Oh where, oh where, has my little blog gone...

...oh where, oh were can she beeeeeeeee?

I have not abandoned Lulaville.  Life just takes precedence over blogging.  Y'all understand, I know.  

In my absence, I made a list, titled "Things I Didn't Blog About in the Month of June...Because I'm Too Busy."

Witness:

My child finished 1st grade.  

Award day at her school--Poppy & Caroline came to applaud.

Q:  How many Litton Ladies can fit in one car?

A:  All of them.  

(Thank God Mandy and I were up front!)

This man that I love had a birthday.

He's the big 36!

He is also a big dork.  Clearly.

Gratuitous Adorable Baby Shot!

Pretty Helen, our niece.   She's topless on my blog.  I. Love. Her.

Libbey performed in her 5th recital with Lee School of Dance.

She's a Firecracker.  Yeaaaaaaaah!

We may or may not be the products of 

The World's Most Exciting Christian University.

These pictures are from

That One Night We Wasted An Evening Playing with Photobooth.

Amanda and Kristi--representing good ol' LU!  

And that's me with the five-head.  The alumnus.  Ahem.

I don't know if they were slipin' & slidin', wrestling,

or playing leap frog.

Regardless, it's awfully cute. 

If someone mentions they're not watching True Blood, 

I beg, "Why?"  And, "Are you foolish?"  Well, duh!

Um, hello...Eric is my vamp boyfriend.  

He's making  my summer very delightful, just so you know.

I'm gonna spend the week playing catch-up...as I've missed all of you.  

So tell me...whatcha been up to the past week?  Got any news to share?  Did you survive yet another year of VBS?  (That's Vacation Bible School--ours was last week--which explains 50% of my absence.  VBS is serious business, folks. )  Have you been swimming?  Seen any good movies?  Read any must-reads?  Please share with me...we'll play catch-up together.  

Good times.

I Gasped.

It was the gasp heard 'round the world...or at all the way over in Colorado.

I stumbled upon these pictures of the movie I'm most anticipating. (And it has nothing to do with vampires or werewolves. Seriously.)

Johnny Depp as The Mad Hatter.

Anne Hathaway as The White Queen

Helena Bonham Carter as The Red Queen.

Oh. My. Stars.

Alice In Wonderland.

Are you kidding me?

Look at this:

Tim Burton...I love you.  As you are a genius.

March 5th cannot get here soon enough.

Oh, and Jennifer P.--you know your man is all up in this one.  Alan Rickman as The Catepillar. Might I also mention Michael Sheen as The White Rabbit, Christopher Lee as The Jabberwock, and Crispin Glover as The Knave of Hearts?  Good.  Because I just did.

 

SWOON!

Somebody please bring me the smelling salts.

Let's discuss.

Are you as excited as me?

If not, what classic work of fiction would you love Burton to bring to life?  

Because clearly, he is the man for the job.  Any job.  Indeed.

If I Were A Carpenter...

...I'd have a lot of fabulous furniture. Or at least I'd try to sing as well as Bobby Darin.

How about if I were a holiday?

I'd be Christmas Eve.

If I were a time of day?

Make me twilight, please.  At the beach.

"Heavenly shades of night are falling, it's twilight time..."--The Platters

What drink would I be?

Coke is IT!  In a bottle, please.

What food would I be?

Crab legs.  At least 5 pounds of 'em.

If I were a gadget?

The iPod is the greatest invention of all time. 

What flower would I be?

A peony.  Beauty & fragrance, all in one!

If I were a song?

Joe Cocker's version of "Bye-Bye Blackbird."

What movie would I be?

Gone With the Wind.  Amen.

If had to be a place, what would I be?

A pink beach house on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina.  

What book would I be?

My all time favorite:

If I were a shoe, which would best suit me?

This Louboutin, of course.

And I were a piece of clothing, what would I be?

Grace Kelly's entire wardrobe in the film Rear Window.

But I'm not Bobby Darin...Grace Kelly...crab legs...or the billion dollar secret that is "Co-Cola," as my beloved Papaw Raley called it.  No, I'm just Lula:

Greasy, grimy, reeking of Coppertone, and keepin' it real.

