Flashback Friday - "Positive" outcomes

I know that it has been far too long since my last post, but I have excuses.  Good excuses!  So what better way to make up for my lack of blog posts, than a good, 'ol, juicy, tale, from my past.  This particular tale is actually more recent than my past stories, but it's a good one!  It's full of good, gossip, surprises, tears, worry, excitement, and love.

Ooooohhhh, the anticipation is just too much!

My Flashback Friday story did actually happen on a Friday.  A Friday evening, prior to Halloween.  There was a chill in the night, and I was home alone with the children.  The hubs was working his regular night shift, keeping the city streets safe, from the evil scum that roams it. 

Homeboy and I made a trip to Target earlier that day and as I came to the health and beauty aisles, I knew I had to do it.  I had to purchase a "certain product". 

I know that if I were you, reading this story, I would assume that this "product" would be some sort of a feminine nature product.  For some reason, when people hear my name and feminine supplies, they assume I had some horrid experience involving them.  Well, actually, I have.  But, alas!  Not this time! 

For the past 3 weeks my billowy, bosoms, were telling me something.  My bosoms are like nature's barometer.  A slight tingle indicates a storm is coming.  Aching... a low pressure front is making it's way to my neck of the woods.  I'd like to see the weathermen/women top my "equipment"!  Radars, hah!  I balk at their insignificant equipment!

So for the previous three weeks my "chestal - area" had been aching.  It was the familiar ache that comes, when  Mother Nature is about to intrude on my life.  But the problem was, Mother Nature never came.  And my bosoms were in a constant ache mode.

At first, I tried to ignore the aching.  It wouldn't have been the first time Mother Nature fooled me.  But deep inside the cockles of my brain, I began to worry.  This kind of curious episode had happened to me before.  Like the time when I was pregnant with Homeboy.  Oh, and the time when I was pregnant with Homey.  Yup, worry, had set in.  What if I was?  At my age! 

So on that chilly, Friday, evening, I purchased one of these:

And as soon as I laid the test stick on the counter, to wait the longest two minutes ever... It quickly became obvious that I would not have to wait even 10 seconds for the results.  There were definitely, two lines.  What the?!?!?  Who spiked my pee?!?!?!

There was no denying it... I'm with child!

In reality, I already knew I was.  I had been having waves of nausea overtake my very being, off and on for a couple of weeks, but I was in denial.

My reaction to this confirmation of pregnancy, was tears.  Tears of worry, tears of shock, tears of joy.

When one thinks that they are certainly done with having children, one tends to freak out a little when they suddenly become pregnant.  

For so many years, I have been told that I should have another baby.  There was  not a week that would go by, when someone would say those very words, "Jen, you should have another baby!  You should have a girl!"  And my reaction would always be, "I'm too old!"  Karma has a funny way of showing who's boss!

After I composed myself, I texted the hubs and told him the news and then I immediately scheduled a special appointment with a doctor for him.  I'm kidding.  But the thought has crossed my mind...especially when I'm trying to hold back from vomiting in the meat section of Walmart.  Blah!

His reaction was, "What?"  Needless to say, he was shocked also.  But he's good now!

So far my symptoms have been mild, compared to my first two pregnancies.  Even though I feel sick everyday and I'm tired, I am proud to announce that I have NOT thrown up yet!  Praise Momma!  Hallelujah!  Smells that make me want to vomit:  hot dogs, ketchup, my husband's breath (good or bad), Christmas trees (the live kind.  this one originated from my first pregnancy).  I'm sure the list will grow, as the days pass and I catch a waft of some pungent odor.  But I do consider myself very blessed to have considerably milder symptoms than my previous pregnancies. 

My due date is June 21st and I'm already planning EVERYTHING.  Nursery, names, baby products, clothes, and cleaning every single inch of my house. 

It's funny how you think your life is going and how it you see it going for the future.  Then all of the sudden Heavenly Father sends you a reminder of how your life should be going.  And quite frankly, I couldn't think of a better reminder, than a new baby (possibly a HomeGIRL, or a Homer) to come into our lives!

Flashback Friday - Family History

Today is a special day for my church. Today we celebrate the thousands of pioneers who trekked under harsh conditions to settle in the state of Utah.

This is Enoch Eldridge Gurr. He is my great, great, great, great grandfather. (I believe that's right. There could be one less or an extra "great" in there.) Enoch was a farm servant and ploughman by trade. He grew up in the town of Northiam, a small town in southeastern England.

Enoch and his small family moved to the newly opened land of Australia to seek his fortune. He left his parents and 8 brothers and sisters, never to see them again.

While traveling on the ship for Australia, smallpox broke out. Enoch's wife, Sarah and their baby, Jane, passed away then were buried at sea.

After many months at sea and the loss of his wife and infant daughter, Enoch and his other children, William and Mary landed in Sydney, Australia in the spring of 1838. The following year Enoch remarried and they were blessed with 5 additional children: James, Susannah, Sarah, Peter, and Reuben.

One day two strangers appeared at their home. They were missionaries for the Mormon church. Soon after being taught, Enoch and his family were baptized as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Enoch and his family lived in Australia from 1838 until 1857. It was then, when Enoch and his family set sail on another ship to answer the call of Brigham Young to return "home" to Utah because of problems in Utah.

After 3 months on the ocean, they landed in San Pedro California. They traveled with the Ezra Curtis Company and suffered many hardships crossing the desert in Nevada. Enoch's daughter, Sarah, tells of nearly dying of thirst. Then when a little rain fell they were able to drink the water that collected in the animal tracks. She also told of eating soup made from rawhide.

