Trading Spaces Home Edition

As I mentioned earlier, we have been doing some moving around here--not from house to house, but from room to room. (LOL, don't most people move from room to room, you ask? NO. They just sit in one room day after day after day. So there.) All of this relocation has caused quite a flurry of redecorating. Much more than one puny little woman can do on her own. Does this stop me? NO. Because it's obvious to everyone that no other human could do it as well as me. Therefore, it's pretty much me putting along while my two youngest nag me about my horrifically slow pace in getting their rooms done. Fun times.

Shnookie2 had the audacity to imply that I wouldn't be so slow if I weren't so picky about every little detail. I'm ashamed to even say it, but she actually said, "Everything doesn't have to be perfect, Mom." I gasped and retorted, "I don't even know you anymore!" Sigh. Where did I go wrong?

Okay, so now I'm ready to show a picture of the latest project, and I'm regretting ranting on about perfection. Talk about building up expectations! So take the picture you've created in your mind and scale it back several (5 or 20) notches. Maybe then you won't be so underwhelmed at the final product, lol!

This is Shnookie1's old room, which is now Shnookie3's new room. It was a total boy room...

BEFORE

To a girly girl glam room...

AFTER

We're still working on the details (rug, art, etc.), but at least she's in and loving it! And I'm exhausted. And Shnookie4 is breathing down my neck for her room to be done. Even Vern Yip couldn't work under these conditions!

Zac Efron can breath easy

About 3 months ago, Shnookie1 was at the mall with his friends, and he got stopped by a talent scout. They were looking for extras to be in High School Musical 3 (being filmed in Utah), so they took Shnook's number and the numbers of 2 of his friends. They actually called him in for an audition a week later. My little girls were OUT OF THEIR HEADS excited...sure their big brother would be the next Zach Efron. They were soooo bummed when he couldn't go to the audition because of work. Way more bummed than Shnook.

We somehow went on with our lives.

3 weeks ago, Shnookie1 was at a skate park with his friends. This time he was approached by a scout looking for skateboarders for High School Musical 3. They took his number and that of another of his friends. This time he was a bit more excited. Being paid to skate all day...be in a movie... sounded like a pretty good gig to him!

A week passed, then Shnookies 1 & 2 went to Park City for a week. Towards the end of the week, Hubby was checking his cell phone voice mail and found a call from the agency, asking Shnookie 1 to come in for an audition...ten days ago. (He doesn't check his messages often, since his mom leaves 8 to 10 a day for him and he needs a big chunk of time to wade through those...I mean, listen to them and take copious notes.) Hubby called the agency, and they said "Oh no, it's not too late, come on in!"

Since it was my turn to shuttle kids to odds ends of the earth (okay, it's always my turn for that), I ended up taking him to the appointment with his 'agent.' What ensued was definitely one of the oddest experiences of my life. First of all, we sat down with Mr. Hollywood Agent, and he said "So, you skateboard and you're good. Darn. We could've used you last week when we filmed for High School Musical. But that's all done." Great. "But since you're here, let me tell you about the books I've written, where to buy them, all the stars I've worked with, the five years I was a Navy Seal, my advanced degrees in political science and English, and the five languages I'm fluent in. Oh, and let me do it in character as the Colombian drug lord I played in my last movie."

Man, do I wish he said all of that so succinctly. Instead, he drew it out for an hour, all the while bestowing strange bits of wisdom upon my son, intermixed with reminders that he (Shnookie) was gonna have to do an emotional reading for the man and CRY during it. This process involved a lot of pontification on Mr. Agents theories about the "man walls" that keep men from crying.

Any one who knows Shnookie1 well knows that he displays only one range of emotion. Evidently, he feels more than that inside (or so he tells us), but on the outside, we see one guy...same expression...24/7. It's literally taken me ten years to figure out when he's feeling something. Even then, I cannot tell the difference between depressed and angry. Elated looks exactly like mildly amused. He's a tough nut to crack. So for someone to ask him to cry on cue; well, I laughed out loud. (Briefly. I didn't want to undermine his confidence. As if anyone would know.)

I've heard those stories about people who can't express emotions except through their acting, so I was trying to keep an open mind, waiting for Shnook to show a sign whether or not he really wanted to go further with this. Eventually, I could plainly see 2 things: 1) Mr. Renaissance Agent Man wanted my son to catch the acting bug so that we would shell out money to them for acting classes, and 2) Shnookie had no desire to cry for the odd little man. (I guess the hour of his squirming, foot tapping and sweaty palms finally tipped me off on that one.)

So I intervened. We left with 3 website addresses (written on a sticky for us by the agent himself): one for an 'extras' site, where you can sign up and they'll call you for extra's roles in Utah movies; one for a website where Shnook could view a clip of Mr. Druglord's latest movie; and one for a site where we could buy his book. I kid you not.

I think that was enough Hollywood to last both of us a lifetime.

No one is safe now

So very much to say, but no time. (See, not even enough time to form a complete sentence.) However, I just HAVE to post this picture of my little puppy, spying on the neighbors. I was laughing so hard I almost wet my pants.

Yes, those are his own skinny legs holding him up.
I swear, he did this on his own, and it wasn't because he saw me do it! (I'm more of a binoculars pointed at the bathroom snoop.)

Black Look-alike Meter

Thanks to Jen for directing me to this look-alike meter. Hubby and I are really chuckling, because people always say Jayci looks exactly like him, and Libby just like me. That's not how this meter saw it!

