Check Out My Swagger.

Let me begin by saying that no individual or company is paying me in any way, shape or form to say this. I am just so overly excited about it, I can't keep it to myself any longer!
 
Months back, I signed up to receive daily emails from Freebies2Deals so that I could stay up to date on free products being offered and awesome sales going on. I'm kind of a coupon freak, truth be told. I just love how it feels to get a good deal! 'Da twinneh' understands.
 
Anyways, the author/owner kept mentioning something called 'Swagbucks' and encouraging others to sign up, saying that she's earned countless gift cards for free. You read that right, FREE.

 

I was pretty skeptical at first, but it seemed pretty straightforward, and she'd never led me wrong before, so I decided to check it out. And that was the day that I became completely and utterly addicted.

Their main premise is that you can earn things called 'swagbucks' when you search online through their toolbar or search engine. Each buck is more or less equivalent to a penny, which doesn't seem like much but certainly adds up. Especially when you're rewarded 10-50 swagbucks per average search. And let's face it, you're going to be searching regularly, so why not be rewarded for it!?

There is no rhyme or reason as to when you win, but you'll certainly know it when you do. I'm not ashamed to say that I get a little thrill any time a picture like this appears at the top of my search results.

It is estimated that you can earn upwards of $100 per year, just by simply searching through Swagbucks. And if you are even more dedicated to building up your virtual dollar stockpile, you can earn above and beyond that! I've been using the site for a little over a month now and have already earned around $40 worth of gift cards.

And there's a wide variety of restaurants and businesses to choose from. You could be earning all year, redeem your bucks for Amazon gift cards and buy Christmas presents with no out-of-pocket! CAN YOU TELL I'M SLIGHTY OBSESSIVE ABOUT THIS?..

Dan and I log-in to their site whenever we have a slow moment at work to earn swagbucks through voting in the daily poll, clicking through the no obligation special offers and completing 10-15 minute surveys. We try to meet the daily goal (which changes daily and ranges anywhere from 50-150 SBs) so that we get the daily bonus and call it good.

You can also win free bucks by 'liking' SBCodez on Facebook. They notify you whenever there is a 'swagcode' available, which is basically just a word you enter on the homepage for free bucks.

There are so many different ways to earn, through couponing, special offers, watching videos, playing games, etc. And while it would be ridiculous to believe that you could earn any semblance of a living by joining, it is just as ridiculous not to be earning free stuff doing things that you do everyday anyways. Especially if you have free time to spare while working at an office job.

I guess what I'm saying is that there really is no reason why you shouldn't sign-up for Swagbucks. And when you do, you might as well be my referral. For every person you refer, Swagbucks awards you up to a thousand matching bucks for every search buck your referral earns.

Please click HERE if you are interested.
(And I'd be happy to answer any questions you may have if you're fuzzy on the details.)

So, in a way, it'd be like you're giving me a Christmas present.
Because really, this post is my gift to you.

Breaking Point at Breaking Dawn

I had an awesome weekend. It was full of sisters and sleepovers and silliness. And also alliteration, apparently.

 

'Da twinneh' and Gem slept over on Friday night. The husband was gone pheasant hunting, so we had the apartment all to ourselves. Which meant there was no need to hold back.

 

It's at times like these that our true colors really shine. Should you have the privilege of witnessing how we act when in only each other's company.

 

And somehow, I always end up at the brunt end of every joke. Like when we were all spooning on my bed, and I suggested that we reenact a particular scene from the movie Corinna, Corinna (skip to 8:50), and then they mock me relentlessly for how I roll over. Regardless of how much more efficient or practical it is.

 

I mean who likes having their pajamas all twisted up and strangling them in the middle of the night?? That's right. No one.

 

This sisterly reunion was all in anticipation of the new Twilight movie release. My oldest sister and her oldest daughter met up with us at my apartment the next afternoon to watch the first half of Breaking Dawn, then we had some dinner at Zupas before hitting up part II at the mall.

 

Just for the record, I don't consider myself a raving Twilight fan. True, I enjoyed the books and true, I've seen all of the movies. But that doesn't mean I stand behind the horribleness of films 1 & 2. The third was only marginally better, and I only started truly enjoying them on these last two.

 

That being said (and in an attempt to refrain from leaking any spoilers), there was a certain point during the climax where I seriously contemplated going home, burning the novels and never speaking of them again. It seemed as though the director had changed the storyline in such a way as to completely ruin the saga. The entire theater was in a state of shock, including 'da twinneh' who sat with her hands covering the horrified expression on her face.

 

I was beyond infuriated. I loved how Stephenie Meyer had finished the story. She hadn't felt the need to kill off any main characters, the conflict was resolved and it had a happy ending. Something you rarely find in literature.

 

But that was far from the direction the film was taking. Fortunately, we all breathed a sigh of relief when the twist was revealed, and the world was right again. The theater literally buzzed for the next two minutes as all of the women expressed their excited relief.