Enoch's family arrived to Provo, Utah in 1857 where they soon made their home in Parowan and raised their family there.

Enoch Eldridge Gurr

Born: November 27, 1813

Northiam, Sussex, England

Died: March 12, 1887

Benjamin, Utah

I like to think of the legacy that has been created by my dear ancestors of the past. Every triumph, every loss, and every story are the fibers that, sewn together, make up for my beautiful "family quilt". Because of their sacrifices, I am blessed today.

This is a picture of my grandmother and some of her siblings. She is the little girl wearing a big bow in her hair.

The Gurr family. My grandmother is near the center wearing a dark dress and a corsage. My grandpa is standing directly behind her. She was a classy lady!

"No matter if a tree grows to more than a hundred feet in height, each leaf, each day, must return to it's roots for nourishment."

My family in 1998.

Flashback Friday - Hair of the Times

My childhood was the best of times. And it was the hairiest of times.

In the beginning there wasn't much hair. A little fuzz, if you will. It didn't help to have my head shaved, as an infant, to have iv's stuck into my skull. I was ill as a wee babe and the doctor's suspected I had Cystic Fibrosis. It turned out to be a urinary tract infection.

How come my chub and rolls aren't as cute, now?

By the time I was 2 years old, the famous Olympic Ice Skater, Dorothy Hamill's hair, had made a strong impression on multitudes of wanna-be's. Apparently my mom followed suit.

Ages 2 1/2 and 3 begun the years of growing out my hair. My mom must have been too busy to curl my bangs.

1979 began the Saturday night ritual of bath time, then having my mom inflicting the unnecessary pain of PLASTIC CURLERS! Oh the humanity! Unfortunately, my sisters and I, were not blessed with curl-able hair and we had to sleep in hard, extremely, uncomfortable curlers every Saturday night. The soft, pinky, foam curlers just would not do the trick.

"Would you like some wine with that CHEESE?"

Yikes!

Check out the Olan Mills background!

One of my favorite tv shows, growing up, was Little House On The Prairie. Although I despised the evil Nellie Olsen, I was secretly envious of her golden ringlets.

It's a miracle! I have a twin!

After years of my mom having to enduring my screaming fits, while trying to comb through my tangles, she decided to have my hair chopped off. Thus ending in total hair-do disaster.

It must have been a rough night, the previous night. I probably partied too hard. This was also my first attempt of using a curling iron. Good grief.

After a couple of years of practice, my curling iron skills had improved significantly. But to my dismay, I chose to sport a glamorized mullet. The now, highly favored hair-stlyings of lesbians. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Eighth grade was a turning point for me. I waved "good riddance" to the mullet and grew out my sides. I had yet to learn my "mad skillz" of applying blue and pink mascara and my eyebrows were in a deep need of a good tweezing.

Ninth grade I discovered turquoise eyeshadow. Horrifying. My bangs were also, slowly creeping upwards, to the heavens. And so it began the hours spent of curling EVERY SINGLE HAIR, in the spiral fashion, ratting, and coating my do with a layer of polyurethane-like hairspray.

My sophomore year has to document my worst hair-do EVER! I decided to experiment with color this year and even attempted to become a bleach blonde by applying actual BLEACH to my hair. Yup, I was an idiot. As result of my experiment, I lost chunks of hair.

During Thanksgiving break, our family visited family in Idaho. My Aunt Janet offered to frost my hair. She asked me if I wanted it "light" and I agreed, excitedly. Little did I know "light" meant all previous hair color to no longer exist. And just to let you all know, I LOVED it!

My sophomore year I also began to wear foundation on my face...and my lips. (unknowingly) I believe a little blush and lip gloss would've been beneficial to me. Eeeeek!

This is my learners permit from my junior year. My bangs were the epitome of trendy fashion. It only took two hours to accomplish.

See those lovely blonde highlights? Those are leftovers from my frosted do, from the year before!!!!!

A strange phenomenon...my head shrunk.

Looking through pictures of the past, there are many times when I cringe with horror from the various hair styles I wore. But it is comforting to know that I was not the only one.

Now it's YOUR turn! I would love to see your best, or worst, do's. If you have a blog, it would make my day, no my year, if you would each post a picture or two of your favorite mullets, perms, or shags!

Flashback Friday - Puberty Mishaps

Technically, it's not Friday. But I did begin writing this post on Friday. Lately, it's been a little more difficult to sit down and write a full post during one sitting. Every time I attempt to jot down some juicy morsels of thoughts or stories on my blog, Conner will brandish a kitchen knife, consume poisonous materials, or climb on my lap and pound on my lap top's keyboard. It's hard to be witty and creative when you have a toddler running nekkid around the house with a kitchen knife in tow.

Approximately 6 weeks ago, I signed on the dotted line and agreed to have our local public school system teach my eleven year old son a thing or two about the mysteries of that, oh so ominous subject....PUBERTY. (dun, dun, dun!)

This is a conversation that I have feared, since Cody's birth. It's not the subject matter that scares me. And it's not the embarrassment that I am sure he will experience. And let's face it, he will experience it. It's the fear that I will crack up. That I will snicker and giggle uncontrollably when I have to mutter the certain terminology that comes with learning about PUBERTY. This is why I have made the executive decision to have my husband be the one to break the 'bad news' to our sons. And to, also, let the school nurse teach Cody about arm pit hair and the 'changes' that they will be experiencing. It's what every responsible mother would do.