I  may or may not be wearing a swimsuit.  Don't judge.

Your turn...tell me what drink, shoe, place, book, song, etc., you'd be!

*If I could meet a bloggy BFF in August, it'd be Kristen.  Thanks for the fodder, as always, and much love to you!

These Days...

It's just been one of those days.  

You know...those days.

All it does is rain here.  Rain, rain, rain.  The green surrounding me is so blindingly bright that I'm thisclose to praying for Autumn's orange-tinged hues.

OK, so I'm not ready for fall.  I'm just ready for sun.  And hot weather.  So that my girls are not stuck indoors.  And so I can do some summer reading out by the pool.  The rain is messing with my poolside reading schedule and I'm a bit like an impertinent child, stamping my feet because I'm inside these four walls.

But today...

in the span of about an hour...

*One child spilt peach tea (aka it leaves an impenetrable stain) all over the rug while the other tee-tee'ed in one of our bar chairs.  She is potty-trained, or so I thought.

*My husband's early mid-life crisis automobile broke down in the hospital parking lot.  I had to leave 2 stove eyes burning and garlic bread baking in the oven to go fetch him.  Reluctantly. Just being honest.

*The garlic bread burnt.  We ate it anyway.  

*I burnt my forearm trying to salvage said garlic bread from a 400 degree oven.  Dangit.

* In the middle of all this, one of my BFF's from college tried to contact me via Yahoo Messenger.  I had to tell her, "Hi--in the middle of a crisis--talk to you later!"  I felt like a dog for dismissing her in such a manner.  Becky, I love you.  

*My marinara tasted off.  I must have added too much Cabernet to it.  Love me through this admission.

*Oh, and while on the way to rescue Scott from the hospital parking lot, some redneck in an old Ford truck spit tobacco juice out his window.  It landed on my MomVan.  I was not tailgating. He just had mad projection skills.  Um...hi...that is beyond gross.  

*Let me also mention that earlier in the day the sky turned black.  The heavens opened and once again we prepared for the flood.  Libbey and I were trying to watch High School Musical 3, yet the power kept going on and off.  Come on, people.  That's. Just. Rude.  Zac Efron deserves better.

Gratuitous Zac shot. You're welcome.

*Due to the storm, my yard now looks like Beirut.  I haven't the time nor the inclination to remove all the weeds, debris, and fallen leaves/limbs that are littering what was once my garden mecca.  It makes me tired just thinking about it.

So in the midst of my afternoon turmoil, I found myself repeating the adage, "Too blessed to be stressed...I'm too blessed to be stressed..."

But I was stressed anyway.  Honestly is the best policy, folks.  And we've all been there, right?

Therefore I'm going to bed early, after spending some well-earned time in a very hot bubble bath, reading my latest novel, while listening to Melody Gardot.  (She is the cure for what ails...kid you not.)  I need a sublime ending to a subpar day.  Seriously.

And how has your day been?

p.s.  Also as effective as bubbles and the stirrings of Melody Gardot...a good friend, who sends the most hysterical text the minute I need it.  Lauren, I thank you...I love you...and I'm craving a Nathan's hot dog right now.  You know why.

My Baby is NOT the Centerfold.

From the time I was about nine years old I would beg God, "Please give me a daughter some day.  I don't care if you give me seven kids, just please let one of them be a girl...so I can impart my girly wisdom.  Make-up, music, boys, fashion...I just really want a daughter, God!"

In His infinite wisdom, or as proof of His unbelievable sense of humor, God gave me not one daughter, but two.  He also gave me a prescription for valium.  

No, really.  He did.  I'm certain of it.  

My youngest daughter is three and a half, also known as the "you never know what's going to come out of their mouths" age.  Witness:

Last week the toilet in her bathroom was acting up...she tried flushing, to no avail...

Me: Hmmm...I reckon it's stopped up!

Caroline: The batteries must be dead. Daddy will put in some new ones!

Awesome.

And then...

Caroline:  Nellie and Creetus don't want to go the playground.

Me:  Who are Nellie and Creetus?