 

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that everything turned out alright. Sorry if that ruins the surprise for you, but I personally would rather have known from the get-go that it would all be okay. Would have saved me a lot of anxiety and loathing later on.

 

And of course, the 'Twi-hards' all clapped enthusiastically during the credits.

 

Which always makes me roll my eyes. I classify it right up there with cliche Relief Society pity chuckles and when people require you to prove you're not a robot when leaving a comment on their blog.

I hate to break it to you bloggers, but that deters me from saying anything 9 out of 10 times. If you're really so worried about someone posting inappropriate content, moderate your comments before they're visible.

But considering that the majority of you who still utilize this ridiculous feature have fewer than five followers, myself included, I think you're safe.

And so that is what I have to say on those subjects.
See it, stop it and remove it.

A Few of His Favorite Things

It was the husband's birthday Saturday, and I knew he was excited about having the whole day off, so I planned some surprise activities all involving his favorite places and people. He tried his hardest to get as many hints out of me as he could, but I was surprisingly successful at warding him off.

Granted, he did guess a few of the day's events, but he is just good like that. Even when I don't give him clues, he's still a master guesser.
It couldn't have been avoided.

I had planned on hiding a bunch of helium inflated balloons in my trunk and then sneaking out to retrieve them in the night, but then pictured releasing them over his sleeping head and him awaking to the sound of 26 balloons hitting the ceiling or their strings tickling his nose in the night and ruining my surprise. So that idea was kaput.

Plus, I forgot to get them after work and couldn't think of a valid excuse as to why to venture back out again when I got home. All minor details.

I had also planned on writing on all of his car windows with window markers like I did last year (as kind of a new tradition, ya know), but dang blast, it snowed. A lot. Therefore rendering that idea impossible..

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the universe was intent on ruining all of my birthday surprises. I had to settle on decorating the bathroom mirror with a dry-erase marker and calling it good.

Then I remembered the left-over punch-ball balloons I hadn't used when making our wedding reception lanterns. By this time, the husband was asleep, but I was still paranoid at the idea of him waking at the sound of balloons being inflated and therefore decided that putting two closed doors between us would relieve that worry.

Keep in mind that my surprise anxiety was starting to escalate by this point. And that is precisely why it took me approximately twenty minutes to, inch-by-inch, close the bedroom and office doors. And the universe didn't relent, because they both immediately became very squeaky, and I could have sworn his eyes were open for at least part of the time.

It was a pain-staking effort, I tell you, because I didn't dare move an inch without waking him. He has the unique ability to be dead to the world one minute and then jump up the next, alert and somewhat startled as to why he's suddenly standing.

I probably would have died right there if he had caught me in the act.

Needless to say, my nerves were fried by the time I hung the balloons over each doorway and crawled into bed. I was so hurried in my effort to be sneaky that I mistakenly hung three orange balloons right next to each other in the dark. That is a big no-no in the world of Corinner-Elly. I was mortified.

And then, wouldn't you know it, as I lay there listening to the husband's gentle snoring, I started to remember all of the other things I should have done before snuggling up. Thinking of his card and gifts resting neatly in my nightstand drawer, I painstakingly slid from the bed (smartly waiting until he restlessly rolled over, to best cover my movement) and took another twenty minutes trying to silently slide out the drawer, remove its contents and tip-toe around the bed to place them on his nightstand.

I immediately decided even careful movement in such a close proximity would be a problem and therefore dropped down on all fours and slowly crawled around the base of the bed. I'm sure from an outside perspective, it all would have looked rather ridiculous, but I was determined. I was like Pocahontas creeping through the woods, you couldn't hear a single movement..

That is until I hit every creaky floorboard in our entire apartment. I knew this was the end. He'd peek over the edge any minute now and see me crouched at the foot of the bed, a few presents in hand, card in mouth, looking back at him terrified and it'd all be over.

I waited for a few tense minutes until.. nothing happened. Realizing that I'd better just do it like a band-aid, quick and pain-less, I stretched out fantastically, plopped those bad-boys on his nightstand and raced back around to my side. He didn't even bat an eye.

And so I finally fell asleep, two hours later than I should have and with grand ideas still buzzing around in my head of all of the other things I still wanted to do but couldn't with no remaining courage left to venture out again.

I found out the next morning that the husband had awoken some time later and seen his birthday morning surprise awaiting him. But I guess, in way, my efforts were still a success. He was surprised, and I didn't die in the meantime. Which is always good.

He was gifted two DVDS (Megamind and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, both of which he constantly quotes), a hilarious birthday card containing a voucher for a 1-hour deep tissue massage and a pack of cards, documenting 52 of the many reasons why I love him. (I take no credit, Pinterest is my guide.)