As I signed that consent form, it brought me back to 6th grade and the PUBERTY class that I was associated with.

Let's face it people, PUBERTY sucked! There is so much to be concerned about. Arm pit hair beginning to sprout, training bra dilemmas, shaving your legs, sanitary napkins!!!! (que horrific scream...ahhhhhhhhhhh!) It's all too over whelming!

I was 12 years old and I could feel PUBERTY lurking over head. I knew it (whatever it was), was about to happen to me and I was not amused. Not amused about it one bit! This year was also the year that I had also discovered an odd, circular, red bump protruding smack dab in the middle of my forehead. What was this mysterious growth? A mole? Cancer? What! The thought of the slightly painful growth, throbbing and making it's presence known, kept me awake at night. So I unwillingly approached my dad with my concern. He investigated it up close and in his all knowing manner, diagnosed my anomaly. "I believe it's a pimple." "What's a pimple?" I asked. "Well, it's a zit. It's normal. Don't worry about it," he consoled me.

Well that was it. That day was officially the worst day of my life. Oh the humanity! I had a zit! I had a freakin' zit! I became so upset about the diagnoses, I ran to my room to throw my head into my pillow and bawl.

The following day I tried to conceal the volcanic-like growth. But it still managed to protrude in between the hair on my bangs. There was nothing I could do about it, except let time take care of it. I decided to stake a flag at the peak of my growth and gave it the title of MOUNT. JENNIFER. Twenty some years later, MOUNT. JENNIFER still flares up once in a while (more often than I would like). She also, sometimes causes a whole mountain range to suddenly appear on my face. It's a geological wonder!

Up until the zit incident, Puberty was still a worry stuck somewhere in the back nooks and crannies of my mind. Then the official, officials of South Side Elementary and other various school board members and adults, concurred with the idea of teaching me and my fellow pre-hormonal, arm pit hair wielding, classmates about Puberty. Consent forms were sent home and returned to our teachers with our parent's signatures firmly written on the dotted line.

Mrs. Bowman was one of the two 6th grade teachers, and she was responsible for teaching the 'health and science part' of school, to us. Mrs Bowman was a forbidding type of character. She was large in stature with short, tightly permed curls that surrounded her scalp. She talked with a thick Texan accent that would often be difficult to understand as she announced the spelling words to the students during spelling tests. She was also strict, and carried a stern look on her face at all times. The only time she would crack a smile was when she was inflicting punishment on a fellow student.

The day, prior to the Puberty course, she explained that we would be watching a film. She also threatened each and everyone of our pre-teen lives if there was one snicker, one giggle or one outburst of laughter!

In her deep Texan accent she proclaimed, "If any of y'all giggle, laugh, or have one out burst of laughter...y'all be headin' to the hallway!" She meant business.

The day of the Puberty Course, you could feel the nervous tension surrounding all of the sixth graders. Student's with older siblings were given the 'heads up' as to what we were about to embark on. And the word on the street was that we would be witnessing explicit drawings of the nekkid forms of the male and female species on the film. Kill me! Kill me now!

I sat in my assigned desk, next to a male student named, Colby. As we sat in our desks, we sat quietly and nervously. Our, large in stature, Texan teacher warned us again about any laughter during the film then instructed another student to turn off the lights.

The narrator on the film began to explain the wonderful journey that each and everyone of us were about to embark on. He told us about growth spurts, other things growing, male voices deepening, leg hair, arm pit hair, and other hair growth. All the while, I sat uncomfortably, listening.

Next we watched a short movie about twin siblings. One was a boy and the other twin was a girl. The boy was upset because his sister was taller than him and was maturing faster than him. The sister was upset because she ran out of sanitary napkins and had to endure the humiliation of buying a package at the local drug store, all by herself. After purchasing the package she encountered her twin brother and his friends on the street. They asked what was in the shopping bag and then played keep away with the package of sanitary napkins. Once they found out what was in the shopping bag, they gave the contraband back to her and she walked away sobbing. If it were me, I would have pelted their fat heads with my package of sanitary napkins!

The movie ended and I thought we were in the clear. There wasn't one picture of any kind of nekkid form. Phew! Then Mrs. Bowman loaded another film strip. And there it was... an enlarged image projected on the screen, that will forever be burned into the cockles of my memories. A cartoon-like image of a nekkid teenage girl. Hair growth and all. My cheeks began to burn from the heat of embarrassment and my eyes widened with shock. A few snickers broke the silence and Mrs. Bowman yelled, "Hey! Keep it down y'all!" The narrator went on to explain the 'ins and outs' of what girls experience during puberty. It was humiliating.

By this time, me and my classroom neighbor, Colby, were desperately trying to with hold in our laughter by placing our hands securely over our mouths. Every time I would glance at Colby, our bodies began to shake with laughter. Tears began to stream down my cheeks from the embarrassing humor.

I was sitting directly to the side of Mrs. Bowman, so I knew I had to get a grip and contain myself. I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. I wiped the tears away, put a straight face on and glared at Colby, as a warning to "quit looking at me!"

The recording of the narration from the film then chimed. It was the chime that signaled to turn the knob of the projector to project the following image. This time it was the nekkid male species. Side profile images blared against the screen. That did it. Colby and I looked at each other and we each burst into an obnoxious, harmonious, chorus of laughter.

