn't wearing their seatbelt shot out of their seat like a missile and killed the other person. Wouldn't you feel bad if you killed mom?"

Abigial: "O.k. o.k. I am putting my seatbelt mom. I don't want to missile you."

Me: "I don't want to missile you or miss you either Abigail. Thank you."

My mom's advice for the day is:

Scare your kids into wearing their seatbelts.

And, please, please, teach your kindergartners how to take off and put on their own seatbelts, so that I don't have to wait longer in the school pick up line while you secure your child properly.

How to make the Grand Canyon more grand

As you know my husband's name is LeGrand.

Many people get confused over the name.

I tell them it's a French name,

and the best way for them to remember it is to think of it's meaning.

LeGrand means "The Big."

In fact, one of my favorite nicknames that LG was given is

The Big and The Mighty.

And you can all decide for yourself if that describes my hubby.

So, what does the name definition have to do with my post?

It was pure coincidence that we visited The Grand Canyon

on LeGrand's birthday.

In honor of LeGrand visiting The Grand Canyon,

you all should know that our girls have renamed

The Grand Canyon to LeGrand Canyon.

It's very fitting I think.

Don't you think LG looks just like this Native American

who claims to be The Grand Canyon?

And, to make the visit even more grand,

we made sure our rental car was a Grand Caravan.

I think the train is due for some updating

along with all the other signage at the Grand Canyon.

It shouldn't be hard, just add the "Le" at the front.

For me, The Grand Canyon, was just another evidence of God's majesty!

What is possibly more grand than that?

Except maybe the scriptures.

If you think of The Colorado River as Willy Wonka's chocolate river,

it's automatically more grand.

I thought it a grand coincidence that the Arch from the Arches National Park

showed up in clouds right over the Grand Canyon.

I think that maybe God was trying to tell us that he

approved of our name change.

If you decide to hike, make sure that you read the signs so you can get back up.

Stop at the shop and gets some Dreyer's Grand ice-cream.

Hide from mom in the tower and make her panic for a good twenty minutes

that you may have fallen into the canyon.

That's always grand fun.

Especially when dad is in on the game.

Doesn't it look like they are touching a painting?

Nope just pointing out the grandness.

Put yourself into the painting.

Because you are part of God's grand creations too.

Tease your mom and wife some more by laughing at her

as she hollers for you to step back.

Then laugh some more as she eats crow for freaking out for no reason.

Take time to notice the very few flowers in the area.

Show your children that you are just as grand

as any of those overpriced toys that they want.

Camp...you gotta camp.

Find something very small to remember the grand occasion.

This is our baby owl.

Her name is Paquito.

We let dad name her for his birthday.

Enjoy a grand hike or two or three.

Sit right at the grand edge.

It's so much fun.

Notice all the grand fossils.

And the grandest layering ever.

Can we call this a grand bee?

And, make sure you visit at the grandest times of the day.

Sunrise and sunset of course.

Take notice of the grand calves. Nothing less would be worthy.

Lean over just once and ponder the

grandness of your own mortality.

The horizon is endless and so is the land.

What's more grand than that?

Add your own caption here. I can't think of one.

On your drive home, take a grand minute or two to realize that the

grandness of God and his creations are really never ending.

You just have to keep looking.