With My Head Hung In Shame...

Dear Special Friend,

Whereas in person (or on the phone) I am rather loquacious, when it comes right down to one-on-one conversation I tend to be rather introverted. Especially when that person is you.  (Not a single word, Kelly...not one word about my introverted self.)

Things have not been right between us lately and I'm really struggling.  Coming to terms with what's driven this wedge between us has been difficult, as it's forcing me to admit that my devotion to you is being tested by...well...others...life...things.  You know, the usual...the day to day grind. Oh, but I still love you, of course.  And I don't enjoy the distance separating us.  

In simple terms, I miss you.  I really, really do.

This chasm between us is disconcerting.  It's like we're singing a duet, however one of us is slightly off-key.  And by one of us, I clearly mean you, as I know how to harmonize.  

Oh please, who am I kidding?  There will always be harmony between you and me.  As Randy Travis sang many years ago, "Forever and ever, Amen."  

Let's just hug it out.  Suck it up and get past this dry spell we're experiencing.  Deal?  Done.

I promise to remain faithful and true to you, and to never again let such a lengthy piece of time pass without mentioning you on my blog.  Please forgive me.  I kinda dig you a whole, whole lot.

Love,

Lula

XOXO

Shall we count the number of times I could've announced,

"That's what she said!"

but instead refrained?  I do have a modicum of dignity, you know.

The Hives.

So I have hives on my neck.  I said hives, not hickeys.  No, I haven't a clue as to how I got the itchies. Last Thursday, when I first started clawing at my neck, I assumed it was a reaction to my new sunscreen.  Well you know what they say about assuming, right?  By Memorial Day evening I was drawing blood due to all my fervent scratching, when the doctor I live with pronounced, "That's not an allergic reaction...that's dhiwsjkldgnioahye sghopapnnd!"  Huh? Speak English for those of us who do not possess a medical degree, please.  "It's hives, honey.  I'll call in some meds for you."

Alrighty then.

Tonight I sit here itching, my neck feeling as if it's on fire.  And I don't mean in a hot, passionate way.  Are you kidding?  I'm in way too much discomfort for flames of desire.  Seriously.

But a soothing balm, in the form of a hilarious website, is easing some of my pain.  Y'all have got to check out Awkward Family Photos.  I laughed out loud.  I chuckled out loud.  I had tears running down my face, and ok...maybe a tiny bit of pee escaped before I could run to the bathroom.  Don't judge.  See for yourself:

Clearly they're in paradise...yet couldn't be more Les Miserables.  Dumb dorks.

The website's caption literally made me cry with delight:

"Alright everyone, gather 'round the stereotype."

Brilliant.

(He's all ours, Heather and Tiff.)

Wonder what he was doing moments before Mama forced him to come pose for this picture?

Ahem.  Change your britches next time, horn-toad.

This family loves Alfred Hitchcock...Stephen King...Quentin Tarantino...

and quite possibly St. Victor...maybe even St. Nicholas, with that beard-in-training.  Oh,  and The Clash and The Ramones.

OH MY STARS!  It's the long lost members of Color Me Badd and their galpals!

Sing it with me now...

"Ooooooohhhh, ooooooh, I wanna sex you up!"

Ahhhh, tick-tock get 'em, stop, to the ahhhh, tick-tock get 'em, stop...

I can't decide which I like better...those chaps, their chokers,

or all those curls, courtesy of a Toni spiral perm.  Four Toni spiral perms.

There's lots more where these came from...I spent half an hour chuckling at Awkward Family Photos.  It's my new favorite website.  And it will be yours, too.  

*I apologize profusely if I've inadvertently offended anyone by posting these pictures.  I had no idea it was your family member.  

Today I Remember...

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

However you celebrate today...in the sun...in the pool...at the beach...grilling ribs and hot dogs, with family and friends...or even if you're at work and will hit the drive through at Sonic on your way home...however you choose to spend your day, please take a moment to remember what Memorial Day is all about.  We are blessed to live freely in these United States.  I'm grateful for the blood, sweat, and tears that have been spilled to preserve our freedom.

Happy Memorial Day to you and your family--from me and mine!