"Bah hahahahahaha! Snicker! Snicker! Bah hahahahahaha!"

There just was no stopping us. I tried with all of might to contain the laughter, but I had failed. Miserably.

Mrs. Bowman stopped the film immediately, pointed her finger at us and yelled, "That's it! Y'all go sit in the hallway! This is no laughing matter!"

With my head hung low, my face red from laughter, and tears streaming down my cheeks, I walked out of the classroom to the hallway. My body shook the whole way to my "time-out" spot, because I was still laughing.

She ordered Colby to sit 5 feet away from me, on one side of the doorway, and me on the other. Colby and I spent the rest of the class time laughing and reminiscing of the material that was shown to us.

So as my oldest child prepares for his journey, I hope that I can be sympathetic to his feelings and worries about puberty. And that the ghosts from my Puberty Class past do not appear during our future conversations. But then again, I have made the executive decision to pass this torch on to my husband. Good luck, husband dear.

Flashback Friday - Prom Bomb

Awww prom. Such fond memories of the proms that I attended. When preparing for the prom, there was much to be expected. My date, my hair, and of course, perhaps the single most important aspect of prom - my dress.

Almost every teenage girl was willing to endure the daily, monotony, that was of high school, in order to attend the prom. Prom was the highlight of our high school careers. We lived for prom. There were many moons that I dreamed of my prom and I vowed to have my "Pretty in Pink" moment!

Much to my disappointment, this dress turned out to be hideous. "Oh Andie, we had such high hopes for the dream prom dress that you created!"

Nothing screamed, the "90's", like my junior prom dress did. I was surprised my parents let me leave the home in this dress, due to the plunging neck line, see-through lace sleeves, and the gaping low back. I felt pretty, yet a little naughty, at the same time. It was a soft peach color with an ultra hip, hem-line. I was gorg! I was hot!

I spent countless hours preparing for my junior prom. Curling every single hair on my head and ratting my bangs to reach maximum height. My date, and boyfriend at the time, managed to shave the scruff off of his face and put a comb through his mullet. It was a little too "bouffant" if you ask me. I had hoped he would pluck the hairy, caterpillar-like, uni-brow for our special night...but sadly the hairy caterpillar, also made an appearance on prom night.

Our lil' high school decided to go with a "big city" theme that year and adorned the local Elks Lodge with black tulle and top hats. We were so hip!

My mullet-stylin' boyfriend didn't bother to empty his pockets for our memorable pic. Nice.

There were some other couples, just as stylish as us, that attended prom that year! And I knew I just had to share their pictures with you, my friends!

Terrell did his best, to keep a straight face, when his girlfriend, LaShonda, came up with idea of wearing matching Winnie the Pooh, prom attire, for their special night. "Only for you, Pooh Bear."

Amber and her friends were elated to find out that they would be attending the prom with a Bon Jovi cover band. "You give love....a bad name!"


Fellow classmates were in awe of Reggie's pimped out cane. He topped the look off, by matching his girl, Shaniqua's, prom frock.

Rico, suave.

Seymour was thoroughly impressed with Opal's prom dress...that she knitted herself. Opal's inspiration was the macrame plant holder that hung from the ceiling, at her grandmother's house.

Opal's grandmother called this macrame pattern, Sunshine Surprise!

Nicky and Nikki turned heads, as they entered the fully decked out Prom arena! Nicky was resourceful, when picking out this camo, donning tux. The following morning he went duck hunting.

Kee Shawn and Shenaynay were in perfect harmony with their coordinating prom attire. Created and hand sewn by Shenaynay's older sister, Lakesha, no less! Now there's a future clothing designer! Everyone agreed that they should be voted as that years Prom King and Queen!

Flashback Friday! The moose mishap

During the ages of 10-13 I shared a newspaper route with my younger brother Brian. I despised this job. It was also the most dangerous job that I have ever had. And I have had quite a few jobs.

Often, when one thinks of a young brother and sister duo, riding their bikes along tree lined streets in a small town and delivering the breaking news of the world daily, endearing and the epitome of a Norman Rockwell print comes to mind. But ohhhhhh, let me tell ya... the two of us endured many dangers. The elements, rabid guard dogs, disgruntled customers and a pervert or two.

We dreaded the Wednesday and Sunday papers especially, because of the extra fliers and coupons that were stuffed in each paper. Our bags became so heavy, we often fell over and crashed our bikes, due to the heavy mass shifting.

"The job" entailed the two of us waking up at the bum crack of dawn, which was torture for a gal that had and still does have, a horrible time getting up in the mornings. Next we would roll papers, stuffed our ugly newspaper bags in the front and the back, and then hopped on our bikes, delivering newspapers over miles of streets with in a certain amount of time, all before we had to get ready and go to school.

Winter was the worst. Wyoming winters are known for being a bit brutal. The rule was, with my parents, "If the temperature hits 0 degrees or below, dad will drive you on your routes." Zero people! You heard me right. Zero! There were many times me and my brother would be standing in my parent's bedroom doorway begging for a ride when the temperature was 1 degree. It was a rare occasion, if they gave in.

It was one of those frozen days, that my famous "moose mishap" occurred. There was at least a foot and a half of snow, that blanketed our little town, and the temperature was measuring in the single digits vicinity. I woke up in the hopes of listening to the radio with my brother and to hear the dj announce that the temperature was zero degrees. But our hopes were crushed to learn that the temperature was a whopping eight degrees. "That's too warm," I thought to myself. "There's no way dad will drive us today." Me and Brian didn't even attempt to wake my dad to beg for a ride.

