tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50299800110086729642011-10-13T12:26:20.588-06:00Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.comBlogger1741100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-69034757199467578322011-10-11T14:14:00.001-06:002011-10-11T14:14:02.779-06:00

Yes, yes. Hold the applause please. If I were Lindsay Lohan, y’alled be thrilled to have me back from re-hab. Again. If I were Barbara Streisand, you’d be paying a pretty penny. And If I were the Beatles reunion tour, you’d be in some quasi-half-heaven-half-earth arena and probably the age of my parents. But lucky for all of you I am not stoned, not a diva and decidedly not dead. Or even

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-3081621051064390112011-09-13T20:40:00.001-06:002011-09-13T20:40:59.955-06:00

I really want to write a post tonight. Really, I do. I also really need to fold laundry, do some PTA emails and try to sew buttons on bibs. I really would love if this season in my life had ample time for blogging and writing, but it just seems like it doesn’t. I think I’ve written this twice before that I’m slowing down on blogging down to the point that it’s every Wednesday, but it seems

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-79807201113527949482011-09-06T21:39:00.001-06:002011-09-06T21:39:35.407-06:00

Yes, Elvis is back! (Sha-pung) ***sound of spotlight***, duh. Except I have no flashy jumpsuit and I don’t look bloated and haven’t had anyone throw their underwear at me… uh…this is getting weird. But, hey—thanks for hanging in there and checking back when I faltered to return to bloggy-land on time. I won’t bore you with all my life goings-on like making new bib/shirts for Katie,

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-78516515920027140872011-07-05T21:05:00.001-06:002011-07-05T21:05:19.236-06:00

I’ve tried. I really have. To plan. To prepare. To make everyone happy. But I can’t. So, let me give you the truth. I’m leaving. Just for a while. Call it a sabbatical if you will. The children and I are travelling through 19 states and will be gone from Montana soil for exactly one month. It will be an adventure. Or suicide-by-road trip, one or the other. We have many things planned,

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-73570488171057136262011-06-28T22:21:00.001-06:002011-06-28T22:21:25.781-06:00

Ever watched the “Behind the Scenes” under the subheading “Extras” in High School Musical Tres? Of course, you haven’t.  If you have, you must have been looking through our living room window a few weeks ago and you are a low-life creep. Get some help, why doncha? And don’t tell anyone what I look like with nappy hair, popcorn peppering my shirt and children laying on my every appendage like

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-4067395206831457492011-06-21T23:04:00.001-06:002011-06-21T23:04:07.732-06:00

Hey, y’all. I’m working on a letter to myself on my High School Graduation Day. It’s deep and weepy and highly educational which is more than you can say for most entertainment these days. So, just hold your horses and I’ll have it up next week. Thanks for being patient (as if you have a choice) while I enjoy my children (and their fighting) being home this summer. While you’re waiting read

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-25115836583342625842011-06-14T22:15:00.001-06:002011-06-14T22:15:00.824-06:00

You know when you watch a movie and a main character dies unexpectedly and later while sorting through the effects, the family finds personalized letters to each of them? And even the new godparents of the orphaned children have letters telling them all they need to know to raise the bereaved brood? The emotions swell as the family realizes just how wise and all-knowing their loved one was. I

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-16097397475619223702011-06-07T22:01:00.001-06:002011-06-07T22:01:41.271-06:00

There are two types of people in this world: Those who have lawns and those who have grass. Up until about a month ago I was in the latter group. Actually, I am still in the latter group envying those in the lawn posse. Let me ‘splain. For the first 34 and 3/4 (hey—34, 34!)years of my life I had a soft spot for dandelions. I scoffed at those who called them weeds. They’re cute! They’re

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-30540925986142757382011-05-31T21:13:00.001-06:002011-05-31T21:13:49.972-06:00

Hi, folks! Yes, this is another delay of my newest enemy, but I am busy cup-caking, teacher-thanking and field-daying. We are about to buy new tags for our new van and I’m getting my game face on in preparation for meeting the red-head at the DMV. Here’s my rant on the horrendous counter service I received from the local DMV minions from a year ago. Wish me well… Sing to the tune of

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-36581566236000903782011-05-24T20:54:00.001-06:002011-05-24T20:54:11.980-06:00

I used to: have a spreadsheet with all the clothes we had by size so I knew what we needed, now I just look in the bin and smile or groan oil the wooden spoons, now I just huck them in the dishwasher and say a little prayer clean the toaster oven, now we just toast marshmallows over the coals have our checkbook balanced to the penny, now I keep a mental tally and lie awake at

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-17756096751802858172011-05-17T22:31:00.001-06:002011-05-17T22:31:46.173-06:00

The Mother’s Day flowers are beginning to wilt, the homemade cards are stuck to the counter under homework sheets and the delicious breakfast in bed has been eaten and…well, made it’s exit. I really do love the sweet handprint cards and acrostic poems I receive, but I wonder as the years pass and my children move onto either buying a 99c card at the Dollar Store and passing it on to the next

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-1577377408536526132011-05-10T21:40:00.001-06:002011-05-10T21:40:50.326-06:00

Y’all know how I wanted to be JLo’s double since I’m literally twice her size and have roughly half her mojo. (If anyone can tell me the meaning and etiology of that term I will personally send you a candy bar—no joke.) In the comments of that post (and y’all know how I heart comments) my un-SIL reminded me of a beauty blog by the talented hairdresser (Kristy Abrahamson)  of my real SIL. She

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-85701649728965798492011-05-03T22:50:00.001-06:002011-05-03T22:50:23.464-06:00

