We have a reunion coming up, and the theme is CIRCUS!  My sister-in-law is here, and she’ll be in charge of the face painting.  We decided to whip up some homemade face paints and get some practice in.

All it takes is 2 parts cornstarch, 1 part cold cream, one part water and food coloring.

For example, if you use 2 Tablespoons cold cream and 2 Tablespoons of water, you’ll need 4 Tablespoons of cornstarch, which -as you can see -is no problem for me. I Sam’s Club that shizz.
You stir the cold cream into the cornstarch.
Then you add the water.
Then the coloring.

I dabbed on some glitter and traced around the butterfly (what? you couldn’t tell what it was? isn’t it obvious? aren’t I a professional arrteest?) with an eye definer pencil.

She insisted on painting me and I had to snap a picture of her while she painted… so studious.

She painted something awesome on me.  It’s a butterfly. I snapped a picture of us, thinking she’d be grinning as ridiculously as I was. So… basically I’m a fool.

A fool with gloop on my head.

PS -I had to google “cold cream” because I thought they meant cream from a cow. that was cold. I might as well black out a tooth and show my true colors. Farm girl!

A monsoon blew in yesterday, and it was wonderful and glorious.

My husband came home after the storm, and it was perfect walking weather. As the sun went down, we walked the streets of our little town.
The Wash was running. If you’re from around here, you know how exciting that is:

Who wants to bet that it’s completely dry this morning?

FOR YEARS, our walking destination was Speedy’s. My mom gave me the news last week that Speedy’s was closing it’s doors… FOR-EH-VER.
The news made me a little emotional. No Speedy’s? Ever? I misunderstood and thought Speedy’s last day was Thursday (yesterday), but it was actually Tuesday. I was going to go for the last time on Wednesday and take some pictures, but I didn’t get the chance.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.

Speedy’s used to be Thriftway, and I always ALWAYS went there with my brothers and my Dad and my mom and my best friend, Tia. It was always there. It always had candy. I would clean the shop’s bathroom, Dad would give me 50 cents, and I’d run across the street for a candy bar.
Remember when they were 50 cents?

They used to sell those fake candy (gum?) cigarettes that we’d take and play with behind the shop until Dad found out and let us know that cigarettes of ANY kind weren’t a good idea.
We thought he didn’t know anything… then we all turned 20 and realized that it’s possible that Dad might know more than any other human being on earth.

He. Knows. It. All.

He used to take us across the street (from the shop) and let us pick out treats. After a long day on the farm, we always got to pick a drink and a dessert pie.
How many summer afternoons did I ride my bike to the store to buy a Sprite -just to open the cap to see if I had won a free one. I wonder how many Sprites we all went through that summer…

During my first year as a mother, their movie rental collection saved me from losing my mind. I would put a movie on, put the subtitles on, and then watch a movie while my brand new infant screamed in my ear for hours on end. I could easily rent two or three movies a day and return the very next day for two or three more.

When I was pregnant, a bought a Speedy’s burger for lunch.
When I had two kids, I could plop them down in the red benches for a hot dog lunch.
When we all got a hankering, we’d walk to Speedy’s for ice cream sandwiches.

And now?

Walking in the parking lot and seeing boarded up windows was like a huge punch in the heart. It was awful and I nearly started crying.
If you think I’m crazy -If you think I’m being too emotional… just ask someone else in town about it! We’re all in a state of shock. and uproar. and shock.
After my mom delivered the news, I sort blinked back at her and then I asked -much like little children often do to their mothers…
“What are we supposed to do now?!”

Speedy’s has been on the market for a couple of years, and the owners just got tired of keeping it up.

So I was thinking YOU could buy it…

You could live in the best town ever -really get to know everyone…

And you’d be everyone’s favorite.

Just promise me you’ll THINK about it…

I snapped a picture of my daughter after I told her Speedy’s was closed forever.
“No more treats with my grandpa?” she asked.

Then she said, “But… but I just still want dog doo doo!”
And then I laughed. Laughing while your kid is crying can really make you feel like a jerk.

My husband has been gone since early Sunday morning.  When we were first married, I used to CRY when he would leave me alone overnight.  But now?  A week’s worth of no cooking or shaving?  AND I get to watch chick flicks whenever I feel like it?

Sign me up, please!

