Taking one for the memory team

Yesterday I took Riley to have his portraits made. It was another textbook example of a portrait session, Riley and Lacey style.

First of all, we arrived ten minutes late but somehow still had to wait fifteen minutes while the photographer was "getting the room ready for us." Um... guys, just a word of advice. We're all on to you. We know that it doesn't really take fifteen minutes to pull down that white canvas shade.

Then, we walk into the room and Riley looks like he wants to pee his pants for the next ten minutes. Finally, he decides that it's not such a bad thing that two people are making complete idiots of themselves trying to get him to smile.

That's when the Riley show begins. After all, he has a captive audience now. His somersault form has never been so crisp. His smile has never been so goofy. In the end, the photographer gets some pretty good shots.

But now mommy's on the spot. The photographer sits down with me at the computer and I actually have to pick what I want to buy. The photographer puts on a painstakingly patient expression as I mutter, over and over again, "No, wait let's see that one in the sepia. Hmm, let's try it in retro. Wait a minute, what does retro mean again? Oh man, this is so hard. I just can't decide."

In the end, I ALWAYS make the mistake of asking the photographer this question: Which one do you think I should buy?

Then the sales pitch begins, and I always, always, always spend too much money and join some sort of club that is guaranteed to save me big bucks in the long run.

This time around, this is what I ended up with:



I love it. I don't love how much it cost me, or the fact that it takes up half of our wall, but I love it.

After seeing how much money I was willing to shell out, the photographer must have decided I was a sucker, because she seriously tried to sell me this shot:



"It's so cute," she said. "It really captures his little personality. And they're only $18 a sheet."

"I don't know," I answered dubiously. "You can't even see his face."

And the sad thing is, there were a few seconds where I caught myself thinking, "Wait a minute, maybe I do need some more pictures of Riley turning somersaults. Plus, it shows off his cute little bum."

This is what I try to keep telling my husband. He should never, ever let me go to the portrait studio alone.

Free as a Bird

Should I be at all concerned that my little boy's favorite pastime is perching himself on the edge of our highest kitchen chair,.....


launching himself into the air.....
And laughing with reckless abandon just before he smashes into the hardwood floor?

Good thing he's so darn cute, because he gives me approximately one million heart attacks every day.

Thankfulness 101

Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Ours was filled with good food and good company, as all Thanksgivings should be.
All this Thanksgiving-ness has gotten me into a Thankful spirit, so I decided to come up with a list of five, totally random and totally routine things that I'm glad to have in my life.

1. Bubbles. They're the only way I can talk Riley into taking the occasional bath. If it was not for bubbless, Riley would be a filthy savage 100 percent of the time, instead of just half the time as he is now.


2. Hard Frosts. The hundreds of plants in our front and back yard have survived the thus-far mildly cold weather we've had here. When we arrived home from Thanksgiving though, everything looked like this:

Why, you may ask, am I greatful that a spell of freezing cold weather killed all my beautiful plants? Good question. Now that my plants are dead, I can neglect them without feeling guilty. We inherited a beautiful yard from a retired man who had more spare time than I do. My neighbors have gotten used to the standard of beauty he set for this place. Periodically over the summer, I'd catch them glancing at my sprouting weeds with raised eyebrows. So......Cold weather=dead plants=no more judging=no more feeling guilty.

3. Cleverly disguised medicine.
Also courtesy of winter weather, Riley now has a perma-snot nose. He's not so much a fan of the traditional cold medicine. That's why I was so excited when I discovered this cold medicine disguised in sucker form. Apparantly, they taste good because Riley is always asking for them. And now I don't have to feel guilty for letting him eat candy. After all, these suckers have Zinc, Pectin, and Vitamin C. They're good for you! Except for all the refined sugar, of course. It's kind of like how you talk yourself into thinking carrot cake is healthy.

4. Cell phones

I heart technology, for all of the traditional reasons. But the reason I love my new cell phone has nothing to do with the fact that it helps me keep in touch with family and friends. Thanks to my cell phone, I now have a new boyfriend from the William S. Keyes Correctional Facility.
I really have T-mobile to thank for my potential new relationship. When I switched carriers a few weeks ago, the salesman conveniently forgot to tell me the number used to belong to the ex-girlfriend of a hardened con.
My new boyfriend has been calling me collect from prison dozens of times over the last few days. I've almost worked about the courage to accept the charges. After all, it'll be good to have someone on the back burner in case things don't work out with the hubby (kidding, kidding...of course I'm kidding.) That is, assuming my new bf isn't a lifer.