I know a thing or two about cars. Literally a thing or two, but a titch more than “you turn the key and go”. During my single days I was even known to change my own oil and watch very closely as a friend gapped my spark plugs. Did y’all know your spark plugs have gaps? Because they do. And there’s this special little do-hicky that helps you know the correct…er…gap…or something. If the gap isn’t

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-47966222003970953322011-04-26T21:38:00.001-06:002011-04-26T21:38:21.916-06:00

Hi. How are you? Thanks so much for reading my blog even though I am a bit wonky. My husband truly believes all the way down to his hairy little toe that wonky is not a word. But it is. In my little world. My wonky world. And in my wonky world I have a few deadlines to meet tonight. Papers that need to be stapled and book bags that need to be filled and eyes that need to be shut. But soon,

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-8003568339702935882011-04-19T20:52:00.001-06:002011-04-19T20:52:10.717-06:00

Dear Snow, Consider this your official notice that we are no longer an item. I know it hurts, but it’s really for the best. For both of us. You really need to go in a different direction and I am ready for someone new. Someone hotter and vibrant. At first you were so cool and made me think wistful thoughts staring out my kitchen window watching you flitter by winking at me.  You never had body

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-65434644669997366622011-04-12T20:03:00.001-06:002011-04-12T20:03:02.275-06:00

At the end of the day, I like to burn the stress off with the hottest shower possible. I deepen my carbon footprint as I stand there as long as it takes until my stress drips off and goes down the drain. In 10th grade my English teacher, Mrs.. Sears posed the question, “Where is your special place?” I have not a clue what my response was but I remember hers: her bathtub. I used to babysit for

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-58451263977023875782011-04-05T22:22:00.001-06:002011-04-05T22:22:14.473-06:00

Not all babies are cute. Let me just get that one off my chest. OY! I have personally seen my share of ugly newborns, though I’ve never said as much. I just smile and lie comment about their cute fingers or how incredibly full their hair seems. But whether they’re pudgy or boney, they are all swaddled and protected against those who may harbor germs or other infectious malice. Shielded by

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-46459860605002056962011-03-29T21:46:00.001-06:002011-03-29T21:46:39.636-06:00

***Warning: This post is highly narcissistic. If you are sensitive in any way to self-absorbed photos and commentary, please take a step back and affix your safety glasses, the rest of you, settle back and get ready to feel really good about yourself. . *** Specifically, the self attached to your head connected with follicle-thingies that unfortunately and inevitably turn grey, wiry and/or thin.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-60446816334230984282011-03-22T21:43:00.001-06:002011-03-22T21:56:24.219-06:00

Yeah, so sleep—me gotta get some. You can hear all about my J.Lo hair issues tomorrow night, but in the meantime check this talented singer out here and here. Buenos nachos. (And thanks, Tonya for the link!)

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-54821238126157885282011-03-15T21:06:00.001-06:002011-03-15T21:06:00.314-06:00

Confession to my mother: Mom, remember when I was in middle school and you and Dad separated/divorced and I had a “hard time”. Remember I had psychosomatic sickly symptoms and missed a lot of school? Remember that I missed so much school that Mrs.. White-haired Assistant Principal Lady invited you to an Attendance Meeting about my “excessive absenteeism” and you put up your Mama Bear fists

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-36567276541020677952011-03-08T21:27:00.001-07:002011-03-08T21:27:33.147-07:00

I’m not much of a woe-is-me-er, but it seems like Montana is out to get me. With a cowboy vengeance. I knew the bears had me in their sights, but now I’m sure the fine officers with red lights on top of their cars have me on their short list. Circled in red, underlined, bolded and highlighted. I have ne-ver. NEVER had a speeding ticket until moving here. Uh, wait…I had one in IA. Yes, I’ve been

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-73915147013970627462011-03-01T20:49:00.001-07:002011-03-01T20:49:58.597-07:00

While running today, I saw something atypical on the ground. Since I usually run on busy streets so my mother won’t worry, I am used to seeing numerous cigarette butts, Gulp cups and once I found my own headband lost the previous week! I have seen these kind of objects before and it always gives me pause: one solitary shoe. This one happened to be a children’s shoe and as I ran I almost laughed

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-76276037252450877812011-02-22T21:29:00.001-07:002011-02-22T21:29:36.618-07:00

They say Cleanliness is next to Godliness. But I’m pretty sure there’s a tiny asterisk (like this: * )at the end of that idiomatic phrase which includes these exceptions: the family van the family toy room  the family refrigerator. And though I try to stay close to God, these three places are my own Dante’s seven layer dip with the ingredient list as follows: goldfish crackers,

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-50263584737016291112011-02-17T21:43:00.001-07:002011-02-17T21:43:56.415-07:00

Hi. I said Hi people. Ok, a few things to mark off the agenda here. Any objections? Fine. Okey-doke. So, I know I’m no pro-blogger and I have more pimples than followers, but y’all are loyal and a great bunch to hang out with, so I thought I’d give you a heads-up here: My life has gotten a bit busier lately and I’m gonna have to take the blog to one post a week. Here’s a tissue. And

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-42179453240772909962011-02-15T21:57:00.001-07:002011-02-15T21:57:51.544-07:00

I’m usually suspicious of people who look tan when there’s two feet of snow on the ground. There’s not anything ethically or morally wrong with it--who knows?  maybe they just survived cancer treatment and went to Jamaica to celebrate. Or. They like to fake bake at the local “Rayz of Light” tanning salon. A few years ago, I took Mary and Katie (then 6 and 3 1/2) to the dentist and had the a