Calico Devastation

It's such a small, simple thing, yet I treasure it as if it were made of Belleek China, crafted in Ireland. I don't know if my Aunt Mitzi purchased her at a grocery store, a kitschy gift shop, or the early 70's equivalent of Walmart. Maybe Aunt Mitzi received her as a gift. Costing all of a dollar, I'm certain, she's been used on a daily basis since I acquired her almost five years ago, taking her from her previous home in Indianapolis to our little mountain town here in Virginia. 

So this morning, when she slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor, you can imagine my shout of despair, followed by tears of sorrow. Libbey was barely able to finish her breakfast, as she repeatedly comforted, "It's OK Mommy...we can glue it back together...it will be fine." 

Scott came running upon hearing my cries, thinking I'd cut myself, bleeding profusely.

No. It's just my heart. Bleeding on the inside.

I don't know how I can enjoy my morning cup of coffee without having her wholly with me. But I'll take what's left, because she's not only a constant reminder of my late aunt, but also the tiniest bit of joy in my daily routine.

Holly Hobbie, I love you. You are still the best spoon rest in the entire world. Please forgive me as I wipe these tears I've shed over your demise. Some might say you're only a possession...just a trinket amongst many. Be that as it may, you are also a member of our family...even slightly damaged.

Sniff-sniff.

*Please bear with me for a bit--as you can see, Lulaville has had a transformation!  There's some tweaking to be done (I love that word--"tweaking!"), clearly!

A Drop of Golden Sun...

As fussy gals are prone at some point in their lives, Miss Pretty Pink (last name Dell) had decided to become rather difficult. She was making my life miserable with all of her stalling and freezing. (Yes, I do believe my former cell phone and Miss PP were related.) Fussy girls are expendable. We kicked Miss Pretty Pink in the boo-tay and showed her out the back door.

Enter Elliott. Elliott's last name is Macintosh. He's a Pro, I tell you...and also kinda dorky, kinda cute, but also a little flashy, aka totally my type! Eventually I'll learn to navigate Elliott and will feel completely at home having him by my side. But bear with me...it's gonna take a while.

(This is not my Elliott...he's much more debonair, but a little camera shy. This is Elliott's stand-in.)
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If you haven't yet, go see Star Trek. Seriously, it's brilliant. I've been waiting for this film for such a long time, and knew it was in capable hands. And by capable hands I mean JJ Abrams. As in the man behind Lost. Nuff said. Even if you're not a Sci-Fi lover, Star Trek is highly entertaining. And do I need to mention it stars Chris Pine as young Captain James T. Kirk?

Well hellooooo there, Capt. Kirk. Are you boldly going where no one has gone before? Make it so, my dear. Make it so.
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Just for kicks, watch this...you won't be disappointed, I promise.


Oh, Antwerp, Belgium...how I wish I'd been there for this extravaganza. 'Cause I'd have broken it down with y'all like nobody's business. While getting my Fraulein Maria on.

It makes me happy. And don't we all need a bit of happy on a Monday?

And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson...

Lauren, one of my most favorite people in the world, recently did a post where she wrote letters to various haters, sandwich shops, delicious-looking celebrities, her husband, etc. It was brilliant. And since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I will now flatter Lauren, brilliantly. Cincy-style. Kings of Leon-style. Lula-style. And...go!
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Dear Hot Blonde Mamas Who Attend A Kings of Leon Concert in Cincinnati,

We ruled the joint. We rocked the house. We were so hardcore that even the sun's rays shone upon us as a spotlight on a stage. The future's so bright I gotta wear ginormous shades. Clearly. Lula, Heather, and Lacey. Yeah, I see ya lookin'.

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Dear Garfield Suites in Downtown Cincy,

The lackluster bathroom facilities in our suite left much to be desired. Good thing the Buddakahn restaurant was next door. That's redemption right there.
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Dear Drunk Guy Who Molested Me Before Kings of Leon Took To The Stage,

So yeah...it was pretty flattering to get hit on by a cute young thing. But when you asked my name and I replied, "Mrs. Robinson," and you didn't catch that reference to our age difference, your charm was lost on me. But thanks for making me feel hot for about 30 seconds. Also, thanks for being inconspicuous--not--with your reefer. It's one thing to spark up a doobie and get laced at a concert, but it's quite another to be blowing your Mary Jane-fragranced secondhand smoke in my face all evening. Get the distinction? (And Nikki will get that one.)