Book of the year

I'm going to keep this very brief.

I just finished reading:



I am pretty sure that it has officially blown my mind.

Have any of you out there read it?

Would any of you like to discuss it?
Because, if so, we could theoretically get a forum of sorts going in the comments section.

Speeding Ticket Taser

All you Basin natives out there, here's the latest scandal to come out of our area. You will probably recognize Lauren Massey (Whiting) and her husband, Jared from the video. I want you guys to let me know what you think about this. It seems like the cop was way, way out of line. At the same time, I guess he possibly could have construed Jared's actions as aggressive. Still, I say he overreacted big time and should be disciplined.
If you're upset enough about this, you should write in or call Uintah Co. Commissioner Mike McKee.

This is how we roll

Riley and his posse have been getting together Mondays at the park while the weather is still nice. As I mentioned before, there are two other Laceys that go to my church and they both have little boys about the same age as Riley.

The terrible trio seem to have a ton of fun together, probably because they have similar interests (i.e. eating dirt, burping, playing with stick guns and cars, shoving sand and leaves down each other's shirts, wrestling, trying to destroy the world).

Us Laceys seem to have a lot in common too (i.e. what it's like to be called either Lassie or Lazy by people who think that is a clever nickname for Lacey, trying to figure out how to parent little boys who are trying to destroy the world).

Future Kiddies Beware

I found this pic on the blog of a family member of a family member. She, in turn, had found it on someone else's blog . I just about died laughing when I saw it and decided I had to post it. I'm sure my future kiddies are in for treatment like this, courtesy of Riley.
I'm not sure how ethical reposting other's photos is, but I think this one has been circulating around the blogosphere enough that I'm safe.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

This week, Sam and I were asked to give the obligatory, "You've moved into the ward so we want you to speak" talks in church. I was fairly calm and composed (minus my overwhelming urge to vomit) until we got to church and I realized there was only one other speaker besides us.

He was a youth speaker, and he breezed through his talk in three minutes. That left 40 minutes of time for Sam and I to fill. Let me repeat that for dramatic emphasis. 40 minutes.

"No problem," I thought. "I'll just wing an extra-long introduction about our family."

Not so much a good idea, as it turns out. I completely lost my train of thought, forgot what I was going to say, got really really flustered and could not stop the flow of brain rot from seeping out of my mouth.

Among with other nonsensical comments, I also combined the chronology of our wedding with Riley's birth and said that Sam and I had been married for 2-years-old. Then, I tried to hastily amend my comment by stammering, "Oh, I'm sorry, we've been married for two years [So NOT true...four years is the right number] and Riley turned two in July." This will, no doubt, lead oh-so-many people to draw some rather interesting conclusions.

It was a few minutes later, when I was well into my talk on agency, that I realized what I had said. By that point though, I thought it might be a little awkward to suddenly blurt out, "Oh, by the way, I know I said before that Sam and I have been married for two years, but we've really been married for four years. Just thought you might like to know."

Yeesh.

Don't worry though. I've drawn comfort from a couple of conclusions.

1. Maybe no one was listening. After all, it was Church. I mean, who listens in church anyway?
2. The sheer brilliance of the rest of my talk overshadowed the initial 45 seconds of introductory brain rot (Wishful thinking, I know.)
3. I can always clarify things next Fast and Testimony meeting. I'll simply stand up and say "Just wanted all of you to know that I got married in 2003. Thank you." Then I'll sit down.
What's that? You don't think it will work? Well I do. I've heard weirder testimonies than that before.

Anyone else out there have any embarrasing talk moments they want to share to ease my mortification?

Pay attention people, there will be a quiz.

I have been tagged on multiple occasions for the "All About Me" meme. I have chosen to ignore those tags on all occasions (not really sure why). Yesterday though, I started thinking that I had made a mistake. After all, this is a chance to talk about my favorite subject (ME) in front of a semi-captive audience. The questions on this list come from a dozen different memes. Plus, I've thrown a few Lacey originals in just for funsies.