We then each loaded our bags and hopped on our bikes. And yes, we did ride our bikes in the snow, because it was faster. And we were willing to try anything to make the torture pass by faster. We separated to our assigned streets and we were off.

Delivering papers in the winter, we would sometimes encounter some wild game animals that had made their way from the mountains near by, into town, in search of food. And it just so happened that a moose was hanging around my "beat" the past several days.

So there I was pedaling my bike slowly, in the dark, with my head facing down to cover it from the bitter cold breeze and listening to my pink walk man. I was a sight to be seen. I looked like a stuffed sausage, covered head to toe with layer upon layer of winter gear. This was so un-cool, to me. If a boy from my junior high ever caught sight of me, I knew it would be the end of the world for me.

I was in my zone of pedaling, pedaling, pedaling, stop. Get off bike, throw down bike, grab paper, walk up to the door and place paper in the desired location. Then I was off to repeat the same routine over and over again.

Fifteen minutes in and the snow began to fall. It began to fall harder and harder, making it even more difficult to see what was in front of me. I had just finished delivering to a string of houses and began to ride towards another street. I was in my own little world, and watching the ground as my bike made tracks in the newly fallen snow. Then all of the sudden....Whack!!!!

Something had stopped me in my tracks and knocked me clear off of my huffy ten speed. "Oh no! What happened?!?!?! A car hit me! Am I hurt? Did I break something? Do I have a concussion?" My eyes began to well up with tears and not because I was in pain. I began to tear up because I hated that paper route! It was so unfair! My parents totally sucked for making me have that stupid paper route! I hated it! I hated it! I hated it!

Once my tantrum subsided, I picked myself up, several wet newspapers off the ground and my bike. I wiped the tears away from my cheeks and sat back on my bike. I was still unclear of what I had a collision with. "Maybe it was a tree?" I thought. I looked forward and saw a dark silhouette standing in front of me. "That's what I probably hit," I thought. "Hey, that thing has legs. Four legs. Sheesh... that's a big dog!" My heart began to pound with fear. I feared dogs. Past experiences with loose, lone, dogs on a street proved to be detrimental to my legs. Stupid dogs and their teeth! I hate dogs with teeth!

I froze with fear. I knew that if I began to ride away, the "stupid dog" would begin to run after me and bite me. Then I heard a "snort". "Dumb dog, can't even bark," I said out loud. I had a plan. My plan was to slowly ride away and pray with all of my might that the "dumb dog" would not chase me. I put a little pressure on the right pedal then the left one. The "dog" was still standing there. Not moving, and it was getting bigger. Alot bigger. Alot taller. With a humongous snout.

Then it hit me... that is no dog! "I hit a moose! I hit a freakin' moose! The moose is going to trample and kill me! I'm going to be killed by a moose!" We looked into each other's eyes. Mono et mono. Me and Mildred the Moose. The moose that I hit was a cow moose. A female moose and she didn't move an inch. I wasn't sure if she was about to charge or if she was as shocked as I was. But we each just stood there looking at each other. It was uncomfortable and I wasn't sure which one of us should leave first. Then just like that, Mildred took off in the opposite direction.

I caught a glimpse of Mildred a time or two after our collision and each time we would exchange nods. Knowing that we shared a connection un-like any other moose or teenager.

This is similar to what Mildred the Moose resembled, when I had collided into her.

...but she might as well have looked like this, when our eyes met.

Flashback Friday - Ugly Sweater Contest

A couple of years ago, I was in charge of my husband's annual, family, Christmas party. Part of the festivities of the night included an "Ugly Sweater" contest. Everyone had the choice of making it, decorating it, buying it, borrowing it, or even knitting it, if they chose to. One family member stuck half eaten pieces of Christmas candy on the front of her sweater. It was colorful and yet, appetizing at the same time. Another family member put together a paper plate filled with various Christmas goodies (sugar cookies and all, y'all!) and covered it in a protective clear wrapping of Saran Wrap and then topped it off with a lovely sparkly bow and then somehow glued it to her sweater. It was very neighborly gift-like.

I went with a theme. My inspiration was the classic Christmas carol... Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer. I glued a pair of old fashioned reading glasses, tufts of gray, curly hair (doll hair. Sheesh! I'm not that demented.), a red pom pom (Rudolph's nose), and then painted hoof prints all over my sweatshirt. Okay, so I'm a little demented.

It was a party to remember with a visual sea of ugly sweaters!

Our winner won with his selection of a lovely purple, ladies, sweater, that he purchased at a local thrift store. Maybe it was the color, or maybe it was his uncanny resemblance to Barney the Dinosaur, or maybe it was just his mad "catwalking" skilz that won him his victory of the "Ugly Sweater Contest".

"I love you, you love me. We are a happy family...."

The following are some other party guests that participated in the "Ugly Sweater" contest. Prepare to be awed!

Franklin was on fire that night! He shared his love of Christmas and kitty cats with his hand knitted sweater vest. Oooo lah lah, Franklin.

Garth took it to the next level and dared to wear his sweater in a mini-size. The festive antlers were a nice touch, also. His date, Becky wore a throwback to the eighties. The side pony tail, along with the gnarly checked, panda, sweater just screamed 80's!

Glenda was a close second with her superior fashion sense and talents. Genius! Imagine the possibilities... sweater capris, sweater pants, and how about sweater kulats?