They included such things as 'because he dressed up like a Viking with me for Halloween, even though it was hot and itchy.' and 'because he eats whatever I put in front of him and isn't a picky eater.' (Apparently I spoke too soon on that one, seeing as he refused to eat 'brinner' the next Sunday at my parents. I was quite surprised.)

A few that I forgot to include but are worth mentioning are 'because he, unknowingly, squeezes my hand very tightly when we're driving. Like death grip tight.' and 'because it's impossible for him to focus/listen to what I'm saying and/or praying when the TV is on.'

And so we got up, went to Denny's to redeem his 'free Grand Slam birthday breakfast' and raced over to American Fork for his surprise appointment at Lehi's Ole Town Barber Shop (complete with haircut, massage and beard-trim with a straight razor). It was pretty spiffy. She even used heated shaving cream and vintage looking aftershave. He was a veritable Dapper Dan afterwards. Literally.

Then we picked up a gift from his parents' house and shopped for a bit. I'm ashamed to say that we bought more things for me than we did the birthday-boy, but I can't help it if he likes making me happy. ;) After all, this birthday was about all of his favorite things..

Which happens to include 'challenges' and 'wings', both of which are a part of the eating experience at Wingshak. So we ate a few tasty morsels for lunch, admired his picture on the 'wing challenge wall of fame' and once again headed north towards, debatably, his FAVORITEST PLACE EVER: Cabela's.

Where we purchased a 'manly' insulated lunch bag (he was ruthlessly teased previously by co-workers for taking mine) complete with two aluminum water bottles for a steal-of-a-deal. He was quite proud of my haggling skills. Hey, we can't help it if we found in the $16.99 bin when it should have been in the $36.99..
Deal with it, cashier lady.

It's his birthday presen to himself! He's so happy...

We sadly missed out on the daily fish-feeding, due to the only times scheduled being 12:00 and 6:00 PM, which make sense for the fish but lands right in the middle of meal time for us humans too. I mean, who schedules fish feedings then??! The mind boggles..

I shamefully neglected to take any pictures up until this point. And therefore, will let them tell the rest of the story. For the most part.

 See? He's happy..

 and also surprised!!

 Our next stop was Scheels, a place to which we'd never been but heard great things about.

Don't ask me why he's picking Thomas Jefferson's nose. It was his birthday and, well, I try not to ask. 

 The inside was pretty dang amazing. And huge! Complete with awesome fish tank display.

 Not to mention a giant Ferris wheel in the middle of the building. FANTASTICNESS.

 The husband was convinced that they saved money by cutting this prairie dog in half and using both ends in their display. We were tempted to prove that theory but didn't follow through.

Overall, Scheels was a win. It was definitely added to his list of favorite places by the end of our visit. I highly recommend checking it out. It has something for everyone and is very family friendly.

Our second to last scheduled event was dinner at the Red Iguana. We had tried it for the first time on our way back from the honeymoon after recommendations from family and Guy Fieri from Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives and fell in love with the deliciousness. So after a short drive around the state capital to kill time, we ended up making the two block trip to the Red Iguana 2 after finding the first to be closed due to lack of power and met up with his BFF/2nd favorite person, (I reserve the rights for 1st) cousin Eric.

Surprise!!! Okay.. he guessed it before hand, but I tried.

Sorry that I caught you with your mouth full husband. And on your birthday too..

He also guessed my final plans for the evening: a surprise showing of the new James Bond movie, Skyfall, at the Thanksgiving Point Megaplex (a film which he has been dying to see for months now), but we had some time to kill so Eric suggested a surprise outing to a nearby park to kill some time.

He had planned on taking the husband sledding in the freshly fallen snow, but in a surprise (theme of the day) and twisted turn of events, ended up hitting black ice on the freeway and slamming into the middle barrier. We were following immediately behind him and therefore witnessed the whole terrifying ordeal.

He hit hard enough that the airbags inflated and his truck was pretty mangled, so we pulled off and hurriedly jumped between the center barriers to wait for the police to arrive, but eventually decided to get off the freeway for safety's sake due to the buckets of snow that were now falling.

And so after a miraculously well-placed prayer, a lot of scared minutes, freezing temperatures, emergency bathroom trips to 7-Eleven and a tow truck later, we slowly puttered home along the unploughed belt route. It was very scary and we were very blessed. 

Needless to say, that was NOT a pleasant birthday surprise. Thankfully, Eric wasn't seriously injured, but we did end up missing the movie in the meantime.

And... I just realized that this post was quite the saga. It just goes to show how determined I was that the husband have the best birthday ever! Which, according to him, it was.

Well, minus that last bit and all.
But I guess you can't plan everything.

Out With the Old.

For the past year or two, I've been all about sending people greeting cards on their birthday. Call me old-fashioned, but I still think it's fun getting something in the mail. (Especially if it has a check..)