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-30311021412012923082011-02-10T20:31:00.001-07:002011-02-10T20:31:02.259-07:00

Real Simple magazine recently did an essay contest and the topic was something along the lines of “When did it occur to you that you were an adult?” I really tried to fire all cylinders and come up with a moment, a memory or even an assurance that I was one. College? Nope—too many pranks of stinky socks under pillows and ice water poured over unsuspecting showerees. Marriage? Well…too many

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-38941401312183495602011-02-08T20:47:00.000-07:002011-02-08T20:47:00.638-07:00

Growing up, I was a tad sassy. Surprising I know. And every so often I would be in my room post-sass-attack and feel the urge to apologize. Via snail mail. Well, under-the door mail. It kept my adolescent pride under wraps while lightening my guilt at being disrespectful to my Mom. A win-win if I ever read one! Most of the time they would say, “Sorry, Mom for saying all those mean things

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-83576161650006321402011-02-03T21:27:00.001-07:002011-02-03T21:27:49.503-07:00

People lie. Lots of people lie. People in college lie. People who run colleges lie. People work in college housing offices lie the most. When on the brochure, you read, “We will do everything possible to consider shared interests, study habits and educational focus when assigning roommates to a shared room.” Bull. Honky. Does anyone say that anymore? I don’t even say that—why am I writing

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-62282126386962994862011-02-01T21:12:00.001-07:002011-02-01T21:12:51.371-07:00

Check back Friday for my essay on my most memorable and first roommate. And thanks for being understanding when life gets in the way of blogging. Y’all are the best!

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-53897607240158408992011-01-27T21:42:00.001-07:002011-01-27T21:42:56.358-07:00

If ever Jeremy and I have a point of contention, 50% of the time it is over meat. Not enough. Not enough of the deer variety that he spent umpteen weekends waiting for it to surrender. Not enough “red” and too much “turkey fill-in-the-blank”.  He still rolls his eyes every time I purchase turkey-bacon, ground turkey, or turkey sausage-- informing me that yet again, I’ve bought the faux meat.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-59826323508245744222011-01-25T21:10:00.001-07:002011-01-25T21:10:15.947-07:00

What is your favorite plant/flower/shrub/green growing thing? Put-cho’ hands down if it’s a gerbera daisy, peony, tulip or rose. I can ga-RON-tee that none of y’all are putting your palms in the air for a pine tree. They are plain, misshapen, and only look good covered up at Christmas. Kind of like my thighs. Pine trees lead me to think about Pine Sol. And Pine Sol makes me remember nursing

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-21986925702797230882011-01-20T21:03:00.001-07:002011-01-20T21:03:43.789-07:00

It gets cold here in Montana. Not Iditarod mushing cold, but cold enough. I’ve never owned so many sweaters in my life. Recently, I’ve added a collection of corduroy pants to my wardrobe to keep my gams warm while waiting for the school bus to saunter down our cul-de-sac. I found some cute ones {pants, not buses} at a local thrift store and even enjoyed the flowery waistband. Cute, huh?

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-89150218925914498182011-01-18T20:34:00.001-07:002011-01-18T20:34:54.196-07:00

We returned home from our honeymoon to our teensy apartment attached to Jeremy’s grandmother’s house and were welcomed by a stack of gifts a 4-year-old high. My in-laws had kindly set up our bed and even thoughtfully arranged our spankin’ new Bed in a Bag set. I’ll probably never get that many gifts again ever in my life. Or a Bed in a Bag, for that matter.  I should have caressed them a little

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-86498293074811218972011-01-13T19:25:00.001-07:002011-01-13T19:25:20.218-07:00

I realize the appliance industry is a cut-throat one and I’ve heard Harvard has the best training program for it, but sometimes I wonder if the engineers really have degrees. When we bought our cool front-loader mis-matched on the cheap pair we were entranced by the efficiency and sleek design. But then I noticed this oddity: Seriously? MORE DRY? How do you get more dry then dry?

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-26111253597947709622011-01-11T22:41:00.001-07:002011-01-11T22:41:32.075-07:00

Roots are a good thing. Trees need ‘em. Carrots are ‘em. I’m a big fan of roots. Unless I happen to trip over one and after a bit of ungraceful skittering and crashing I’m sure I would still look over and find them beautiful, even then. You know that frameable quote about giving children roots and wings? Hogwash. Mostly because it makes zero sense: children do not resemble trees in any form,

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-15930981583137562172011-01-06T22:57:00.001-07:002011-01-06T22:57:52.820-07:00

Because I’ve had four children, I am often, sometimes, occasionally asked by women what sort of advice I might have. I covered much of that with my ABCs of Motherhood series, but I thought of an addendum that I might share. And I call it the allegory of the trucker and the allegory of the driveway. And I don’t even know if allegory is the correct term, but let’s all agree it is, k? When

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-84666723016270755682011-01-04T20:27:00.001-07:002011-01-04T20:27:48.635-07:00

So, we recently purchased my new BFF: a treadmill. I’ve been looking obsessively for one on Craigslist that was under $500 and didn’t look like it would break if I threw a can of tuna at it. Throwing a can of tuna at anything is the primo way of testing the validity, resilience or strength of any relationship, shopping item or commercial enterprise. Obvious exceptions include: glass windows and

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-46273890705233305572010-12-30T22:33:00.001-07:002010-12-30T22:34:46.759-07:00

Unless you are an oceanographer, a Teuthologist {Good ol’ Mr. Google said it is a person who studies octopuses and all their Cephalopod pals}, or have read the same picture book I recently read my daughter, you may not know something that I just learned about octopuses.  This one wasn’t your cutesy cartoon book that describes octopus as “tickly” or some other toddler-type adjective—we’re