I pull out projects and made-for-TV movies, and I enjoy my time.  All in all, I’d rather have him here than not, but if I don’t have a choice I make the best of the situation.  I’m not celebrating or anything… but not having to shave for a week in summer IS pretty fantastic.  And also, not cracking my curtains open for one solid day was also pretty fantastic.  Everyone needs a hideaway day, don’t you agree?  I spent Tuesday hiding away.  It was one big fat guilty pleasure.  I didn’t even do my hair.

When I went to get some cold cereal for dinner, I realized there wasn’t a clean bowl or spoon in the house.  HOWEVER, all of my plates and forks and every other dang dish in the house?  They were there.  It was only the bowls and spoons that were dirty.  So I washed a few.  And ate dinner.

Wednesday I had to venture out of my sheCave for mutual, and despite the fact that I had not touched my hair on Tuesday after washing it… my hair looked good.  Thanks to this tutorial:

I give you this tutorial for one purpose: I insist you hide out. I insist you close the windows, let the world go where it may, watch a movie or read a book, don’t touch your hair, don’t eat anything you have to work for… and then before you go out, throw your hair up in a messy bun.
I was surprised at how pretty that crappy bun made me feel.

And now I must leave you. My sheCave must be transformed back into a home. There’s bowls to wash, laundry to do, floors to be vacuumed and legs to be shaved.

See that? Got my kids massaging my hairy legs.
I should have more kids.

This doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but check out this stick bug!

They’re called “Walking Sticks” which I think sounds Native. Hail Chief Walking Stick!  His head is near my sister’s fingers.  His bottom near her wrist.  And yes, that’s my sister holding it.  And no, I wouldn’t hold it.  I’m one of THOSE kinds of girls.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about my crazy trip to the city with my kids last week.  There was a little gem of an incident that I didn’t tell you about for a couple of reasons, but after talking with my mom yesterday I thought maybe I really ought to tell you about it. I hope it means something to you. I hope you need to hear it today.

As I was sitting in Sam’s Club food court munching on one of their amazing hot dogs, a woman walked in and ordered some food. The first thing I noticed about her was her green knit bag. It was gorgeous. It didn’t match her jeans and t-shirt outfit, but she didn’t care. You could tell she didn’t. The bag served it’s purpose. It was pretty. Who cared if it matched? Maybe I was just assuming I knew how she felt about it because that’s how I feel about handbags and purses, but it made me watch her. She had yet to turn around, but I couldn’t help watching her. I wanted to look away before people in the food court started noticing what a creeper I was being, but I just… couldn’t. After she picked up her order, she turned around.
I saw her face.
She was tan, her shoulder length dark brown hair was greying near her ears. Her build looked like it had once been very trim, but childbirth had left her figure with more, as it very often does. I watched her eyes as she filled up her drink at the soda fountain. She was pretty. She wasn’t trying to be pretty, but she was. There was something very natural in her face -something that made me believe she was a REAL woman, nothing fake about her. I watched her try and move through the spades of children clamoring to get at the ketchup and relish, and then I watched her sit down.

She didn’t sit alone -there were a few people around her. Through my amateur lip-reading skills, I found out she was their mother. They were all in their late teens/early twenties, and they were all rough around the edges. The woman’s back was facing me, but it became apparent that she, too, was a little rough.
Rough people have the tendency to intimidate me -not something I’m proud of -so when I felt prompted to TELL her that I thought she was beautiful, I dismissed it.
Ha, I told myself, Can you imagine what they’d think of me? No way, no how. No. I’m going to sit here and finish my hot dog.

But something stirred inside of me, and I felt the prompting again.
NO! I told myself. I am NOT going over there! That’s crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy. CRAZY. They’d never come back to Sam’s Club for fear of running into the crazy woman with two children who eat the gum under the tables.
I put my full attention into my hot dog, and I finished it.
As I waited for my children to finished theirs (or, let’s face it, even take a FEW bites), my eyes wandered back to the woman, and the prompting came again.

Tell her. Let her know she’s beautiful.

Maybe, I reasoned, I would tell her LATER.  Take later. I’d probably run into her somewhere in the vast warehouse, and THEN I’d tell her.

Don’t put it off. She might not be here to shop.

But I’ll scare her!

You won’t.

Ha.

YOU WON’T. She needs to know.