The husband understands this excitement. He loves opening packages. The minute they arrive, he texts me asking if he can unearth their contents. And most of the time it's lame stuff, like toilet paper and lamp harps. But he still loves it. I think it's the thrill of the unknown.

Needless to say, we both love surprises.

That being said, every time I head to the store to stock up on birthday cards, I find that one theme in general is always surmount: getting/being old.

 

On the one hand, I find this irritating. I need variety here! Not to mention when I wish people a happy birthday, I generally try to avoid being insulting. Granted, if the card is too funny to pass up, I may occasionally purchase one that is more on the teasing side, but as a general rule, no. 

On the other hand, sometimes it's just unavoidable. I think when a person reaches a new decade, it's kind of mandatory to tease them about their age.

That being said, today is my sister, Katerina Cupcake's, thirtieth birthday. That's a big 3-0 people. And I totally forgot to send her a birthday card mocking her old age! Don't worry, I still sent a card, but I totally missed out on a choice opportunity here.

So let me just take the chance to give a little shout out to my aged next-oldest sister. Happy birthday Katerina Cupcake! You're and oldie but a goodie! :)

There. Now I feel better.

'Blousy' Excuse.

This post has been a long time comin'. I started formulating the idea for it a few months ago when I came across a shirt in the clearance section of Deb that just screamed to be mine. I loved the color, the lacy fabric and the flowy sleeves, but it was two sizes too big.

Not to mention it belonged to the family of 'too-short to be a dress and too-long to be a shirt'. Most commonly paired with leggings in a failed attempt at modesty. (I hate that..)

Here is what it looked like to begin with.
(Notice the difference lighting can make. This was taken in the morning.)

 

I decided it was definitely worth a few dollars and took it home with me to eventually alter into something more flattering. But one thing led to another, and the days turned into weeks before I was able to unearth it from under all of the husband's ripped pants in my 'to-mend' pile. (The tally of patches sewn to date would astound you.)

I started by removing the elastic portion at the bottom and finishing off the seam with a rolled edge. I wanted to keep both the lace and lining edges separate, but someone (who obviously needs to be fired) at the factory sewed them together at the side seams, so I had to roll them together.

Which meant that it didn't lay as nicely as I would have liked, but I was too lazy to unpick the whole darn thing.

I figured the easiest way to add shape would be to sew an elastic to the underside of the fabric, so that it would come in at the waistline and flow away naturally. That would take care of extra bulk and cause a flattering gathered effect. Unfortunately, I underestimated the elastic I had on hand. It was much too flimsy and made the fabric pucker funny.

Then I had an epiphany and realized that the elastic bottom portion I had removed would work perfectly to add a waistline right under the bust. Which ended up looking a little somethin' like this: (Photo taken mid-day.)

 

I thought I was finished until I put it on and noticed that though the extra fullness in front housed the 'girls' quite nicely, the added fullness in back made me look like the next Quasimodo. It wasn't pretty.

Not to mention that the elastic was of poor quality and didn't cinch my waist tightly enough. Over-all, it was a complete do-over.

So I unpicked everything, again, and set off to find fabric to make a sash. I knew I needed to add a waistline, but I didn't think a belt matched the feminine feel I was looking for. I had also come to the conclusion that sewing in a waistline was futile due to the gathering required. Not to mention how extremely difficult (and painful!) trying to use your own body as a dress form is.

I ended up choosing a pink satin that was just a tad lighter than the shirt itself. I thought black would be too harsh, and white wasn't what I was looking for, so I stayed on the mono-chromatic side of things.

And I am super-pleased with how it turned out.
(Photo taken at night. Artificial light is horrible.)

The sash allows me to choose how tightly I want to tie it and where I want it to sit without being permanently attached. It also prevents mr. hunchie-back from returning, which I am very grateful for.

So it's finally finished. I'm wearing it presently. And it's an adorable blouse if I do say so myself. Notice how I avoided using the term 'blouse' until the very end. This is attributed to the flack I've received formerly for the use of the word.

There I was, a few months back, minding my own business updating my status about a 'blouse' that I had recently purchased, and I was bombarded with a slew of hateful comments surrounding the word.

Not only was I referred to as an 'old lady' for wearing them, I was also accused of having a 'scary, OCD, pink, frilly, blousy mind'.

It was a virtual smack-down of epic proportions, I tell you. (Refer to August 26th on my timeline for a full review.) And I'm still not quite sure how I deserved such treatment..

However, revenge was oh-so-sweet when a few months later the perpetrator was told she looked like a boy for wearing her beloved t-shirts. I bet wearing a 'blouse' doesn't sound so horrible now, does it little missy?..

Mother-Chucker!

Here's the thing, and I believe I've mentioned it before, but I'm a member of the clean plate club. A proud member, in fact. It's not that I eat everything on my plate because I'm ravenous. I simply like food, and I like it organized. Why miss out on a single delicious morsel?

