FunnyBlog

Sooo Tennessee.
If this photo wasn’t taken in Tennessee,
I would be very very surprised.
 
Looking at this photo,
I can’t help think back to the beginning of our journey in Tennessee,
when I helped LG write his entrance exam for law school.
And remember when I confused Juris Doctorate for John Deere.
I wasn’t born in the South, but I got there as quick as I could.

Just last week, LG and I went to a wedding reception,
where we sat across from a couple that remembered me
from my mission.
I had taught their family and two of their sons were baptized
while I served my Mormon mission in South Ogden, UT.
While we chatted,
she chuckled at me several times 
and told my husband that I hadn’t changed a bit.
When she e-mailed me this photo earlier today,
I chuckled. 
No wonder I had hit if off with their family so well.
God sure knows what he is doing.

Project Straight
Aunt Renee thought it would be fun to straighten Caroline’s hair.

It looked much worse in person.
Thanks anyway Na.
I guess she’s stuck with her curls.
I can’t say that I’m disappointed.

Don’t forget that you only have one week left to enter 
July’s Joke Contest.

Church in the ToyBox

Today, I will be attending church,
like I have every Sunday of my entire life.

I am sure I will learn something.

I am sure I will laugh a few times.
Mormons can be so funny.
Even the world-wide leaders have great senses of humor.

I may even cry. I often do.

I will make too many comments in Sunday School and then feel bad that I did.

I will miss my friends from Tennessee but be grateful for the new ones that as members of the same church were here to welcome us with open arms, as soon as we arrived.


I will cook the family a good dinner.

I will wrestle with Caroline for the hour and 1/2 of the Sacrament Meeting and then rejoice when the closing hymn starts on the organ and she screams “Nursery” because she knows it’s time to go and hang with her toddler buddies and color, play with bubbles, mold playdoh, sing songs, and have treats.

God bless you Nursery leaders.

But, I can’t help thinking about what it would be like to worship in the Lego church.
Maybe it really wouldn’t be a worshipin experience (I don’t like legos that much)
but it would be awe-inspiring I am sure.

I think today, at one point, I will close my eyes and imagine myself here.
I will imagine the words coming from a plastic preacher.

But mostly I will imagine my 4 bedlamites as still as cellulose acetate.


ahhh…that’s more like it.

I am sure Jordan would love to join me.

Life

Enjoy a humorous explanation of your life.

A friend e-mailed me this story and I thought it would be a good share.
 Especially after such a non-funny week.

On the first day, God created the dog and said, “Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years. 

“The dog said, “That’s a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I’ll give you back the other ten?” 

So God saw it was good. 

On the second day, God created the monkey and said, “Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I’ll give you a twenty-year life span.” 

The monkey said, “Monkey tricks for twenty years? That’s a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the dog did?” 

And God, again saw it was good. 

On the third day, God created the cow and said, “You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer’s family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years.” 

The cow said, “That’s kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I’ll give back the other forty?” 

And God agreed it was good. 

On the fourth day, God created humans and said, “Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I’ll give you twenty years.” 

But the human said, “Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?” 

“Okay,” said God, “You asked for it.” 

So that is why for our first twenty years, we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years, we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years, we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years, we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone. 

Life has now been explained to you. 

There is no need to thank me for this valuable information. I’m doing it as a public service. If you need me I’ll be on the front porch.

July Visiting Teaching
I guess I am really putting myself out there with this project. You are all going to know what day of the month I get around to my visiting teaching. 

 This month’s message is about the temples of God.

This was my favorite quote:

“The primary purpose of the temple is to provide the ordinances necessary for our exaltation in the celestial kingdom. Temple ordinances guide us to our Savior and give us the blessings that come to us through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Temples are the greatest university of learning known to man, giving us knowledge and wisdom about the Creation of the world. Endowment instructions give guidance as to how we should conduct our lives here in mortality. … The ordinance consists of a series of instructions on how we should live and covenants we make to live righteously by following our Savior.” ~Elder Robert D. Hales


Hole in One
Dear LeGrand,
I want you to know that I count every one of my memories with you as sacred.
I wouldn’t be whole without them
and I don’t ever want to live without you.