Worst Jobs Ever:

• Light bulb changer at Brigham Young University. I was the fastest light bulb changer in the West.
• Sweat sweeper upper at the basketball games at Southern Utah University. I wore a red vest and ran onto the court in front of thousands of people during time-outs to sweep up the sweat that had dripped off the basketball player's smelly bodies. I won two weeks of college campus notoriety during one game. I was in la-la-land, heard the time-out buzzer sound and headed onto the court with my freakishly large dust mop. Unfortunately, I failed to notice the cheerleader running past me rushing to perform a routine. I ran my broom right into the back of her stick-thin leg and knocked her flat on her chest in front of a sell-out crowd.
• I'm cheating a little on this one, because it wasn't a actual job I was paid for. But it was a job I was assigned to and graded on, so it's close enough to count. In junior high, our shop class collaborated to make these wonderful little hot dog sticks we were going to sell at the end of the year. After several minor mishaps (blast my debilitating klutziness) my shop teacher took me aside and said, "I think we better find a special job just for you." He then assigned me to be the safety inspector. Trust me, the name is misleading in its importance. My sole job was to install carboard over the stick's prongs so that no one would poke out an eye. My parents were so proud.

Fictional couples I have watched actual U-tube tributes about
Jess and Rory
Jim and Pam
Anne and Gilbert Blythe

4 Fave TV Shows:
The Office
Ugly Betty (Lovin' it lately)
Heroes
King of Queens (No more new ones...too bad).

Most Embarrasing Moment
Back in 7th grade, when I was a band nerd, I was sitting in class right next to a boy I had had a fat crush on for approximately two years. Unfortunately, back in seventh grade I also had fat warts all over my hands. I had had them frozen with some sort of liquid junk, and as a result they were larger than normal and filled with pus. Anyway, on this particular day, I just could not resist squeezing one of them. My boy crush must have been leaning over towards me, perhaps to get a closer look at the disgustingness. All of the sudden, one of those warts popped, shooting a stream of liquid straight up into the air. The boy then jumped up and ran out of the room, screaming at the top of his lungs, "My eye! My eye! She got wart juice in my eye!"
Oddly enough, he never did seem to reciprocate my feelings of affection after the aforementioned incident.

Past Dreams, Present Dreams
When most kids are little, they want to be something grand when they grow up, like the President of the United States, a movie star, or a professional athlete. Me, on the other hand, when I was a little girl, I used to dream I would grow up and work in a shoe store. Not really sure why....I just loved the smell of new leather and neatly stacked boxes. And yes, I was a boring child, in case you're wondering.
Now that I'm older and the shore-store career route didn't work out, I would love to write a book. I wouldn't even care if it was never published, although it would be a nice bonus to make millions and be interviewed by Oprah. The major thing currently blocking my career path to literary stardom is the fact that I can't come up with any sort of decent plot. Maybe I should write about a girl who works in a shoe store.


Oh, and i'm not going to tag anyone, but if any of you want to answer any of these, please do.

I'm a copycat, so what?

A few months ago, I found this copycat recipe site that I fell in love with. You should all go check it out. The address is http://recipes.robbiehaf.com/Copycat.html
This guy is a genius. I have tried at least a dozen of his recipes and have never been dissapointed yet. Some particular favorites: Cinnabons knock off-recipe--these are literally to die for. Well, okay maybe not literally. But close. Very, very close; Salad dressing like Olive Garden--tastes just like the real thing; Baked Chimichangas like Chi-Chis; Blondie Brownies like Applebees. Yum, yum.

Hello, my name is trouble

For those of you who haven't yet had the joy of spawning offspring, I have a shocking bit of information for you: Kids can drive. you. crazy. I'm not just talking, "Oh wow, I feel a little stressed today," crazy. I'm talking straight-jacket wearing, pill-popping, must find a happy place A.S.A.P crazy.

A few weeks ago, I decided to do a little experiment and keep a journal of all the trouble Riley managed to get into in a five-day period (And, yes, I do realize this makes it oh-so-painfully apparant to all of you out there that I do not actually have a life.)
Still, I proudly give you a little somethun' somethun' that I have named Riley's Log O' Trouble.

Day 1:
4:15 p.m. I'm dreaming of long serene white sand beaches and quiet candlelit dinners filled with nothing but some intellectual adult conversation. I'm ripped out of my lovely dream when sticky little fingers start rythmically tapping my forehead. Riley throws a now completely empty bottle of children's Tylenol on my bed, makes the sign for candy, and demands more. My groggy mind does not really comprehend this situation. Riley is supposed to be napping in his bedroom, and the children's Tylenol is supposed to be safely tucked away on the top shelf of the cabinet.