That being said, I am baffled as to why the people in my family feel so compelled to disrupt the order in my perfect little world. The status of my plate doesn't affect them whatsoever, and yet they are, without fail, intent on noticing and destroying my inner plate peace. 

So today, when my mom called to invite me to lunch with Gem and my two brothers, I happily (and perhaps naively) accepted. They wanted to go to the India Palace for the lunch buffet. I didn't argue, because coconut korma is delicious, and I'm easy to please.

Okay, okay. So it's Monday.
But the servers were wearing some pretty sweet turbans.

There was also an awesome TV channel playing ridiculous Indian sitcoms and hilarious Bollywood music videos in the background. So an overall win.

That is, until we were ready to leave and my brother, Air-bear, informed the group that, once again, my plate was too clean and instructed my mother to do something about that.

I wasn't worried. She's my mom. She'd never do anything to..

PLOP.

And that was when I died from surprise. My sweet, little, peacemaker mother slopped a fork full of leftover chicken tikka masala onto my dish. She didn't even hesitate. I was dumbfounded.

So I sat reeling while everyone around me chuckled.
This is the woman who believes sarcasm is only thinly veiled rudeness. This is the woman who gave me so many motherly compliments growing up, I found it hard to believe they could all be true. This is the woman who was supposed to be on my side. Always.

And yet there she was, laughing. Not with me. AT ME.

That was when I realized that everything I'd ever believed in was a lie. A sentiment that was reinforced two minutes later when I stood to leave and realized that my wallet was no longer resting safely on the table. I immediately accused my siblings, who had suspiciously turned their backs to me. But no. You guessed it. It was Mom. AGAIN.

So I ask: Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother!??

Cold Fries on the Driveway

The Saturday after I arrived in Oklahoma, the chillens and I decided it would be fun to have a picnic lunch in the park. But seeing as I had forgotten to defrost a loaf of bread for sandwiches, we opted to pick up lunch from McDonald's after much fervent pleading from the Lilly-popper.

I rationalized that it only made sense, due to the fact that we needed to return a Redbox as well. It was a win-win solution.

My sister had left a hand-drawn map of the neighborhood. Not to scale and roughly rudimentary, mind you, but still helpful for the most part. We made it to the golden arches after only a few detours due to road construction that she hadn't taken in to account which meant none of the streets were presently marked, making her artwork null and void.

After a trip through the drive through and sending the oldest back inside to retrieve our missing fries, we were on our way back through the winding streets to find the local park my sister had told me about. We had passed one on our scenic trip to Mickey D's, but it was sadly fenced off in a gated community, so we were forced to find their all too familiar neighborhood playground.

I tried to remember the instructions my sister had given. She had simply stated to follow the streets through the clustered cul-de-sacs until you came out on the other side, and there it would be.

Well, we tried that strategy to no avail. There seemed to be a dead end at every turn. Realizing my limited experience driving these foreign Oklahoma streets, I asked if anyone knew how to get there. "I do!", at least three children exclaimed.

I gave the oldest, Livie-Lou, a shot first. Her age and experience was obviously the logical choice. She carefully led me back out of the community, onto the highway and headed back towards where we had just come from. "I only know how to get there from my school!", she explained.

All the while, the delicious smell of fried goodness taunted us from the colorful paper sacks. Two-year-old Lancer-Prancer must have noticed, because he immediately started crying pathetically. I handed out a few french fries and a couple of McNuggets to the more ravenous ones in our troop.
Which meant everyone.

And so we took a right, then another right. And then.. a right?.. "Olivia!!" I exclaimed, "You know the only mathematical solution to these directions is to take us right back to where we started!??"

"I'm sorry!" she bemoaned, "This all looks familiar though.." I can't say it was a comforting thought.

All the while Cam-Cam wailed in the front seat. "HAM-BUR-GER!..."

 

Realizing following this navigator any further would prove futile, I bestowed the privilege on seven-year-old Buddy-boy. Who had been countering every direction his older sister had given. I now see why.

"Thanks a lot Olivia.." Lilly accused, "Now my tummy is grumbling!"

Unfortunately, Buddy-boy also failed to offer any useful pointers. Apparently their entire neighborhood looks very similar from one block to the next.

As our quick five minute trip slowly ticked over twenty, I couldn't help but laugh at the scenario. Here I was, following instructions from five starving children who all supposedly remembered 'exactly' how to get there. For all I knew, they could have been thinking of five different playgrounds. It was amusing. And saddening. An experience worth documenting.

I eventually came the the conclusion that visiting the park that day was not in our fates. So we traversed the same five-block radius that we had been circling right back to their house.

Where we sat on the driveway and ate our now cold lunch.

 

So I guess the moral of this story is, when it all comes down to it, family memories are more important than warm food and a play date in the park.

That, and when your sister gives you directions, opt for GPS instead.