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Dear Supercute Girlfriend of Drunk Guy,

If you only knew the fashion mishaps that took place whilst getting ready for this concert. Oh dear, what a hot mess I was. So for you to be very complimentary in regard to my lacy black top...well, that just made me feel Forever 21. For real. And thanks for being cool when your fella found it necessary to grind all up on me when I scooted past y'all to visit the ladies room. But you get zero thanks for not having a shred of modesty or decorum. Honey, a concert is not the place to have sex. While standing amongst 5000 people. While. Standing.Right. Next. To. Us.

*Crickets chirping.*

Ahem.
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Dear Nathan, Matthew, Caleb, and Jared (how you doin'?) Followill,

Y'all rocked it out for a full two hours. Did I sing along to every song? Shake my boo-tay appropriately? Distance myself from Drunk Guy so that he would refrain from trying to get all up in my Kool-Aid? I did. And it was worth every minute of hearing y'all perform in person. Thanks for giving three friends a reason to celebrate a fabulous night on the town. Good times.

"It's taking us on journeys while we wipe away frowns amongst the crowded place..." (from Kings of Leon's "My Party.")

Love,

Lula, Heather, and Lacey

*Heather's post about our trip is awesome. Go read. Seriously. Plus she has "Sex On Fire" playing on her blog and that's worth a visit just for the jams.

Lula's Answering Service...

I'm sorry, Lula is not in right now. She's headed north to Cincinnati, to hang with this friend:
Because they are seeing these boys in concert:

Hello, delicious Followill brothers/cousin. We love you. We love Kings of Leon. We love us some Taper Jean Girl.

Lula will return in a couple of days...after Lost's 2-hour season finale, and after a period of mourning for her beloved show. The greatest television program in the history of ever. Just so you know.

If something happens to either of these folks, she may just quit blogging altogether.
No, she's not even kidding. Sawyer and Juliet mean that much to her. Don't judge.

Please leave a message for fangirl, I mean Lula...and she'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Y'all have a nice day now, ya hear?

Justin Case You Missed It.

Oh. My. Head. Did you see this on Saturday night?

"Snip that, got a big ol' nose,
Tuck that, got some jelly rolls,
Nip that, got some fugly toes..."

Scott and I were falling off the couch, hooting and hollaring. True story.

Justin Timberlake...I love you. I really do.

I have loved you since you were 12 and singing with Britney (and Christina...and JC...) on MMC. My best friend, Lauren, and I were nineteen...and we knew then that you were a Very Big Deal.

Awwww...Justin and Britney. The pure years. Ahem.

Then you and JC took your talent to *Nsync and blessed my stereo speakers with this bit of greatness:


Best *Nsync song ever. Yes, that is Nelly adding his flavor to an already phenomenal tune.

Which reminds me...

Dear Pharrell Williams (aka producer of *Nsync's "Girlfriend"),
Please co-produce a motion picture soundtrack with me one day. Thanks.
Love you,
Lula
xoxo


Oh, my JT. I dig you. I've been digging you since 1994. When you were 12, but let's get past that age issue. You're not an action hero, nor a hot vampire, or even British. But I still love you.

And in the words of Dr. Litton, "If you say you don't like JT, you're a liar!"

Because and Sometimes...

Because I am the authority, instead of the buddy.
And discipline is not always fun, but a requirement in raising respectful, obedient children.

Because I make certain fruits and vegetables are an everyday occurrence.
Even though we've been known to have Honey Nut Cheerios for dinner.

Sometimes I feel badly because my children don't know nursery rhymes or songs by Barney.
But then I hear them request Rilo Kiley, Addison Road, Terry Reid, or Ray Charles...and I'm thankful.

Because I make them pick up their toys every single evening.
When it would be much easier just to do it myself.

Sometimes we have dance parties in the living room, or play hide & seek in the dining room.
Because our house is a home, not a museum.

Because there are days when I choose to ignore the dust, dirt, and dishes.
When it would be easier to allow the television to babysit.

Sometimes I allow the television to babysit.
So that I can sweep, polish, and wash the dishes and loads of laundry.

Because I do not allow my children to speak to each other in an unloving manner.
And sometimes my children have to remind me to always speak to their father in love.