You too, can create your own Ugly Sweater masterpieces by Clicking Here
Prepare to get those "Creative Juices" flowing!

Flashback Friday! Slip, slippin' away...

It's been a long time since I've posted a "Flashback Friday" post, and I just could not deprive my loyal readers (all 5 of them) of another Friday without a Flashback. And since you, my friends, have stuck with me through every Flashback and hideous photo that I have posted, I have decided to share a real juicy tale from the past. Oh yes. To this day, I blush of the mere thought of this little incident. And may I just take a moment to give warning, a heads up if you will...the following content will probably disgust the male species and will make my mom cower with shame. I don't believe I have too many male species that read my blog, but I have been stopped in church a time and two by some of the husbands of my readers. "Hey, I've read your blog! It's funny!" they say. Then I think to myself, "Oh my word, I've written the word "b*&b" on my blog!" In my defense, it's life people! I'm not perfect! I have flaws! Many of them!

The year was 1989. The summer of '89, to be exact. I was sixteen years old and was too cool for school. I had finally managed to train my bangs to reach the maximum height of 4 inches above my scalp and my acid washed jeans were the epitome of hot fashion. The days were spent, hanging out with friends, dances at Tony's Pizza, and sunbathing with Crisco slathered all over my body. Extra crispy Jen, anyone? (It was one of my friend's genius ideas to tan with Crisco. I believe she's had 2 face lifts now...)

On one particular day, me, my friend Jenny and my best friend Christal were going to hike up to the falls, and meet some boys from Riverton, Wyoming. We had planned every single detail of the day's events. Pop, check. Doritos, check. Cookies, check. Tunes, check. Fashionable swimming attire, check.

Me, Jenny, and Christal began our 2 mile journey up to the falls. I was sure to bring my "boom box" and my mixed tapes that I had spent countless hours recording. My mixed tapes were sure to get the party started with tunes from INXS, Madonna, and Depeche Mode. The three of us were hot, and we knew it. We knew that the boys from Riverton, would not be able to resist our sultry feminine ways.

As we hiked up the rocky trail, we laughed, we gossiped, and we sang along to Madonna's Cherish and INXS's Devil Inside. It was going to be a blast and my stomach was full of butterflies, anticipating our "swimming date" with the three hot guys from Riverton.

After an hour or so, we arrived to the falls, to find that the guys had not arrived yet. We were hot and sweaty from the hike and decided to take a quick dip in the pool of cool water. We each slowly stepped further into the middle of the pool, hyperventilating from the frigid cold. With each step, the water level raised higher and higher up our bodies and we shivered uncontrollably. But soon the cool water, became refreshing from the summer heat, and it wasn't too long before a friendly water fight began between the three of us.

Me and my friend Jenny were huddled together in the middle of the pool, chattering about the cute boys we were meeting. "Paul is so hot! You should see his brother David!" "Tee, hee, hee, hee!" we giggled with excitement.

Just then something interrupted our girly banter, and something caught Jenny off guard. "What's that?" she squealed.

At first, I wasn't sure what the suspicious white form was, that was floating on top of the water. It was thin and rectangular, in shape. "What is that?" I thought to myself, as the suspicious object began floating towards us.

"Oh. My. Holy. Hannah!" I thought. I had forgotten that I was wearing a certain "feminine hygiene product" and there it was... bobbing along the top of the water. Yes, it's true. My Stayfree product managed to "free" it's self.

Then the following events, all collided into one horrific scene. Jenny realized what the rectangular object was and screamed at the top of her lungs. In a wave a confusion, she tried with all of her might to sprint away from the ghastly floating device. (and who knew that those suckers, are so buoyant?) As she was screaming in terror, the three hot guys showed up. Yup, perfect timing guys! With one swift and highly skilled movement, I lunged for the "escapee Stayfree product", and launched it across the entire length of the pool of water. It landed amongst the shrubbery and trees in the nearby wilderness. "Eat your heart out Joe Montanna!" My arm had never thrown an object with such distance before.

"What was that?" Paul asked. The three of us girls giggled, uncontrollably. "Oh it was nothing," I said, trying to act nonchalantly. "Whatever!" he yelled. "I'm going to check it out!"

"Nooooooooooo!" I screamed.

Paul began to make a mad dash towards my elusive feminine hygiene product. It was on! I began to swim with all of my might. I felt as if I had the advantage, because Paul had to climb over shrubs and rocks to get to the other side of the pool. But he was proving to be a strong competitor. We were in a dead heat and I knew I had to reach the flotation device, before he did.

Beating him by a mere second, I snatched the product and tossed it further into the wilderness. Right at that moment, Paul tackled me. "What is it?" he yelled. "What is it?!"

"It's nothing!" I pleaded. I knew my reputation was at stake here. The last thing I needed to happen was to have Paul and the other two guys tell everyone, that my Stayfree product broke away from it's confines and that I launched it 300 yards into the shrubs.

I became desperate, and began to tear up. Paul looked into my eyes and knew that this was a sensitive situation and that he shouldn't pursue it any longer. "Okay," he calmly said. "Don't worry, I won't go after it."

"Thank you," I said, weepily.

After a half hour or so, all was forgotten (except when me, Jenny, and Christal would glimpse at each other and burst into laughter) and the day ended up being fun. We made lasting friendships and thanks to my poorly, secured, feminine hygiene product, another humiliating experience to reminisce and laugh about.