I finally took a deep breath, loaded the kids into the cart where they couldn’t escape and took the LONG (practically 3 foot!) walk to where she was sitting. I gently pressed my finger to her shoulder, and she turned to look up at me.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I saw you walk in and I thought you were so beautiful. I just wanted to tell you that.”
Her eyebrows knit down in confusion, “Oh my gosh,” she said, softly. Her tone hadn’t been soft since she’d walked into the food area. “Really?”
She looked up at me, and in her eyes I saw that she needed to be told because she had forgotten. She honestly didn’t see any beauty in herself.

But someone did.
The one that had formed her -crafted her, created her… He saw it. He had not forgotten. Oh, how His heart ached that she had. He wanted her to know. He wanted her to remember.
“I just thought I should tell you,” I said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Thank you,” she said.
I nodded, and walked away.

As I walked away, I heard her children snickering. It didn’t matter. I had done what I was asked, and she heard what He wanted her to hear.
Did I feel crazy? Silly? Ridiculous?

No. Not at all.
I felt touched by a loving Father in Heaven who ached for a daughter who had lost sight of her beauty.

Don’t you forget it either. Remember where you come from, who made you, and remember that YOU -your body, your soul, your very person -is one of the most intricate and beautiful creations in the universe.

Do not forget it.
You don’t want to be the victim of The Sam’s Club Creeper. Truuust me.

We have church at 8:30 in the morning.

Church starts at 8:30 which means church lets out at 11:30 which means we’re home by 11:45 which means we’re eating lunch by 1 which means we’re napping by 2. Ideally, anyway. It doesn’t usually work out that smoothly, but on a good day it does.  For the past few months, I’ve french-braided my sleep-loving daughter’s hair on Saturday night after her bath. This makes it easier for her to sleep in longer on Sunday morning.
Sleeping in makes her happier.
Her happier makes me happier.

But this time I decided to try something old school.
RAG CURLS.

I’m no expert. I’m FAR from a beauty queen. But I think with a little practice, we’ll soon be making sweet music. As it is, we didn’t do too badly. Her curls were absolutely adorable this morning.
I was in a hurry (remember 8:30 church), so I didn’t get pictures until after church. ALSO I should tell you that my daughter’s hair doesn’t hold up to much. It takes a lot of work to get it to hold anything at all, and I only tied up the bottom part of her hair.

Her hair is changing colors.  See that?  Curses, how I love that blondie.  I’ll miss it, but I know I’ll love having a brownie as well.  She’s a puppy. She goes by the name Jerusalem these days.

arf, arf.

The hairstyle worked out perfectly for church. And yes, I tried it on myself. I added some lavender essential oil to my spray bottle (not necessary, but oh so delicious smelling), spritzed my hair down, streamed Prison Break and twisted my hair around strips of material and tied them off.
The result? Not exactly as purdy as everything I saw on the Internets. One side looked cute. The other side? Not so much. It looked sort of awful, so it left me with only once choice… to tease the snot out of the crown and whip all my hair over to one side -the side that actually turned out nicely. It was the only way to mask the failed side. The only way!

I rocked the side pony at church today, but don’t worry. I left my neon leg warmers at home.

Find the rag hair tutorial HERE

PS: 6 days until my RETREAT with my madre. I’ve been growing my hair out for nine months, and I’m about to shave my head. I can not WAIT for that Aveda salon to have their way with it. The only downside? I’ve grown accustomed to her face… which is to say: I’m absolutely smitten with my long hair. May it rest in peace.

A few years ago, I caught a glimpse of myself from the side as I walked by the mirror over the vanity in my bathroom. I stopped dead.
I wasn’t startled by my good looks -truuuust me. This wasn’t any “one eye in the mirror as you watch yourself gavotte” situation. My hands immediately flew to my midsection and I gasped in horror. My stomach was hanging out something horrid.
When had it happened?
Why?
Why, why, why?!

I raced back to my bathroom and stood on the scale, closed my eyes while it calculated (it’s digital), and then cracked one eye slightly open, looked down, and saw…

no change.
at all.
whatsoever.

I raced back to the mirror, turned to the side, put my hand on my midsection in a sort of bewildered curiosity. At about that time, my husband rounded the corner and blurted out, “Are you PREGNANT?!”
Oh! No! I told him. No, it couldn’t be. I just needed to do some sit-ups. And then I chuckled nervously. A few weeks later, I got not one but 4 positive pregnancy tests.
My mantra was, “While I know how it happened, I really don’t know how it happened!”

For the record, THANK GOODNESS it did. My son is by far and away one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given. My kids are my most supreme joy. Life without them would be so lifeless. So colorless. So… less than half of what it is now.