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-81353720768083003042010-12-28T21:41:00.001-07:002010-12-28T21:41:43.276-07:00

So, every December 31st I try to convince myself that THIS time it will be different. Different from all the other years. From all the other starts that I’ve somehow found a way to get sloppy and diverge off the planned path. I tell myself, “Self. You’re an adult. You can do this. You’ve done hard things before. It’s simple. Millions do it everyday and somehow manage to keep it together. You CAN

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-40665900588397359442010-12-23T20:24:00.000-07:002010-12-23T20:24:00.872-07:00

The following is a Christmas reading that my friend Sara and I wrote for our Relief Society/Women’s Group’s Christmas Program at our church last year. The parts that have been reworded or inspired by someone else is hyper-linked to that article. This is a re-post. I promise next year I will think of something new! I hope you enjoy the beauty and peace that remembering our Savior’s birth brings.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-64309411383438569432010-12-21T20:59:00.001-07:002010-12-21T20:59:45.186-07:00

People fascinate me. Historical people, spiritual people, famous people, inspirational people—you name it and I would love to read their biography. I love reading how they deal with triumphs, titters or trials. I learn from seeing the world through their eyes, if only for 254 pages. So, when I receive Christmas newsletters, I am eager to not only see what people share about their lives in the

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-17035384997545908452010-12-16T21:16:00.001-07:002010-12-16T21:16:08.198-07:00

Even children who you are happy and alive eventually become insistent and demanding that you DO something for them. And though Mary asked very nicely, she requested reindeer cupcakes AGAIN this year for her class. In my head I was glaring and wondering if she’d contracted rabies or something because seriously DID SHE NOT REMEMBER THE CUPCAKE DISASTER OF 2009? Disaster might be a bit

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-74072741987150697262010-12-14T21:58:00.001-07:002010-12-14T21:58:52.390-07:00

Nostalgia flows freely tonight on the anniversary of the birth of my first child—my Mother’s Eve, if you will. Or even if you won’t. Nine years ago I was 2 COUNT THEM: TA-OO! weeks over-due. This was back in my tree-hugging birth days when I would ne--ver utter the words I threw out casually during my fourth birth two years ago, when I ordered the nurse to “get this baby out by 2pm because I

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-5295544606175678432010-12-09T21:26:00.001-07:002010-12-09T21:26:11.741-07:00

‘Tis the season for making lists, checking them twice and  making more lists and checking those thrice. But more often than not we’re running harried from one gift-giving bonanza to shopping to wrapping to serving the less-fortunate to light-gazing to whatever until we realize we resemble a vacuum cleaner with no bag or canister—just whipping stuff up without ever cleaning anything. I promise

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-81385162808297401072010-12-07T21:03:00.001-07:002010-12-07T21:03:32.189-07:00

They are stark, undecorated and uber-utilitarian and I’ve put more hours and quarters in them than I’d care to calculate. You see quite a slice of society in your local laundry mat. Generously and with no solicitation for quarters, I share with you a portion of my wisdom. This post only cracks the dryer door at all that  laundry mats have taught me about mankind and myself over the years: My

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-71384769754219042332010-12-02T22:03:00.001-07:002010-12-02T22:03:05.426-07:00

My home this time of year looks like you just walked into a Salvation Army Store. Or Goodwill on a good day. Or the clearance rack at Kmart. I’d love it if I could somehow copy the pages of Pottery Barn or posts I envy on cool decorating blogs, but alas, I can’t hide my roots and experience as a 3rd generation thrift-store junkie. Here’s the proof: This year on Black Friday, I thought I’d buy

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-32874773739145754522010-11-30T21:21:00.001-07:002010-11-30T21:21:54.741-07:00

So, paper logistics is not my strong suit of tea. Or other. But I managed to tally the over 60 entries with subscribers, commenters and followers and the grand {and only} prize goes to Kitty from Four Little Toms and a Mom. She writes an inspiring and sweet blog about her life and ministry in her community. I commented on your blog, Kitty and look forward to getting your address. You can

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-66805657192745523042010-11-23T22:08:00.001-07:002010-11-23T22:08:33.000-07:00

My criteria for listening to Christmas music are as follows: Listening to it has to make me NOT feel like jumping off a bridge, elbowing grannies for Snuggies at 4am, or ramming my head into the branches of the nearest Douglas Fir. So this pretty much rules anything resembling Mannheim Steamroller or Alvin and the Chipmunks. Can’t. Stand. Either. Of. Them. And heaven help any of you that do.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-45869088227174458812010-11-18T20:29:00.000-07:002010-11-18T20:29:00.306-07:00

This is a re-post from last year,but it’s much better than Thanksgiving leftovers. So, don’t think of it as a left-over post, but more of an antique post that gets better as it ages. Like cheese and gym socks. I used to be a chronic worrier. I remember worrying about water towers falling on our car and whether or not I’d get shot at my middle school. Stuff like that. Now, I have much more faith

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-29337986009815514422010-11-16T22:22:00.001-07:002010-11-16T22:22:34.902-07:00

I played with my Barbies for hours as a child. Mostly I made clothes for her since we didn’t have that many Barbie certified outfits. No, I didn’t sew them {which would be shocking since y’all know I flub along in that department. See here, here and here for proof} but simply wrapped fabric around in millions of variations until she looked like a rayon mummy. Just call me the sarong queen, though

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-2544277824005650902010-11-11T22:11:00.001-07:002010-11-11T22:11:50.467-07:00

Remember how wise and incredibly awesome {that sounds a bit braggish} I seemed in my last posts about all I’d learned in marriage. Remember how I said, “But you lose the worst parts of you--one day, one choice at at time--your natural inclination to be selfish, petty, critical, and vain …blah, blah, blah…Every once in a while you may act like a toddler yourself or say things you later regret….