I jolt upright and frantically place a call to poison control. The phone rings, and the Poison Control Man picks up.

PCM: Poison Control. How can I help you?
Me: (Frantically) My little boy just ate an entire bottle of children's Tylenol.
PCM: Okay. How full was the bottle and how long ago did he eat the pills?
Me: Well.. um...hmmmm. I'm not really sure. You see, I was sleeping. I really thought he was sleeping too. So basically, I have no idea.
PCM: Oh, I see. Long pause. A painful, awkward moment of silent judging ensues.
PCM: Can you give me your best guess of how many pills he ate?
Me: It was a small bottle, so probably not more than 15.
PCM: Okay, and how much does he weigh?
Me: Well, ummm, let's see. It's actually been quite a while since we've taken him to the doctor's office and we don't have a scale here, so I'm not really sure. He definitely weighs somewhere between 10 pounds and 50 pounds though.
PCM: Longer pause. More judging. I'm sorry, but you're really going to have to give me a better guess than that.
Me: Okay. Umm, 30 pounds? Does that sound right?
PCM: Hold on just a minute while I do some calculations. Long Pause Again. Acoording to this, if the pills were junior strength and he really does weigh 30 pounds, he can eat up to 75 of the pills before you have to worry about toxicity.
Me: Wow, 75 huh? That's a lot. Good to know. I'll keep it in mind for next time.
PCM:Hopefully there won't be a next time though, right?
Me: Oh, yeah. I didn't mean, well, all I was trying to say is that it's good to know. Now it's my turn to pause. I've got to go now. Thanks for all your help. Bye.

Day Two:
9 a.m. Walk into bathroom. See a razor and large clump of Riley-colored hair sitting on the sink. Apparantly, hubby forgot to put his razor away this morning after shaving. Find Riley. Work on arranging his hair into a perfect combover so that clump of short stumpy hair does not show.
2:30 p.m. Emerge from the shower to find library book ripped to shreds. Drive to library. Write out a $20 check for a book that probably cost $6.

Day Three:

3 p.m. Watch as Riley proudly walks up to me to display his artwork.

Investigate further. Discover that said artwork also extends to my best rug, a throw towell and Riley's dresser.
3:05 p..m. Listen to Riley scream after it becomes apparant that I am not able to remove permanent-marker black streaks from his leg immediately.
Day 4:
Noon. Hear my cell phone ring and become distracted for five seconds from my constant Riley vigil. Look up to discover that Riley has ridden his scooter up the ramp onto the playground equipment and is now hurtling at break-neck speed towards the steepest slide in sight. Breathe a sigh of relief when a large burly man catches him at the last second and prevents Riley from launching himself into the air.
7 p.m.
Walk into my bedroom to discover that Riley has dumped out all the coins in our change jar. He has also found my jewelry and is attempting to make an eye-ring out of my earring.
Day 5:
7 a.m. Wake up to a chocolate covered Riley and a chocolate-covered living room. Realize I will have to find a higher spot to hide the Slim Fast powder.
9 a.m. Prevent Riley from eating a bottle of shampoo. Decide to jump in the shower. Realize that Riley watched where I hid the shampoo and is now squirting it all over my rug.
3 p.m. Hear that Riley has woken up from a nap. Open his door to find a open tube of diaper cream that I didn't even realize we had. Greasy creme is in his hair, on his clothes, on his blankets, and carefully rubbed into nearly every square inch of our brand-new carpet.



This concludes this week's portion of Riley's log-o'-trouble. Just so you know, there were multiple other incidents I could have chosen to include, but I am now tired of typing. Luckily, Riley seems to have realized that he was dangerously close to pushing me over the edge and has finally calmed down a bit (in other words, he is now four times more wild than most other children rather than six). And just in case any of you are wondering, let me assure you that we do love Riley and find him to be a usually-delightful source of entertainment and excitement. Really. We do.

So, next time you see me, and I have glazed eyes, a confused look on my face, and am mumbling something about preventing a disaster, you won't have to wonder if I'm going crazy. My friends, it should be obvious that I went crazy a long time ago.