Anyway, a few days ago I had similar experience to the one I had a few years ago, only this time I didn’t weigh myself because our scale ran out of batteries, and let’s face it: I haven’t been in a huge rush to remedy THAT situation. Every day, I try putting on jeans but everyday I whip them off after a few minutes and opt for something better like… sweats.
The thing is: tight pants make me cranky. They make me SO irritable that I can’t stand doing anything! Life seems too much of a bother! The kids get in trouble for doing most everything except sitting quietly at the table with their arms folded.
But the minute I change…
the minute I free my flab…
the angels sing.
Ahhhhhhh, much better!

And before you cry “foul frumpy” I will just say that I’ve opted for skirt wearing most of the week as well. That’s helped salvage my marriage.

ANYWAY, I was up visiting my parents when I noticed a bathroom scale in their bathroom. I kicked my shoes off and weighed myself, getting the same butterflies I get when I take a First Response Pregnancy Test (is there any better brand? I submit that there is NOT!)…

I’ve gained 5 pounds.

BLECK! At least with pregnancy I would have had an excuse and a big cuddly prize at the end!

Today I’ve just got rolls. It all started last month when we visited the resort and then I went to Girl’s Camp where we got hailed out and consequently had to eat 3 days’ worth of food in one. And then my husband left for a week to go to training and -well, who wouldn’t? -I ate crap (not literally). Did I mention I also quit working out during all of this?
All it’s taken is one silly month dwarf my wardrobe.

I’ve got to make some big changes, and SOON. I’m getting really tired of cleaning my house in a skirt (to say nothing of the whole “having to shave my legs nearly every day” fiasco). I’ve just GOT to to get back into my jeans!
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…

And to round this post out, I have a snapshot of my darling girl saying her nighttime prayers. This picture is so sweet it makes my heart swell. The Tinkerbell sheets and jammies. The cowgirl boots. The doll (who is folding her arms, by the way and who also just got finished saying her own prayers).

Yesterday was unremarkable for the most part.  I woke up, I did what I needed to do, I did what I wanted to do, and then I spent some time with my husband before going to bed.
Sounds pretty bland, right? Well anyone that has kids -especially little kids -knows that a day like the one I just described sounds HEAVENLY.
Of course it wasn’t perfect. I had my share of fits (both on their end and mine when they wouldn’t listen), spills, screams… but I found myself at the end of day tugging on the ends of the bow on my apron, blowing the smoke on my finger-gun and saying, “I was BORN for this.”

We get paid at the end of the week, and we’re running out of everything. Literally. For the past three paychecks, I haven’t been using our food budget JUST for food. We’ve had to eek a little out for this and that, and as a result I have an astronomical grocery list sitting on my fridge.
But you know what?
There is so much food in my house! I don’t credit myself for this BY ANY MEANS. I know it’s a blessing because I’ve been handed this blessing innumerable times in the past, but as I cleaned the table and got it ready for dinner
…did the dishes
…changed a diaper
…made a birthday cake
…made phone calls
…ran errands
…went for a walk
…played with the kids who were attacking each other with chocolate frosting
…finally picked my book back up and started WRITING
…whipped up some chicken-fried steak (don’t you HATE digging into your year’s supply? Hee hee.)
…visited with family

I stood a little taller.

THIS is my dream. THIS is what I want to do. THIS is what comes naturally to me.

On Sunday, I was able to listen to my husband’s brother speak. He just got home from his mission in Alabama, and his talk was absolutely amazing. He spoke about a man who once drove a race car and was given the advice, “Don’t look at the rocks. Don’t look at the trees. Focus on the road and your car will go where your focus is.” He then related the same advice to us, “Your life will go where your focus is.”
With that in mind, I picked up my writing again. I took a hiatus from writing for those oh-so-personal reasons that we don’t splatter on the Internets (surprise! my life isn’t 100% open book! Look at me and my mysteriousness. Ooooh), and yesterday -thanks to Dusty’s talk -I picked it up again. I brought my focus back.

And guess what? At the end of the day, after the kids were asleep and I fought to keep my eyes open to blog my cream custard cake filling recipe… my husband came in to where I was blogging, wrapped his arms around me, picked me up off the couch (blogging can wait) and offered me the nicest back massage a girl’s ever been given.
It was his way of putting a gold star on my behavioral chart (joke) (mostly). While he rubbed my back, I thought ‘I’d kill for a foot rub…’ and because he’s a Jedi Mind Reader, I got a foot rub too.