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-38926272683625680042010-11-09T20:05:00.001-07:002010-11-09T20:05:31.517-07:00

No, gratefully we have not repeated our “How to live through multiple plagues” season we were in last year. But I’ve heard it’s making the rounds and in honor of puke season and because my current post is still marinating and not quite ready for consumption, I thought a re-post was in order. Happy Puking!   I try to not be prematurely judgmental of the general public, but I am instantly leery

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-74760805490552630842010-11-04T20:15:00.000-06:002010-11-04T20:15:00.250-06:00

This is a continuation of a letter I am writing to myself 10 years ago on my wedding day. Or in other words, I am now 34 and I am writing to myself at age 24 about all I wish I knew 10 years ago. On the day I was married to my husband, Jeremy. Should I say that it Spanish? “Hola. Me llamo Elizabeth.” And that’s that. If you haven’t read the beginning, scroll on down, baby. I know you feel like

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-37934904585475164952010-11-02T20:28:00.000-06:002010-11-02T20:28:00.868-06:00

It’s anniversary season around here--10 years, in fact. 10 YEARS! 10 years with no throwing dishes, very few nights on the couch, and many happy memories. In honor of this distinguished occasion, I thought I’d write a letter to myself on my wedding day. One of praise, caution and wisdom. Ish. So, here goes. Dear Elizabeth, {10 years ago} {Sorry for the picture of a picture.} First off

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-40782561527684844412010-10-28T21:12:00.000-06:002010-10-28T21:12:00.631-06:00

The other morning on the way to dropping kiddos off at school, I was singing along to a variety of children’s music coming from the CD player {why do they have to make it so catchy?} and I was alarmed to see these poking out from the side of the road. Yes. That would be hooves. From this bunch of hairy, dead Twizzlers. Just hanging out waiting to meat Mr. Taxidermy. Or taxidermist. Or Mrs.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-71280869593370228032010-10-26T21:11:00.000-06:002010-10-26T21:24:08.041-06:00

So, when I was dreaming about our new life in Montana, I was thrilled to wave goodbye to the ghetto and hello to home-ownership and heavenly scenery. But apparently, my husband had dreams of a different sort. Whoa. Give me a second to wipe these tears of pride from my eyes. In any other state in which we’ve lived, hunting is kinda for rednecks, but here everyone from executives to

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-64875022364432347852010-10-21T23:05:00.000-06:002010-10-21T23:17:08.820-06:00

I’m a bit of a tree hugger myself. I recycle. I compost. I even re-use occasionally. But this misrepresentation of “natural” made be snort a bit. Is General Mills seriously claiming that these oat chocolate snacks grow on trees? Isn’t that the definition of natural—occurring in nature? And even if they did happen to form all cubey-shaped growing on oat trees {I guess} would they naturally be

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-45780588212198512492010-10-19T21:01:00.001-06:002010-10-19T21:01:43.530-06:00

If you’ve never played hangman with a 6-7 year old, let me save you from the mental anguish you will surely endure by imploring you to ignore any requests from children to play said game until you’ve got a firm hold on their spelling ability and are 100% convinced if asked to spell the word “crayon”, they would know it would NOT be spelled “karayn”, “quayn”, “karwn” or the ever popular, “noyrc”.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-80308971212482017882010-10-14T21:02:00.001-06:002010-10-14T21:02:39.644-06:00

You hear a lot these days about the housing slump and how folks are having to be creative with making ends meet. But while driving recently, I saw something that convinced me that Americans are insanely creative. Or crazy. I was driving 65-70 mph so it’s not as framed and perfect as I’d like. Can you see the 2 trailers that I assume the resourceful builders are using for their abode as they

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-44403822688912403582010-10-12T22:36:00.001-06:002010-10-12T22:38:21.704-06:00

To: any children who call me Mom, mama, mother, or MAAAA! From: The aforementioned executive. Effective immediately, I shall be addressed as aksdjfasdfjoitejlkc. If you mispronounce my new-fangled title, you will be ignored. Especially if you are desiring snacks or treats. Or arrive at my bedside before 6am. {For reals--5:45 EVERY.STINKING.DAY} No exceptions, no excuses. Please call 1-800-

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-16813021603463219712010-10-07T21:46:00.001-06:002010-10-07T21:46:59.404-06:00

I have no animosity toward flaxen-headed people. I have many friends who have natural and un-natural blondish locks. I just think funny things are funny. And that’s all. Do you have a favorite blond joke?

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-81693144446490973322010-10-05T22:00:00.001-06:002010-10-05T22:00:12.002-06:00

Not sure about how fall is encroaching in your neck of the woods, but here trees are slowly resembling half-nekkid Hollywood stars with more twigs than leaves. Which means a fun memory and photo-maker is right around the corner: Halloween. As a child my mother was {and sorta is} opposed to the holiday, but once in my childhood she relinquished and let us go door to door begging for sweets. All

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-12121068262246246862010-09-30T21:44:00.001-06:002010-09-30T21:44:34.967-06:00

I have never once prefaced the eve of picture day with the words, “Now, girls, we all know that picture day means you wear a dress. A dress that is ironed and you simply must wear Sunday shoes alongside a hairdo that will take 5 times as long to complete as any normal day. And make absolutely sure that you change your mind regarding your froofy attire 4 times, minimum.” And yet, it happens as