Lilly-isms

I just returned from a week long excursion to my sister Ann's home in Oklahoma. (Her kids have now started saying 'all ya'll'. It's not pretty..) 

While there, I played 'mommy' for a week to her five children, Livie-Lou, Cam-Cam, Buddy-boy, Lilly-Poppins and Lancer-Prancer, while she on her husband were on a business trip/vacation.

And before I hear any more about leaving my poor husband defenseless at home, let it be known that he was similarly out of town for a business trip to Virginia. I don't know how that somehow makes it better, but people generally breathe a sigh of relief when I say it.

Now, I am not new at this whole 'taking care of children thing', but that doesn't mean that I still didn't get a few surprises along the way. The first was when I went to unload the dishwasher and found that one of the cups in the cupboard was right-side up instead of flipped over like the rest of them. Thinking nothing of it, I quickly flipped it over to stack with the newly cleaned cups. And that was precisely when I, and everything within a two-foot radius, was doused with the lemonade that I had told my niece Lilly to finish earlier.

I swear, that girl is the cutest dang poosie I've ever seen. One minute, she's being a little monster and the next, she's giving you the 'cute' face for five hours.

And believe me you, you cannot deny the cute face.

The little turkey did it so much, her little brother even caught on.
By the end of the week, she was calling it her 'get what I want' face.

She was so excited to have me come.
She even made a chain to count down the days. I heard over and over again how she'd wake up every morning and the first thing she'd want to do is rip a link off her chain. It was pretty dang adorable.

And I can't even begin to express how many times she made me laugh each day. All of the kiddos were entertaining, but every other thing the Lilly-popper said was quotable.

Here are a select few I recorded for you:

Lilly: "Can we paint my nails?.."
Corinner-Elly: "Sure. I have some nail polish that is pink and turns purple in the sun."
Lance: *the whole time* "Ooo.. Nice!"
Lilly: "Are they dry??" *wipes them on my face*

Lilly: "You know what I want?.."
Corinner-Elly: "What?"
Lilly: "Two white horses, to stay the same size, two swy flahters and a carriage."
Corinner-Elly: "Two fly swatters?.."
Lilly: "Yah. So I can whack the ones that fly around my head!"

Lilly: *sniffling* "Corin.. can you get mad at Bennett a little bit because he got mad at me.."

Corinner-Elly: "For pete's sakes, hold still!!"
Lilly: "Four pizza's STEAK?!"

Corinner-Elly: "Thank you, thank you. I backed out of the driveway. Children, save your applause."
Lilly: "Corin...we don't have PAWS we have FINGERS."

Lilly: *while driving* "Can I have a drink of water from your bottle?"
Corinner-Elly: "Sure, but don't spill or I'll have to throw you out on the side of the road."
Lilly: *indignant huff* "Corin.. my mom said 'I'll never kill my Lilly'.."

Lilly: *after a lot of crocodile tears* "I'm sad because I'm just having a rough day.."

Lilly: "Guess what?"
Corinner-Elly: "Chicken butt."
Lilly: "No!! Guess what?.."
Corinner-Elly: "Chicken butt."
Lilly: *frustrated sigh* "Corinner!.. Gue-.. (Thinking twice) Do you know the dirt?"
Corinner-Elly: "Yeah."
Lilly: "Did you know it's worm poo!?"
Corinner-Elly: "What??... No it isn't.."
Lilly: "Yah-huh! My mom told me."

Lilly: "Umm... How does Santa come down the chimney?.. Doesn't he hurt his bum on those?" (pointing to the fireplace logs)

Lilly: "Corin!!! I need you to wipe my bum!" *doing the deed* "Thanks Corin. You're my champion! Well.. my dirty champion."

Corinner-Elly: "Lilly, please go put that little car back in the garage so that it doesn't blow into the road."
Lilly: "It's okay. Mom keeps it dirty so that we can clean up."

Lilly: "Corinner, know what? If  you eat something lots and lots, your eyes will turn that color. I want to eat all the candy canes so that they are striped red and white!"

Lilly: "Can we PLEEEEEASE watch another Phineas and Ferb??" *makes cute face, as usual*
Corinner-Elly: "Nope. It's time for bed. But you can have a few Oreos."
Lilly: *excited gasp* "Oreos!! Come on! Oreos people!" (spoken to her siblings with an authoritative gesture)

Lilly: "Can I have a minty mint or gum or something??"
Corinner-Elly: "Nope. You've eaten everything I've got."
Lilly: "Well then what can I have?.."
Corinner-Elly: "Some nice refreshing, cool air."
Lilly: "Corin!.. You don't eat air! You breathe it out."
Bennett: "You breathe it in too, Lill."
Lilly: "Easy for you to say Bennett.."

Corinner-Elly: "Daisy got loose today so I had to spank her bum."
Lilly: "You don't spank dogs Corinner. You konk them."