Sometimes my anger and frustration reduces my daughters to tears.
Because I allow self get in the way of parenting with a purpose.

Because I kiss and hug my girls at least 298 times per day...
...they know that no matter what happens in their lives, they are loved beyond measure.
By me...my their father...and most importantly, by God.

Sometimes I'm the world's biggest sap...
especially when it comes to my children.
Because I cannot express the depths of my joy at being their mother.

The day I became "Mommy."

The day I became "Mommy" again!
Happy Mother's Day, and happy weekend to each of y'all!

For Big Girls Only.

Pardon me, Dad, Greg and Tony (my male readers!), but this one's for the ladies. I've warned you.

So the other day Heather mentioned scheduling a visit with her ob/gyn, or as I call it, a "big girl appointment." Because really, you have to be a pretty big girl to put yourself in a position where you're lying flat on your back, naked from the waist down, with someone all up in your Kool-Aid, poking and prodding as you squirm in discomfort and shame. Without getting paid for it, or having your pimp skim 40% off the top of your hard hearned profits, I mean.

Not that I know this from personal experience, but I've seen Pretty Woman 53 times and I've been in Times Square, so I know how the whole scenario works.

I've been very blessed for the past eight years, as my "big girl" doctors have both been ladies with whom I'm superclose. Dr. Suzanne was in residency with us and delivered Libbey...Dr. Erin survived medical school with Scott and delivered Caroline. Both are honorary members of our family and we love them dearly. Therefore my "big girl appointments" are different from the average gal's.

Most women are on the table, partaking in the awkward, idle chit-chat that occurs while their physician is all up in their Kool-Aid:

Doctor: And how have things been since your last appointment?
Big Girl: You mean since you last violated me?

or

Doctor: Any questions or concerns you'd like to discuss today?
Big Girl: Why do I wear my newest, prettiest, cleanest undergarments here when I know you're never going to see them? (Seriously. We all do it.)

or

Tiffany's tale of her smokin' hot ob/gyn. Best "big girl appointment" post ever.

Meanwhile, when I'm on on display for Erin's trained eye, this is our dialogue:

Me: So this is the year I'm getting lipo on this gut of mine.
Erin: Girl, go for it--it will make you feel and look better and I am a big proponent of plastic surgery. Maybe I'll get some work done, too. Then we'll go out and be MILFs together.

and

Erin: I think we all need to take a vacation in the Caribbean. Kids or no kids?
Me: Uh...seriously? NO KIDS!
Erin: Right. Then we can drink margaritas at 11 am and not feel guilty.
Me: I wouldn't feel guilty even if the kids were with us. It is, after all, vacation!

And before I know it the invasion is over, we've had a nice little visit, and she's no longer all up in my Kool-Aid. Of course I'd rather visit with Erin over a grande caramel latte, while I'm fully clothed. Just sayin'.

But the best conversation we've ever exchanged (during a "big girl appointment," that is) was during my last breast exam:

Erin: You know, for someone who's nursed two kids for a year apiece, your boobs are in great shape!
Me: I love you and will now be your faux lesbian life parter. Forever. Even though you lie.

Because truly...that is what one wants in an ob/gyn. At least, it's what I want. Flattery will get you everywhere.

I'm making my appointment now.

Scott, Erin, and a 1-hour old Caroline--October 27, 2005.

Good Clean Fun.

Sometimes I have plans to meet up with fellow bloggers for a day of touring, tasting, and totally having a big time.

Sometimes my plans change at the last minute, due to stomach issues that are not swine flu-related (thank God).

Sometimes I'm home alone for an entire weekend. Yes, alone. Just me and Lewis, our fearless feline, and the entire first season of Gossip Girl on DVD. With a lot of Commodium A-D and Phenergan thrown in for good measure.

Sometimes, when I've been home alone all weekend and intimately acquainted with my toilet, I long for Barbie's glamorous, carefree life:

And I want y'all to share it with me. There's plenty of room in this sink full o' bubbles for all of us. Apparently swimsuits are optional. Don't let that frighten you. The suds shall cover a multitude of sins.

Here's to a fabulous week for each of us...I raise my miniature pink glass to y'all, toasting friendship and fun.

And zero need for Commodium A-D.

While begging Calgon to take us away...







Good times.