It Looks Questionable to Me.

Last week, Em had an idea that bordered on genius.

She decided, post searching all over the Provo/Orem area for someone who would be willing to donate to our cause, to forgo the 'Build Your Own Birdhouse' idea.

Instead, we had an 'Art Day' to rue all art days.
It looked a little (okay exactly) like this:

We had the kids lie down on the butcher paper, then we'd trace their outline and have them color the inside. And when I say 'we' I mean 'the moms' because, apparently, Em n' me are pretty darn scary. Look at these cuspids. Rrrr!

 

These little fellers' were too cute. One (pictured at the bottom left) wanted another Otter-Pop but was too shy to ask us. He just kept givin' us that little grin and hiding behind his mom while the other (pictured at the bottom right) was fearless. Neon foam sword and all.

And of course, I couldn't help but join in myself. Hence, the surprisingly accurate replica of none other but 'yours truly'.
The likeness is uncanny, eh?

As to why I broke my posting streak of late:
I recently returned home from a river rafting trip extravaganza. The young single adults in my area headed down to Green River for three days in order to get their fill of sunburn, bug bites and filthy outhouse stench. Boy, was it fu-UHN.

Upon arriving home, I proceeded to drag myself up the steps and across the threshold. As I lay on the kitchen floor like a lifeless slug, Mom wasted no time in assaulting me, begging for details.

"How was the river?", she prodded.

"Wet.", I responded.

"Was the food any good?"

"Yup.", I snipped.

"Did you sleep well?", she worried.

"So, so.", I mumbled.

"Oh come on." she interjected determinedly, "Were any of the boys cute, at least?"

"Well..." I began to say, "They were until I got a good look at their toenails."

Suddenly, before I could fully come to terms with what was happening, Mom and my oldest sister (who had conveniently phoned the house moments earlier) were holding their sides in fits of laughter, feeding off each other's delight in regards to my response.

"What!?" I demanded intently, "I'm not saying that they should invest in weekly pedicures but is it too much to ask that they at least CLIP every so often??"

Granted their response was mostly unintelligible, I did catch a few snippets between the *snorts* and *guffaws*: something in regards to why 'marriage isn't in my future' and concern as to 'where I came from'.

Needless to say, I wasn't pleased.

I find it perfectly reasonable to demand the same podiatric health standard from those around me as to that I have set for myself. So, call me crazy, but I fully expect the man who slips a ring on my finger to submit to a rigorous foot inspection.

Mind you. It will be extensive.