I swung the club
and off it sailed.
So far away,
it was hard to eye.

But it only took you
for me to see
that my shot
was off by a mile.

In the woods,
we went and searched,
and laughed
until we cried.

We suck,
we lamented.
My game was so bad.
Irrelevant.

Our par didn’t matter
we were intoxicated
just you and me
experiencing a first.

We shot ball after ball
and finally got one
over the river
instead of in it.

Years ago,
we were on that course
in St George
and I will never forget.

Your smile
and your laugh
and your patience
and your love.

When reflecting
I know for certain
I got the most important
hole in one.

I love you LeGrand. Happy Birthday.
I can’t wait to have many many more firsts with you.

I am white trash and I can’t be burned.

I am white trash.

I have admitted it before.

I teach my kids about it.

I get all giddy inside when I find reasons to think I am not as white trash as I thought.

I have bragged about embracing it.
Thanks to all ya’ll in the South, who helped me get there.

However, being white trash does not make me void of feelings.
It does not make give me permission to not try and be a better wife.
It does not make me NOT want for more out of myself.
It certainly doesn’t make me unloved.

So, if I am white trash, so be it.

But, you, whoever you are, that loves to call me white trash,
because you think it’s the most hurtful thing you can say.

First of all, you have to do better than that.
And second, I just want you to know one thing.

I know that God knows what you do and you will one day have to answer to Him.
Therefore, I don’t have to worry about it.

And do you know what else?
I love it when I have a church sign that is perfect for the moment.
You can’t touch me because I have sonscreen,
therefore I cannot be burned.

When you sit at your computer and spew forth vial insults anonymously, do you know what it says about you? You are a coward and you have issues.
Why are you obsessing over me?
And why do you feel it justified to kick any of God’s children, even if they are Mormon.

I would be white trash any given day over mean and hateful.
White trash people are some of the best people I know.
It’s the people who don’t admit their trashy parts that I worry about.
And the people who go around pointing fingers at other people for being trashy are especially special.
I poke fun. I speak my mind. I have opinions, sometimes they are wrong. Gratefully, there are people out there who have the guts to take it up with me in person because when they correct me in love (often on my blog) I often find myself wanting to change. And I am grateful when I see the error in my ways because this life is really just one big chance to improve really.

Deep inside I love people, I really do.
And that is why people love me in return.
Let me talk to you for 5 minutes,
I will try my darndest to understand you and I will find a reason to love you.
I probably already have.

Sorry for the rant today, my readers who come over for some funny, but it was merited and anonymous put me in bad mood which reflects on my writing.

Go ahead everyone, feel free to stand with me and admit just one part of your trashy selves.
It’s so liberating.

Today’s admission for this not so fun blogger:

My baby is walking around in a onsie that is covered in brown make-up stains.
I put it on her after getting it out of her drawer that way.
Yesterday after Abigail’s load of laundry was covered in ink stains out of the dryer,
I told her to just go ahead and fold her bras and underwear as nobody is gonna see the stains on her underwear.
I hope I will remember to tell her to wear the unstained ones next time she has a doctor’s appointment.

Oh, and if you happened to miss all the excitement and are wondering why the heck I am freaking out, make sure you read each and every comment by anonymous on this popular post.

Harry Potter can dance

I love surnames for boys’ names.
I once told my husband, “Awww, wouldn’t Potter be such a cute name for a boy?”
“Sure, Alice, if our last name wasn’t Gold.”


Potter Gold. Imagine it. If I wasn’t totally cruel, I think my sense of humor would have gone for it.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, everyone knows we only do girls around here.
And Mary was never on the Top 10 list.

I know, I know. My husband says I am going Potter crazy.
But just because he said that, I thought it would be a great time for one last Potter post.
It’s a Potter Gold at the moment.

Thanks to Kate, a dancer, in Washington for this amazing share with this great clip.
[Warning: she throws out a f bomb at the bottom of the post]

Even though I shared some other videos from the Tony’s,
I somehow missed this one.