Corinner-Elly: "Your mom and dad come home in two days."
Lilly: *perks up* "Two... days?! NO!! Don't leave me with these people!"

And as if all of that didn't melt my heart, she proceeded to say things such as:

Lilly: "I'm going to be so, so sad when you leave!"

Lilly: "You could win all the prizes and championships, you have such a beautiful voice."

Lilly: "You are the best mom ever!!"

The second thing I learned is that children really do leave every light on in the house. I thought my parents were being dramatic when I was a kid, but no. Every. Single. Light. Every. Single. Day. I swear I spent the entire trip walking around from room to room flipping off the switches. According to my sister, they inherited this trait from their dad.

And the third (of many) things I learned, was that playing 'mom' to five crazy kids for a week didn't change my desire to have a big family one bit. Since I've been home, multiple people have semi-facetiously asked if the experience made me change my mind on when and how many children I want.

They shouldn't have been surprised when I told them it had the opposite effect. I can't wait to start a family! It's going to be the best!

Because anyone who knows me could tell you I've wanted to have only one occupation for as long as I can remember: to be a mom.

So while some might say that picking up and dropping off, cleaning up after, cooking for and settling down five children sounds exhausting, I say that it was my perfect vacation. A little taste of the future doing my dream job.

In One Ear, Out the Other.

I don't know what my deal is, but my right arm and hand have been numb and tingly all morning. Not the kind of numb and tingly my hands get after clapping or applauding. Itchy too.

The husband says that's never happened to him before. Yet another thing I just assumed was commonplace then come to find out I'm a weirdo for.

I started noticing my arm/hand spazing out last night and chalked it up to sleeping on it funny the night before or something.

Well.. that is what I told myself in my head.
The story the husband was privileged enough to hear was quite dramatic and had to do with almost choking on a kernel of corn when I was all alone at our apartment during lunch which caused me to hyperventilate and almost die. And on top of that, I had the worst case of carpel tunnel the world has ever seen.

His reaction to my diva-tude was to suggest I blend the corn into a sort of corn smoothie in the future. I pointed out a person could still die from aspirating liquid corn.

Not the direction I imagined the conversation would go, but I'll still take it.

I think, instead, I'll just avoid corn in the future.
For several reasons not limited to 1) it gets stuck in your teeth when you try to gnaw it off the cob, 2) when you then resort to cutting it off to avoid #1, small kernel get lodged in your airways and you almost go to the light and 3) some people were simply not made to digest the stuff. (TMI?.. Sorry.)

 

Only problem is, it's pretty hard to completely avoid.

 

But I will endeavor to do my best.
It's a matter of life and death you know.

My family thinks I'm ridiculous when I make such declarations. They say that the sweet corn my pops grows is practically vegetable gold.

And in the past, I'd have to agree. But now I've learned it may look all innocent and delicious, but it's really trying to kill me.

Which is ironic, because we have a lot in common, corn and I.

One time, my sister, Katerina Cupcake, made up a clever little ditty for an 'all about me' poster she helped me create in the third grade. It stated, "Corin is corn with an 'i' not an ear."

Clever, no? Get it? Get it? Because my name has the letter 'i' in it and they're called 'ears' of corn?.. Eye ---> ear. Yes?..

No?... Well never mind.
My arm still feels weird.

What I 'Mint' to Say

Just inside our apartment, sits a wooden bowl containing a various assortment of things. The husband has always admired Sheldon and Leonard's from The Big Bang Theory and was thus ecstatic when he found a similar container at the D.I.  shortly after we moved in.

 

It was originally intended as a place for dropping keys and various other pocket contents upon arriving home. However that function has expanded to include housing various toothpicks (the husband's obsessed with them), approximately ¢.18 in change, a few crumpled receipts and, inexplicably, one clear marble.

 

Recently, three small boxes of mints have also come to reside there. So a few days ago when I passed, I couldn't help but notice they seemed to document the course of our relationship, in a way.

 

The first box was purchased in November of 2011 when I took a road trip with my besties to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. I had driven down the strip before but never really seen much of the city and had an aunt and uncle who were more than delighted to allow us to crash at their place.

 

I also had a new boyfriend who, truth be told, hadn't worked up the courage to kiss me yet. It had been close to a month that we'd been 'official', and I was antsy to get down to business! So when Lacy-Hacy insisted I buy a little box of personalized mints we'd found, even my momentary hesitance over the awkwardness giving such a gift might create was quelled.

 

Upon arriving home and reuniting with the BF who had also just gotten back from a hunting trip, it took me a few days to work up the courage to give him his presents.

I stayed on the safe side by first placing a small shot glass with a decal of a flexing bicep that read 'Vegas Stud' in his waiting hands, then (before I had time to chicken out) handed over the tin of mints and smiled anxiously as he slowly read the words on its colorful lid..