Here’s to another gold star day.
Here’s to overcoming empty pantries, lying toddlers (stinks!), chocolate cravings, and self-doubt.
Here’s looking at us.
Here’s to blowing smoke on our finger guns.
We are BORN for this!

Have a gold star day yourself, won’t you?

A few weeks ago, I ordered my first ever blurb book.  Blurb.com is a website where you can go to build books.  They have a great function that allows you to convert your blog into a book.  Because this was my first, I learned a lot.  I think every book I make will get better and better on account of my learning more about how it all works.

I purchased a hard-back, image-wrapped book. My book covers all of my blog entries in 2007 and half of 2008. I started blogging in 2005 and I really started blogging in 2008. I’m currently working on our blog-to-book for 2005-2007, but there isn’t any pictures to go along with, and I’m sifting through old film-developed pictures to find some to add.

The site allows you to have SO much control over what the book looks like! You can leave the pages white (like a “real” book) or you can have a design, like I did. I also added an emblem at the top and bottom of every page. Fancy pants, no?

You can adjust the format to your liking. On this page, I had one phrase to go with each picture. It took some doing to tweak it exactly how I wanted it, but it worked out beautifully:

This post was 100 things about Alicia -requested by one of my readers. No pictures.

This pictures is one of my all-time favorites, so I let it take up half of the page:

There’s something thrilling about seeing your name where the author’s name usually is:

One more half-page layout:

The back cover has custom text and pictures:

I’m so happy with my little book!! I know have a lot more to work on, but it’s nice to have one done! I’ve been wanting to do it for years.
“I’m willing to tell ya! I’m wanting to tell ya! I’m waiting to tell ya!” (name it)
Ahhhh, here she is:

Now… onto the next! But not today. Today I’m going to relish what I’ve got.
(Am I the only one who can’t type or say “what I’ve got” without singing “I don’t cry when my dog runs away. I don’t get angry with the bills I have to pay.”)
(Did I already ask that once before?)
(As long as we’re on the subject of “Am I the only one who…” Can I just ask: Am I the only one who considers everything EAST of Albuquerque exotic?)

When I was in High School, I hated how much I talked.  It was frequently pointed out to me how much I talked, usually in a joking way, but it never was funny to me.  It was just a stark reminder of the one thing I hated most about myself.

“You talk too much.”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“No matter when I’ve seen you, your mouth has always been moving.”

Hey, that’s me! Har, har. Har.

One day as I was in the kitchen, my Dad mentioned something about how much I talked.
“Yeah,” I sighed, nodding my head.
“You’re quite the conversationalist,” he said.
What?
It was like a sort of light clicked on inside my head.
Dad saw something in me that I never did, and isn’t that the way it should be? We always (well, MOST of us) think the worst of ourselves, and Daddies (well, MOST Daddies) think the very best. He saw the good in my talking -he pointed out the great thing about it.
From that day on, I saw the world in a different light.
I didn’t talk TOO much… I just talked! I talked more than others, sure! And thank goodness! Someone’s got to get the ball rolling here. What would we do without talkers?
And so I say, much in the same tone Sen. Benedict says “The world must be peopled!” in Much Ado About Nothing…
The world must have talkers!
In case you haven’t seen it, take a few minutes to watch probably the BEST clip in the entire movie. Also, consider this entire portion of my post in ginormous parenthesis:

A few day ago, one of my pinterest buddies posted a list of conversation topics to have with your husband. I clicked on it for fun. I never needed any conversation help with Danny.
One day, if you’re bored, you should call up my Mum and ask her about the phone bill the summer I was engaged to Danny and we talked via land line.
Then come tell me about it because my parents have never told me how much it was.
True charitable soldiers.

Danny and I stayed up all night talking MORE than once. There was just so much say! We did months and months of talking in a few short days! As a result, we were married before any of his other love interests could say “boo.”

And here we are.
How long has it been? 7 years.

Deep down inside of me, I have a fear of the 7th year. So many people told us it was the hardest.
“The 7 year itch!” They’d chuckle, patting you on the back and leaving you with a less-than-congenial pit in your stomach. Gee thanks, mister.

Well, it’s heeeere. As it has approached, I’ve come to realize that we’d survive. If not as ardent lovers than as best friends. Anyway, we’d never run out of things to talk about.