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-19343872743984304952010-09-28T21:24:00.001-06:002010-09-28T21:24:09.226-06:00

***This is a re-post from last October because I really miss my Iowa pumpkin patch and the endless acres of dried-out cornstalks. Also too, I tried growing pumpkins in our teensy garden and they were shrimpy and fruitless and so I’m a smidgen down-trodden in my pumpkin ways right now and was due some happy pumpkin reminiscing.*** Ever since I was a child, I’ve asked too many questions. My mother

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-10863151171829254872010-09-23T20:18:00.001-06:002010-09-23T20:18:03.284-06:00

Read about my darling peaches here before reading ahead. I insist. {She said, typing with a smile.} Preceding my canning workshop, I had the notion it would be hard to share or even let my children taste their sweet juice until after Christmas. They are just so purdy sittin’ there on the shelf. But, surprisingly, we’ve eaten a few jars extemporaneously and I’ve given several (probably 5 or so

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-8432829098773441962010-09-21T21:47:00.001-06:002010-09-21T21:47:36.719-06:00

I know what you’re thinking. No, I know what you’re going to think when you see this picture of my newest creation. Well, I know what you might be thinking as I show you… Oh, for Pete’s sake; here it is: {That hand model there is my friend Amy {HI!} who learned me how to can.} We did 16 quarts of peaches one day and Jeremy and I butchered 9 quarts of pears another. And I do mean butcher.

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-83705365981915854062010-09-16T21:56:00.001-06:002010-09-16T21:56:12.593-06:00

A huge thanks to Joan for sending this in! I love getting people’s funny photos so feel free to email them by clicking on the elephant to the right and attaching your funny photos. The one that says, “Email me”. See him? Isn’t he cute? No spam or icky stuff please. Joan, maybe you can tell us what great metropolis convenes at this post. Or simply put, wheredja take the picture?  I love

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-60889568469084083732010-09-14T22:54:00.001-06:002010-09-14T22:54:30.500-06:00

So check out the beauty of Glacier National Park here, but I’m movin’ on the beasty part. Upon entering the grand entrance of the National Park you are handed your receipt like so: And when we entered our campsite, we were met by two volunteers who gave us other literature with “bear scare” stuff enclosed. They were also kind enough to inform us that just the other morning they were eating

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-84592980233212168502010-09-09T21:56:00.001-06:002010-09-09T21:56:21.140-06:00

I usually juggle responsibilities pretty well, dropping things when necessary and picking up new ones when needed. Tonight I’m quietly placing my blog ball on the desk and I’ll pick it up again for next Wednesday. I’m not trying to string y’all along or create entertainment tension—just tired and my feet hurt from canning. Yes, canning, which what I’ll write about when I’m finished with the

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-36898931749513087012010-09-07T22:38:00.001-06:002010-09-07T22:42:46.798-06:00

Supposedly over 50% of Americans have at one time donned a uniform with the emblem of the hallowed Golden Arches. Even I was a McD’s employee in a very low point in High School. A much lower percentage of Americans have visited Glacial National Park. And though we saw license plates from as far away as Maine, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and met a nice tobacco spittin’ couple from deep Texas, I

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-59160976644138823022010-09-02T22:41:00.001-06:002010-09-02T22:42:52.898-06:00

And so tomorrow we head to Glacier. Glacier National Park: the Alps of the Americas, mericas, mericas… Hear the echo? I call it “Glacier National Park: the home of every bear known to man and that’s a lot of bears” or something like that. I’m sure, hoping, praying it will be fine. We’ve been camping twice now and both times it’s been so hard to sleep. It’s either too quiet or the rain drops

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-85740656164797949822010-08-31T22:20:00.001-06:002010-08-31T22:20:49.794-06:00

I left church Sunday with a full serving of disgruntlement  sprinkled with a smidge of despair. The messages were superb, the Spirit palpable and the camaraderie sincere. It wasn’t all that—it was me. Annoying, typical me. Unable to control my pie hole. I just wish I could hand over a brochure with my Cliff Notes life story on the front to explain why I am who I am.  Why I am flippant about A

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-59461192951985947362010-08-26T22:09:00.001-06:002010-08-26T22:09:22.609-06:00

I’m sure you’ve seen these eye-dizzying guys around town where’ere you live. They bob and weave faster than any lightweight boxer I’ve ever seen. Ok, I’ve never intentionally watched boxing. Or golf. Or most sports on TV for that matter—live, yes—in a little box, not so much. But these guys are made to attract attention and business. I really, really wonder how a wacky red anorexic

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-78569255108428715682010-08-24T22:39:00.001-06:002010-08-24T22:39:41.140-06:00

So, it’s game time in my little world. School commences tomorrow. Which is weird because when it’s all over they call it commencement, too. Makes you wonder about our educational system and whether or not Dr. Seuss knew the places he was coming from or going to. I’m interrupting my deep, spiritual tale of Katie’s speech woes with my own sewing mastery, success, goings-on. Because I am on

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-21413354420126319552010-08-19T22:57:00.001-06:002010-08-19T22:57:16.089-06:00

I love being an adult because I finally get to know and get comfy with myself. I often feel like Julia Roberts’ character in Run Away Bride asking myself, “Self, do I like animal print or do I prefer paisley? Am I a fan of fried foods or do I prefer a good gyro?” And I have gone through enough “what kind of eggs do I like” scenarios now to know when something is gnawing at me and I have to

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-33565013244754881672010-08-17T22:33:00.001-06:002010-08-17T22:33:02.588-06:00