I'll never forget the look on his face as he stared at them for a moment then quickly glanced up at me. It was a mixture of sheer terror and utter panic. The quintessential 'deer in the headlights' sort of expression.

I waited for what I assumed would inevitably follow. But after sensing what was a sort of frightened pleading in his eyes, I quickly made a joke of it and started talking about something else.

Inside my head, I couldn't believe what had just happened.
If there had been any question in regards to my intentions before, there certainly couldn't have been any longer. What was he waiting for!??

The good news is, we are now married and what seemed like an eternity at the time chalked up to only a few weeks of excited anticipation for 'the first kiss'. Granted, I had to hint at it repeatedly and eventually took matters into my own hand by initiating the first move, but that's a different story.

The second box of mints I received as a gift at my bachelorette party. Wish I would have known that I'd be given breath fresheners as a present when the husband's sweet little grandma asked (with what I hold was a knowing twinkle in her eye) 'what kinds of things we do at bachelorette parties?..' 

All I managed to splutter as my face grew increasingly redder was, "Oh, you know. Give silly gifts and play silly games..." I think it was a trick question, and I'm not so sure I passed.

Nevertheless, the front features a cartoon couple smooching surrounded by floating hearts while the back reads as follows:

This represents the 'engagement' portion of our relationship.
I say that facetiously, because (as those who attended the party can attest) when asked what our biggest fight was over in a game where I was challenged to guess what he would answer to each videoed question, we both responded the same.
We've never had a fight.

The man is an angel, I tell you. He puts up with all sorts of feminine foolishness without so much as a cross thought. I post all sorts of embarrassing lovey-dovey-ness, and he just pockets his man-card, swallows his 'I'm not a hopeless romantic' pride and smiles.

And now that he's stuck with me for time and all eternity, the last box of mints (also a bachelorette gift) comes into play. Though I'm not single and far from my 30's.

I assumed there would be interest surrounding when to expect little Nays after the wedding from family members and friends, but didn't comprehend to what extent. I can hardly mention words such as 'maternity insurance' before someone jumps the gun.

Easy people. Settle down.
Don't worry, I'm following the instructions carefully.

 

And for those of you who are ever-suspicious,

this isn't an announcement.

Swallowing my Pride.

Facebook is a funny thing.
In one respect, it's like a journal. Logging pictures and thoughts and events for many people on a daily basis. And I think that's a good thing for the most part. It's turned personal history into something entertaining and easy to do.

On the other hand, it's very unlike a journal, in that others can read and comment on what would otherwise be very private. This can also be a good thing. But it can also very easily be a bad thing.

You can never really tell who to trust in real life, let alone a virtual reality. And you never really know who is going to read what you post or how they are going to respond.

Sometimes, after reading what others have said, I have the distinct urge to delete what I consider to be very rude comments. But over the years, I've decided it's a much better policy to simply ignore them and leave it be. Not only does this allow them to stew in their own mean juices for the world to read, it also prevents me from having to explain why their comment(s) is suddenly missing. I'm all about avoiding confrontation.

I'd like to think that when this happens that I'm simply misreading their words when they really didn't intend it to sound that way, but sometimes I really don't think there is another interpretation.

That's another funny thing about virtual communication. Audible inflections and tone of voice used in face-to-face interactions can go a long way.

In the same breath, I know things that I've written have been misinterpreted. I've gotten the impression that my words sometimes come across as prideful or conceited, and I really, truly don't mean them that way.

I think being 'proud' and being 'prideful' are really two different things.
I'm 'proud' of my talents, but I try not to be 'prideful' about them.

For instance, I'm proud of the fact that I recycle used ink cartridges at Office Max and use the rewards points to get 40 free postage stamps every month. Saves the planet and my wallet. But I don't use said stamps to mail out letters informing everyone else how much smarter than them I am.

Just like I'm proud of the mini cheesecakes I made for a Sunday family dinner. I think they looked nice, tasted good and were an excellent usage of a few ingredients I had lying around that would have otherwise gone stale/bad.

The husband had purchased a large bag of broken shortbread cookies from the Pepperidge Farm Thrift Store in Richmond, and turns out they were the perfect crumb crust when granulated and mixed with melted butter.

But I don't post this to demonstrate my superior baking skills. (Two words: wedding cake. Enough said.) And hopefully you don't think that when you read this.

Same thing goes with Facebook. Hopefully sharing the things I'm proud of doesn't come across as prideful.

I think it's perfectly understandable to feel pride in your work. I think the problem comes in when you change the motive behind what you say/do from a feeling of accomplishment to a desire to make yourself look better than others.

Just a little 'food for thought'. (ba dum dum.)

But if, by chance, you think this came across as a self-conceited spiel of why I'm more efficient than the average Corinner-Elly, I'll try and teach my blog self a bit more humility.