Danny was gone all of last week. He left Sunday night and I met him in the valley Friday evening. I was so excited to see him! We practically glued ourselves to each other’s side for the next 4 hours.
As the weekend progressed, I bring up causal business topics (bills, insurance matters) and he’d turn to me in shock, “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“I didn’t?” I’d respond, confused, “Strange…”

I’d relate stories about the children to others around us and again he’d say, “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“I didn’t? Strange…”

The thing is, I haven’t really SEEN much of my husband the past two months. I tried calling him on the phone this last week, but we never got much of a chance to really TALK. So it was hit and miss. Here and there.
Downright splotchy.

I was really looking forward to our drive back into town together. 3 hours straight! The kids usually napped and it gave us a chance to really talk. We were both excited about it.
(Are we nerds? Prolly.)
As we set off into the night, I remarked on my excitement. How wonderful it was to have ALL THIS TIME to really catch up!

Then I searched my brain for any topic of conversation. ANY. Nothing came.
Then I remembered the list I had seen on pinterest, and though it gave me great pains to turn to something I had mocked… I asked my husband what he’d do with a million dollars.
“Pay off debt, buy some land, build a reasonable house, buy a reasonable car, buy a reasonable truck and invest the rest.”
“Oh.”

SILENCE.
He cleared his throat.
“What would YOU do?” He asked.
“Pay tithing first,” I poked him jokingly so as to let him know who was the righteous one in the relationship -ha, “pay off debt, get some land build a house, take an exotic trip with you, buy a new flute, and invest the rest of it into helping us become self-sufficient.”
“Oh.”

SILENCE.
After a few minutes, I shamefully dug into my brain file to pull out YET ANOTHER conversation topic from the list.
“If you could be any celebrity at all… who would it be?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He said.
“Daniel Craig?” I offered.
“Who’s that?”
“007.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah.”
SILENCE.

A few minutes went by. I stooped again.
“SO… if you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
“Hawaii. Paris. Greece. Or Ireland.”
“Really? Paris? I never knew that.”
“Yeah.”
SILENCE.

30 minutes into the trip, I threw my hands in the air.
“I was really looking forward to all this TIME we would have together, and I’m having to FORCE conversation!”
“You’ll think of something,” he shrugged, “Car trips are never completely quiet with you.”
“Oh yeah?” I challenged him, “Well for the past thirty minutes, I’ve been delving into a list I found online and partially memorized. Do you know what that list was?”
“No…”
“IT WAS A LIST OF CONVERSATION IDEAS TO HAVE WITH YOUR SPOUSE!” I confessed, feeling very much like I had cheated on myself, or something.
“Well you’ll think of something,” he shrugged.
“Don’t count on it!” I cried, and then promptly fell asleep.

I went in and out of sleep, until I was forced to wake up because it was my turn to take the wheel. My husband was switching vehicles about ten miles up the road, and I needed to drive ours home.
“By the way,” I said, “I think you need to know I’m going to buy some Paris Hilton perfume. I love it. I’ve wanted some for years, so I’m going to buy some.”
“So long as you throw the box away. I don’t like looking at her.”

“What ever happened to the Hiltons?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, “It’s all about the Kardashians now.”
“Who are they anyway? I’ve always wanted to know what the big deal was and exactly what it was that made them famous.”
“The mom has something to do with photography. Models? I don’t know. And if you ask me, Kim’s the only on worth being on TV. Chloe isn’t all that great.”
“Excuse me?” I laughed, “Who are these people?”
(It must here be mentioned that I’ve never seen any television show about the Kardashians.)
“The Kardashians. I watched a few episodes this week. Anyway, The Simple Life was dumb.”

“The what?” I asked.
“That show with Paris Hilton. It was dumb.”
“Oh…” I said, a little blindsided over the new side of my husband I was seeing.
“What was her friend’s name?” He asked.
“OH, she did have a friend. I can’t remember.” I shrugged.
“Nicole Richie!” He said, snapping his fingers.

This from the man who didn’t know who Daniel Craig was? I’m impressed.
He gave me a quick catch-up on who the Kardashians were (am I spelling their name right?) and then the conversation ball was finally rolling… just in time for him to leave me. Again.

Also, last night I also confessed to my husband that I’d really rather not watch any of the Back to the Future movies OR any Star Wars movies of any kind.

His reply?
“What is WRONG with you?!”

Ah, seven years…