Sometimes I surprise even myself. So at the commencement of summer I was flush with excitement and anticipation with all the fun and good times the kids and I were going to have. For the first time since starting this motherhood gig, I felt like I was ok-ish. No nursing, no babies growing in utero, no dramatic diagnoses. I really felt {dare I say it?} a smidgen on top of it. A smidgen. So I

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-58285087008053217592010-08-12T22:54:00.001-06:002010-08-12T22:54:57.857-06:00

I see lots of cars looking at me. Cars, Cars, what do YOU see? I see weird 4-wheelers driving by me. Yep, they’re allowed on the road here. No helmet laws. Just ridin’ down the road just like the rest of us yahoos. The west is still wild. They’ve just traded up for different horsepower. Montana makes me laugh everyday—how ‘bout you? Join me Wednesday for my newest sewing debacle. See

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-49402518991668176442010-08-10T21:30:00.001-06:002010-08-10T21:31:48.011-06:00

If I were in charge, babies would read in the womb. None of these headsets on the belly so they can recite Scandinavian poetry as soon as they get suctioned. No, sir. Let’s just hold the text right up there and with black light {or something} they can balance your checkbook before they can breathe! How cool would that be? If I were in charge. But at least metaphorically I really, truly

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-25064314507267115442010-08-05T22:07:00.001-06:002010-08-05T22:07:12.742-06:00

State Fairs are a cornucopia of freakish people. Some stinky, some toothless, some decked out like like their headin’ to the Rodeo Prom. That’s RO-de-o, not Ro-DE-o. We’re in Montana here, folks. I used to think that people who dressed wacky as teenagers eventually grow and cover up. But NOW they just wear less clothing with more zippers and studs.  And they produce offspring who look like

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-43396772312367487592010-08-03T22:35:00.001-06:002010-08-03T22:45:58.997-06:00

I talk to God. I do. I really do. And when I listen, it’s even better. I pray while washing dishes, while driving down the road, when my eyes open each morning and just before they close at night. Oh, and especially when I’m about to take a turn on the south side of sanity with my small children. He’s there. Right when I need him. What I wasn’t expecting was feeling His mercy and

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-81394539529773567202010-07-29T21:44:00.001-06:002010-07-29T21:44:42.973-06:00

On the way to a hike recently, we came upon this funny sign. Y’all know I am a big fan of clarity in signage. Do you find these establishments  “incon” or just plain “con” –venient? Many thanks to my SIL and BIL who were my “on the street” photographers! We miss y’all! See you next Wednesday for the story behind an inspirational run that literally changed my life.  

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-15656502119189005882010-07-27T22:15:00.001-06:002010-07-27T22:15:07.240-06:00

Ok, so where were we? Oh, yes, poopy Ben and inebriated songbirds… Post-bagels, we mounted up for our hike. We first had to squeeze through some wackadoo entrance to the trail head {I’m guessing to discourage wandering grizzlies or pubescent males with 4-wheelers to come in or out} and then we did a series of zig-zaggy switch backs where I kept trying not to imagine my children tumbling down

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-166637279906609892010-07-15T22:51:00.001-06:002010-07-15T22:51:14.499-06:00

Jeremy complained that I looked like an Asian tourist, stopping every 500 feet to take a picture, but it was so insanely beautiful, I just couldn’t help it! I mean we’ve lived in beautiful places, but this kind of rustic, raw beauty I haven’t seen since reading “Wall Drug” 5 million times over. For y’all who are in Montana, we went west of Augusta to Wood Lake. That’s not Wood Lake—it’s just

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-37894759487059179232010-07-13T21:16:00.001-06:002010-07-13T21:16:56.132-06:00

I learned a few things on my inaugural camping trip. Bears really have it easy because they require no preparation to go to the wilderness. Whereas, I had to: 1) Buy junk food reserved for road trips for 8 people. You’d never know we were only camping for one night. I had dreams of making homemade granola bars, homemade granola, homemade bread and yummy fruit salad. But we got by with

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-32987423215046878232010-07-06T22:55:00.001-06:002010-07-06T22:55:16.425-06:00

For the record, I don’t want to die. And if I were to die, I have a litany of ways I don’t want it to happen. Right now—this very moment, even—I’m worried I will die in approximately three days in my first foray into the Montana wilderness with only a thin layer of fakey-swishy-tent material to protect me. I pride myself on being comfortable outdoors. I enjoy running outdoors, gardening outdoors

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-42300085246587848772010-07-01T22:15:00.001-06:002010-07-01T22:15:10.990-06:00

One negative about moving to Montana is that I lost all my hook-ups for hand-me-down children’s clothing. We had multiple uber-generous friends that took pity on our poverty and would literally back up a dump truck full of cutie clothes into our living room. So, it’s been a while since I’ve had to buy many children’s clothes. And it got kind of embarrassing when I realized sitting next to Mary

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-78437961129511546432010-06-29T12:42:00.001-06:002010-06-29T12:42:20.936-06:00

Trail mix This re-post is in honor of all those hitting the road with the upcoming holiday weekend. May the force be with you… In my younger days, I was opinionated and an expert on all matters of parenting. There was only good and bad parenting. I was of course in the first group. Always. That was when I had one child. Now I have four under the age of 9 which inducts me into the “hanging

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-90467714474475559872010-06-24T20:45:00.001-06:002010-06-24T20:45:19.716-06:00

Sometimes here in Big Sky Country I yearn for some southern drawl to tickle my ears,  a slaw dog to fill my gullet and some lightning bugs to watch in delight. But the other day I felt a little less homesick as I drove past this aged beauty. I’ve seen abandoned cars that looked like they’d lost the war with Chia pets and I’ve seen them used as landmarks for driving in the boondocks {Go four