MyHeritage: Look-alike Meter - Free family tree maker - Geneology

Black Look-alike Meter

MyHeritage: Family trees - Genealogy - Celebrities - Collage - Morph

Either way you put it, it's hard

At the beginning of this, our first week of summer, I unveiled my brainchild: our motto for this summer:
Aren't I brilliant? Totally came up with that, all by myself. hee
And now it's on the fridge, so it's law.
Naturally, my kids are all for the second part, so they had mixed emotions. In fact, they were somewhat bipolar as we discussed this plan. Glaring and depression during the work parts, instant elation and giddiness at the play parts. Up and down, up and down. That roller coaster ride should count for at least one of the play hard rewards.

The reason I put this theme into place is this: I've been realizing lately how many fun things we've never done that are practically in our front yard. Granted, most of that is because I was in bed for several years, but THE TIME HAS COME. I've also been noticing how neglected our home is (again, the bed thing). That part isn't exactly an epiphany--it's more like I'm suddenly motivated. And with 4 slaves under my command, it will go faster, right? Also, a couple of our kids have been so whiny lately, and nothing cures that like hard labor! (or a few swift kicks to the shins, but that's frowned upon for some reason.)

Soooo, we sat down and made a list. For every 'fun' idea they came up with, they had to come up with a needed project around the house. And after days of negotiations and their lawyers meeting with my lawyers...we settled on a plan. This week we've been taking one room a day to clean, and as a reward (the BIG ONE, as they call it), we're going to Lagoon tomorrow. Wheeee! (<--only half sincere on my part)

Can I just tell you how EXHAUSTED this motto has made me? I still don't have my full energy, so working hard is hard work, and playing hard is even harder work for me. I've gone to bed every night (at 7:00 pm) physically sick from the exertion.

Which just goes to prove that while hard work cures the whinys (whinies?) in children, it has the opposite effect on me. It turns me into a whiner.

I want my mom.

The one day it's NOT all about me

Yesterday was June 3rd, which in this household has meant "Wedding Day for Lisa!!" Lisa is my dear friend who suddenly became a single mom of 3, two years ago. (Her first husband was a knucklehead--as my dad would say--who thought he'd find greener pastures elsewhere. BTW, he and his "new pasture" bought a house ACROSS THE STREET from Lisa last month. See? Knucklehead. Needless to say, Lisa's house is now up for sale. Anyway...) Lisa met, dated, and married a great guy named Brett, and we're all so happy!

I met Lisa 5 years ago, when she moved here and we discovered that we have not one, but TWO shnookies the same age. She found three other moms who had shnookies the same age, and we formed a play group. We moms became very close. And while our shnooks are all older now and have moved on to other friends, we moms still do our play group--w/o the kids. So Lisa asked us all to be bridesmaids (or bridesbabes, as I made her change it to, since you're never too old to be a babe) along with...get this: ELEVEN other friends of hers. For the mathmatically challenged, that's FIFTEEN bridesmaids, er babes.


I really hate this picture of me (it'd been a long day), but since I can't in good conscience photoshop myself out, we'll all have to deal. But isn't Lisa GORGEOUS?! And, of course, this is less than half of all the b-babes. See how she had us all get black dresses and then gave us a champagne sash to wear? That was kinda fun. Another playgroup friend, Aleis (to the right of me, looking as fresh as ever, dang her), and I drove up to Bountiful together for the wedding. So there we are, two grown women walking into the temple in matching dresses. Sweeeeet.

But back to the subject at hand. Let me just flood cyberspace with a joyful shout of...
CONGRATULATIONS LISA AND BRETT!!!!

Care for something lacy?

Shnookie3 attended a birthday party yesterday, for her good friend she's known since birth (10 long years). They went to the local mall and had a treasure hunt. I was impressed--what a clever idea. I'm thinking that her mom, my friend, was indeed a smartie. Then I learned that it was being orchestrated by the girl's father and his new trophy wife. That is when I should've started asking questions.

But NOOOOOO, Mama was just happy to have one less mouth to listen to, so I sent her off for 3 hours of mall treasure-hunting. When she gets back, she tells me how they went to 4 stores--one at a time--where the clerk would hand them a clue to lead them to the next store. Okay, sounds tricky to coordinate (aren't these clerks supposed to be working??), but cool. Then she shows me one of the clues, which I don't get, so I ask her what it meant. She said "Oh, that one lead us to Victoria's Secret." I'm thinking "oh please let there be another Victoria's Secret I don't know about that sells candy." Nope. This step-mom did not think twice about marching a bunch of 10-yr-old girls all the way through Victoria's Secret. My daughter was mortified. She melts into a gooey pile if we enter a department store anywhere near the lingerie section (and those sections are pretty tame, if you KWIM). The 'mom' says to them "Oh, it's no big deal--I shop here all the time." NOT helpful information.

This mall has well over 100 stores. They pick just 4, and one of them has to be Victoria's Secret?? Am I weird to think this is wildly inappropriate?

I was telling a friend this experience today, and she was duly horrified. Then she told me about a friend who'd sent her son to an army-themed party, where the parents gave all the boys BUZZ CUTS. Can you imagine?

Hmmm...now I'm wondering if maybe at Shnookie4's cheerleader party we should've injected air into all of their heads. Tee-Hee, JK, I like cheerleaders, please don't send explosive pom-poms to kill me.