Flashback Friday! Betsy Wetsy

If you read my previous post, from the other day, you probably read an embarrassing morsel of information about me and my incompetent bladder. I was the original Betsy Wetsy.

Back in the day, if one happened to make a silly remark, joke, or action, I was in Trouble people! And I mean Trouble with a capital "T"! The usual instigator to my wetting defect, was my best friend Christal. She is one of the funniest people, that I have ever met. The girl use to record her farts and we would rewind and play, rewind and play her melodious fluffs, over and over again. We didn't have much entertainment in my little town.

One particular "pee" incident happened when I was 12 years old. I usually rode the bus home, but that day I decided to walk home with Christal. That was mistake number one. As we were walking, we observed a fellow classmate riding his dorky (and it was dorky) bike back and forth, in front us. He was a large, different child. In other words, he was a dork. He would demonstrate his biking tricks by letting go of the handle bars and coasting by us. Then he would zip by us, as if he was trying to hit us with his three-speed bike of wonder. "Psych!" he would yell. Each pass, he was becoming more and more obnoxious. We tried to ignore him, but it didn't work. We tried to threaten him with taunts of, "we're going to tell our moms on you!" And that didn't work. Mitch (that's what I'll call him) the amazing trickster, decided to zip past us again with full speed. We watched Mitch pass us and decided that we should make a run for it. But first we had to make sure the coast was clear and that he was not looking back. Then it happened. Mitch hit a rock. Mitch's bike made a dead stop, as his front tire made contact with the rock, and Mitch took flight. He flipped mid-air over the handle bars and landed on his back, in the middle of the road.

At first the scene was shocking. I mean, Mitch had to have cleared 4 feet above his bike's handle bars. Christal and I gasped in unison. "Is Mitch alive? Do we need to call the ambulance?" Then we looked at each other. That did it. We burst into gut bustin' laughter. We were laughing so hard, our legs were unable to hold our giggling bodies. We each dropped to the ground and wet our pants. If having to walk all the way home with wet rear ends, wasn't embarrassing enough, we were sitting in dirt, when we lost all of our dignity. Now we had muddy bums. Once we composed ourselves, we had to observe the damages. I turned my backside to Christal, "Can you tell?" I asked her. "Yes!" she giggled. Then she did the same. "Can you tell?" she asked me. "Yes!" I giggled hysterically. We were doomed! Neither one of us had a jacket or coat to tie around our waists. We were discussing our damage control, when another classmate, Shawn, came around the corner. We didn't dare move, in fear that he would see our wet muddy bums. We pressed our backsides against a small white picket fence and both discreetly placed our backpacks in front of us. "What are you guys doing?" he asked. "Nothing." "Are you guys walking home?" he asked us. What was this? The third degree! "Uh, no," Christal said. "Then what are you doing?" he questioned us. "Just standing here," I said.

He looked at us with a quizzical expression on his face then went on his way. "Phew that was a close one!" Christal said.

By this time, Mitch got back on his bike and rode away... slowly. We continued to laugh about the incident off and on, then decided we needed to come up with a plan. And it was a brilliant plan! We would take turns walking in front of one another, to cover each other's wet muddy bums, when a car or person went by us. It took a while to make it safely to our homes, but with perseverance, we made it.

To this day, 24 years later, if either one of us bring it up again, we burst into laughter with tears streaming down our cheeks. I guess you had to be there. Now when we get together, I know to go to the bathroom before the laughter ensues. Well, sometimes it doesn't happen. What? Okay! It's not like I can't control it now. Alright! So maybe I've spotted a time or two, when we get together! I've had two kids people! You know you've done it too!

Doh!

Flashback Friday! Boo!

Happy Halloween! Oooooooooo! Woooooooo!

While getting ready to write today's post, I was trying to remember what my most memorable Halloween was, from my youth. And to tell you the truth, they all just kind of blended together. I remember having to trick or treat almost every year in snow up to our knees, various church parties, and certain costumes from my past.

Some of my most memorable costumes were my Little Red Riding Hood costume from when I was 4 or 5, my plastic witch mask from the 70's, and do you remember those dumb costumes where you blew up the head, that looked like some odd creature, and then attached it to the top of your head? Yeah, I sported that nifty costume in the early 80's. Unfortunately I do not have a copy of any photo's of me in a Halloween costume to show you. None! They are all tucked away in a closet, home in Wyoming.

I did, however, come across a photo that is just as scary as any other costume out there.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I know the quality of the picture is horrible, but I'm pretty sure the ugly is coming through quite nicely. Apparently, I was in the sun quite a bit more this summer, because my freckles grew in massive amounts. My teeth were incredibly slow to grow in, once I lost them, so there fore I was left with gaps wide enough for ships to pass. I believe the photographer slipped us some wacky tabacky... I look high as a kite.

Eee-Gad! Look what I just found a picture of... In fact, I was this particular Kooky Spook.

Even though I do not have any pictures of me in a Halloween costume, I do have a few from some of my friends.

Marty wowed the crowd with his costume! The "Bread Basket" turned out to be the trickiest Operation skill to conquer, due to the questionable location.

After Wonder Woman's tv series was finished, she fell into a deep depression and snacked on Little Debbie's, obsessively. We were all glad to see her use her

gold lasso of truth, again.

Xena... the Warrior Princess

Gaylord to the rescue!



And then there's Barney... You can't forget Barney! He dressed up as his idol, The King. Remember how Barney serenaded me, in a desperate attempt to get me to go to the dance with him? Good times, Barney. Good times.