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-18639433955935712902010-06-22T21:59:00.001-06:002010-06-22T21:59:22.974-06:00

I often am asked whether in uttered words or questionable glances, “How do you do it?” Meaning how do you schlep four small children around to various therapy appointments, grocery stores, parks and handle it all with a smile. Or at least a joke. If I had a pamphlet to hand out here would my answer be: My faith and my relationship with God guides me toward peace, direction and sense in

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-28308425281786926122010-06-17T22:21:00.001-06:002010-06-17T22:21:58.088-06:00

Or at least I should. I took the online practice quiz on their webpage and I thought my brain was going to explode. If I was in a cartoon world there would have been fizzies and question marks swirling around my noggin. But they didn’t have an essay question. Specifically an essay question entitled “What would be your greatest invention?” because if they did, I’m sure I’d be voted president or

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-31792272234100856862010-06-15T22:48:00.001-06:002010-06-15T22:48:00.451-06:00

For the record, this is one of my favorite summers in recent memory. Ok, since having children and for the following reasons: I am not pregnant I am not nursing I am getting 5-6 hours of sleep in a stretch 85% of the time and am therefore energetic enough to corral children to do morning chores and encourage them to get started on their dissertations early. And I really, honestly

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-1618000208990509962010-06-10T23:09:00.001-06:002010-06-10T23:09:32.676-06:00

My Student Loan Company would be stunned to know that I did indeed have jobs while absorbing wisdom in the hallowed halls of learning. In fact I had many of them: grocery store cashier, breakfast server at the dorm cafeteria, catering waitress, AV equipment pusher, and even law school book seller. I truly am over-qualified to be a mother. But through it all I had one occupation that kept my

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-45981952753383411582010-06-08T22:44:00.001-06:002010-06-08T22:44:59.287-06:00

It’s 10:30. That’s P.M. I went on a late evening shopping spree to buy new running zapatos {I told you I was fluent} and stopped by Evil-mart to feed the free world. I returned home knowing this essay shouldn’t take too long since I had a rough outline scribbled on a pad. That is now missing. Or decoupaged to the counter with sugar and spaghetti sauce. I’m comfortable with myself {and y’all

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-55863105180010736892010-06-03T20:31:00.001-06:002010-06-03T20:31:13.879-06:00

I’m pretty sure this is not unique to Montana, but I’ve been seeing these guys all around here. Ok, I’m prone to exaggeration, but they sort of give me the creeps. It’s like they’ve been sucking up nectar from flowers sprayed with Miracle Grow. I fight the urge to knock on their door and ask, “What look are you going for exactly with the rainforest-sized flutter bugs?” I also fight the urge

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-47401988206172941612010-06-01T22:42:00.001-06:002010-06-01T22:42:19.009-06:00

The south is  known for heat, humidity and deep fried everything. None of which involve cold or frozen items. Unless you’re talkin’ about deep fried Twinkies. Ever had one? It will make you think seriously about never stepping foot in Weight Watchers. They are wicked good. While living through 2 harsh winters in Iowa and a half of winter in Montana I’ve developed the annoying habit of having

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-79079906476403875352010-05-27T21:36:00.001-06:002010-05-27T21:36:24.868-06:00

I love my husband. I was in love with my previous dentist. And now I’m in love with this guy. But I’m certain, he would get annoying fairly quick-like. It’s too bad the only word I understand in this whole video is “popcorn”. Thanks, Shaille for the “Ph”ideo idea. But just in case you are a “Fun Photo Friday” purist, here ya go: I clicked my heels and made a wish… and realized there

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-90420132211630430282010-05-25T22:26:00.001-06:002010-05-25T22:26:59.156-06:00

Her name was Louise. She was very old, had light brown hair {presumably dyed}, wore glasses and had a throne. At least that’s what I thought it was as a child. She had gnarled hands due to severe arthritis and sat in a wingchair on a homemade of pedestal with steps ease of getting in and out. All I knew as a child was I wanted a throne like that. She had more than one candy dish that kept me

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-79498242767575226862010-05-20T23:02:00.001-06:002010-05-20T23:02:23.952-06:00

Hello? Is it me your lookin’ for? I am so blessed to have my own personal Simon Cowell. Mine is not so grumpy, smiles more and wears more than grey designer t-shirts. But he’s honest even when I don’t want to hear it. And he tells me when I get a little histrionic/karaoke. I apologize if you thought I was possessed by a personality Oreo of Sarah Palin, Ralph Nader AND Ross Perot during my last

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-58016741773427592122010-05-18T22:02:00.001-06:002010-05-18T22:02:01.493-06:00

Sing to the tune of the Brady Bunch: Here’s a story of a red-haired lady Who-o worked at the D-Mm-V She was slow and very unhelpful Yes, I am mad indeed. Dumdadadadum…. Here’s a story of a nice mama Who carried all her pa-per-work To the counter with two-o little ones Yes she was pre-e-pared. Dumdadadadum…. Then the redhead said “no way-ay no how.” And she

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029980011008672964.post-56500406226259846382010-05-13T21:08:00.001-06:002010-05-13T21:08:01.534-06:00

Consider me your new go-to girl if you: are into exotic pets are a HS Anatomy Teacher wear a lab coat like to run mazes If you are a loyal blog follower, I’ll even throw in free shipping. But the handling will cost you. And they might be damaged after flying first class in one of these. I guess you get what you pay for…. See you Wednesday for the introduction of my

Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903293119942932868noreply@blogger.com3