I don’t know about you, but watching this made me emotional.

I think I am emotional for two reasons:

One – Harry Potter lives on. He will be alive in all of Danielle Radcliffe’s work. Probably not cool for Daniel, but so cool for those of us that love Harry.

Two – Not to steal Harry’s go to word magic, but there is something that is magical about combining the art forms of singing and dancing. I think that people who don’t like musicals don’t like the emotion on any level. There is nothing like a good musical number to bring out the best and worst inside of me.

Please LG, take me to Broadway before I die.

How is that for emotion?

Oh, and does anyone else think that the lady in red isn’t very good?
I am sure that I committing some kind of novice mistake by calling some Broadway great awful?
But really I thought she was awful.
Surely they can find better singers than this in NYC.

And a joke to make the post somewhat funny.

An older woman was sitting alone at a matinee of A CHORUS LINE, a The man next to her asked, “Is that seat empty” “Oh yes”, she answered, “my husband and I got these tickets months ago and he passed away.” “Oh”, said the man, “Couldn’t you find a friend or relative to come with you?” “Oh no”, said the woman, “they are all at the funeral”. 


My Husband Loves Boobs

I remember having a conversation years ago with a lady about breastfeeding etiquette. She had whipped it out in sacrament meeting and I was a little astonished.

“Isn’t that why we have mother’s lounges in every church?” I prodded.
She replied, “What’s the difference in me breastfeeding my kid and you feeding your baby a bottle in church?
Um, I thought that the answer was obvious, but she was awaiting a reply.
“The difference is simple really: Your boob.”

(Hello to you, if you are reading this – I am sure you will make your opinion on the matter known.)

“My husband does not want to be looking at that.”
And he didn’t. He was the one that brought my attention to the boob in the first place.

Guess what? Over the years, I have discovered something. My husband does want to be looking at that! He’s a man. He has a thing for boobs. That’s what men do. They start life on their mom’s and work their way up to having free access to their wife’s. It’s the perk of marriage. At least that’s how it is at our house. I don’t know how it is for you flat chested ladies.

Oh man, my husband is going to kill me.
So,this post is really just my plea: cover it up ladies.
Please.

I know it’s all trendy right now to advocate for mom’s rights to whip it out, but really, can we not be considerate for other people? Especially other ladies who don’t want their husbands to have any temptation? I hope you don’t think I am 100% serious. My husband isn’t some creep who goes around stalking lactating liberals. But, there is always an awkward moment for him when a woman whips it out with no shame.

I am assuming the moment goes something like this in his mind:
“Should I look? Should I not look? Boy, I think I could look and still get into heaven.”

My hubby sent me a link about a lady with a Breastfeeding truck. who has been featured recently in the news.
It showcases a woman’s desire to create a place where mom’s can breastfeed comfortably and privately.

Bless you, Jill Miller.

Now, all my hubby has to do when he is feeling kind of desperate is look at the huge nipple on top of your private place. Nice. At least your way he can still get into heaven.

Oh, if you didn’t read the article, I’ve got to let you in on the best part. The author says fictionally to her children,”No children, that’s not an ice-cream truck, stay away, it’s a milk truck.”

I bet some moms in South America who are still breastfeeding their 8-year-olds are wishing they could get a milk-truck in their country.

Oh, here is a place you can buy a classy udder cover. Or if you are the typical Mormon mommy who likes to be crafty, go here to learn how to make your very own baby blanket. Because even though we live in a fancy schmancy 21st century where we have to have every product on the market, a baby blanket really works for everything.
At least that’s what I think every time I see someone walking around with one of these. Of course it’s so cute; Cally made it.
But really, I had four kids and used a blanket to cover my car seat with every one and it worked out just fine.

Coming soon: a post about the versatility of baby blankets.
Oh and for you la leche nazis, I did breastfeed. I have nothing against it. Nothing at all.
Unless it’s you, and you are all hanging out in front of my man.