As you know, some people do not need a costume to participate in Halloween festivities.

And I ran

I ran so far away!

Hazel got her panties in a bunch when some one complimented her on her costume. "I'm not wearing a costume!" she angrily scoffed.

(notice the lovely baggy panties)

BOO!

And Then He Kissed Me! Part 14/Flashback Friday

The weekend had finally arrived after a long week of work and anxiously waiting to spend every waking moment with "plumber guy". We decided to go to a movie that night and after checking my hair and makeup in the bathroom mirror, we walked hand in hand across the street to the movie theater.

I loved the location of my "bacherlorette pad". It was a mere hop, skip, and a jump, across the street from the movie theater and the mall. What more could a girl want?



"Plumber guy" was abnormally quiet and seemed to be deep in thought, as we walked.



He finally broke his silence, as we approached the other side of the street, and asked me, "So how is your money situation? W-w-well, I mean, do you have any money in savings? Are you okay financially?"



I was taken back by his question and I was sure he could tell by the quizzical look on my face.



"Ummmm. Well, I do live by myself and my hours were cut in half for a little while, you know?"



I felt a little defensive and began to defend all of my expenditures and reasons for them.



"Well I have $35 in savings and I hope to build it up, once I am more financially stable. What else do you want to know?" I asked him.



"Do you have any debt?" he replied.



"Ug! The "d" word," I thought. "My car is paid for but I have some debt on one credit card," I said. "Oh please, please, please, don't ask me how much is on my card?" I thought to myself. Although it wasn't an outrageous amount, I was worried about what he would think of me. If he thought I was too irresponsible.



"Why do you want to know about my financial status?" I asked him.



"Well, I just need to know for when we get married and when we start planning the wedding."



"What!" I thought to myself. "Did I just hear him right?" I stopped dead in my tracks and my mouth dropped to the ground.



"What did you just say?" I asked, while trying to contain the excitement that was building up.



"You heard me!" he said with an enormous smile on his face. "Now, this isn't the official engagement. I just wanted to talk to you about getting married," he continued to say.

I wanted to scream with excitement and jump into his arms and cover his face in sweet kisses. "He does want to marry me! He does want to marry me!"

"I knew it! I knew you wanted to marry me!" I yelled.

We then embraced one another and kissed. It was a good kiss. A kiss that was semi passionate, yet sweet. It was our first kiss as an engaged couple.

"I love you," I told "plumber guy".

"I love you too," he said.

We began to walk towards to the theater again, but this time I was holding his hand tightly. "I'm getting married!" I thought to myself. "I'm getting married! I can't believe I'm getting married!" I kept repeating these words to myself, as if I needed to convince myself that "plumber guy" had actually broke his silence about the "m" word.

It was hard to concentrate on the movie, due to "plumber guy" finally muttering those sweet, sweet words to me... "when we get married." I immediately began to plan the wedding in my mind, during the movie. "Okay. We can get married in April and I want to get married in the Bountiful Temple. I want tons of flowers and I don't want a long reception line," I planned.

I really never gave it much thought of what temple I wanted to get married in. I grew to fall in love with the Bountiful Temple. When I was unable to fall asleep or I felt a little lonely, I would look out my bedroom window, from my old apartment, and gaze upon the Bountiful Temple, radiating on the hillside in the dark. From my window, it appeared as a small squarish building, but it glowed like a beacon. It would often bring me comfort and peace during those times when I needed the comfort the most. I couldn't wait til we were married for time and eternity.

Once the movie was finished we walked back to my apartment. We immediately pulled out a calendar and began to look at dates.

"I don't want a long engagement," plumber guy said.

"So how about April?" I asked.

"April! That's way too long," he said. "There's no way I can wait til April! I was thinking about a two month long engagement," he said.

"What! Uh, you know that that's gonna be hard trying to plan the wedding, and two receptions here and in Wyoming," I replied. But then again, I couldn't wait to be "plumber guy's" wife. I couldn't wait to decorate our home together, to wear a wedding ring, to be called "Mrs." and especially, to go on a honeymoon with my future husband.

I decided that "plumber guy" was right and that it probably was best to have a short engagement, due to the growing passion between us. We narrowed it down to a Friday in January. January 19th, 1996 was going to be the day that I was to be sealed to my eternal companion, in the Bountiful Temple.

Before we knew it, it was 1:00 a.m. and we had both fallen asleep in each other's arms on my couch.

"I had better go home," "plumber guy" said, as he we slowly woke up.

I walked him to the apartment door and we performed our "goodbye ritual" that we had performed countless times before. We gave each other a long kiss on the lips, professed our un-dying love for each other, then I watched him from the top of the stair well, until I could no longer see him.

As soon as I shut the door I ran to my bedroom and jumped on to my bed. As I was jumping up and down with exhilaration, I began to yell, " I'm getting married! Ahhhhhhhh! I'm getting married!"

I didn't care if I woke up my neighbors from their deep slumbers. I couldn't contain my happiness.

After a few minutes, I was able to calm down and I got ready for bed. My cheeks began to ache from the smile that I was unable to erase from my face. I lay under my covers and began to think of how this relationship was perfect. Everything about it was perfect. There was not one moment that I had ever questioned whether "plumber guy" was right for me. As I said my prayers that night, a warm peace enveloped me and I knew it in my bones that Steve was the one for me. The one for me for all time and eternity.