Caroline:  Oh, they're my friends.  You just can't see them, but that's OK.  They're just for me.

Me:  Creetus?  That's a funny-sounding name...

Caroline: Mommy!  That's just his name.  He can't help it!

Right.  Gotcha.

Finally...

Caroline:  Mommy, I have boobies!

Me:  Yes,  you do. You are a girl and that's what girls have.

Caroline:  But mine are beautiful.  So is my belly button.  See?  (As she lifts her shirt.)

Seriously?

And then I begin to pray...

Dear Jesus,

Please convict Caroline now that she is NEVER to pose for Playboy.  For less than $5 million.

Amen.

Miss Caroline Raley Litton

With her clothes on.  

NOT posing for Playboy.

I'm just sayin'.

If you don't have a three year old in your life, I highly recommend that you run right out and get one.  Target probably has them on sale.  Near the pharmacy.  You know, where the valium* is located.

*For the record--I have never taken Valium, nor am I suggesting that it's a required drug for raising kids.  All that's really required is a lot of love.  Patience.  And prayer.  Maybe some red wine, too.  

These Are My People.

I don't know if it's southerners in general, or just me.  But I'm of the inclination to believe that we hold a monopoly on certain traditions/ideas/subject matters.  Such as:

*Cornbread must always be prepared in a well-seasoned cast iron skillet.  This is in the Bible somewhere, or maybe God just whispered it in my ear.  (And in the ears of all self-respecting, cornbread making southerners.)

*You have to love either  Moon Pies or Stuckey's Pecan Logs.  

I'm a Pecan Log gal myself.  Stuckey's is an institution of Dixie greatness, indeed.

*Sweet tea is the housewine of the South, and it's more delicious when served in a Mason jar.

I was brought up right.  (And yes, I really do quote Steel Magnolias daily.)

These are unwritten southern rules.  Except I take them to heart and write them down.  You see, I want my daughters to grow up and raise daughters who appreciate a well-seasoned cast iron skillet.  I want my grandchildren to love sweet tea and Stuckey's pecan rolls.  In moderation, of course.

Yet sometimes I realize we southerners (or maybe it's just me!) tend to believe it's our way or the highway.  Yeah, we (me) can be kinda territorial.  I admit it.  Especially when it comes to music.  Especially when that music is bluegrass.

We love our accoustic twang.  We love this branch of music that was brought to the Americas by the Irish and the English and the Scots. (Thank you, Irish, English, and Scots!) We love that we took that music and made it our own. And we love Alison Krauss & Union Station, and our beloved Ralph Stanley, as well.

So when a friend sent me the following video, I immediately grew into some maturity, expanded my worldview, and remarked, "Well...who knew the Chinese were southerners, too?"

This is probably one of the best videos I've ever watched on You Tube, as this is what music is all about.

I want to invite each and every one of these amazing musicians to my home.  For sweet tea, cornbread, and a pecan roll from Stuckey's.  And a big ol' hug from me.

Yee-haw, y'all.  Brilliant simplicity.  Oh, how I love it.

Jam On It.

What's your jam?

And by "jam," I don't mean the inside of a jar of Smucker's.  I'm talking about your jam.  You know, the song that regardless of when, where, or whatever your mood, the instant you hear its familiar strains, you're doing the bee-bop.  Physically bee-bopping, if you're home alone or perusing the aisles at Target.  (Yeah, like you've never done a bit of a twist in Target.  You know you have.)  Mentally, if you're in the middle of a sermon at church...driving down the highway...mourning at a funeral.  (Come on--like the funeral scene in The Big Chill didn't make you shake a tiny tail feather..."You can't always get what you want..."  The Rolling Stones at a wake?  That's good stuff right there.)

I'm currently creating my Summer Playlist '09 and I want it to be full of jams.  

Bekah's tune is Arcade Fire's Rebellion (Lies).  I've already added it to the '09 playlist for summer.

Oh, Bekah...this is a groove, I tell you.  Yes, I do love you for this.

My beautiful friend Lauren's favorite boogie song is Chamillonaire's Ridin' Dirty.  And I have to admit--this is high on my list.  "They see me rollin'...they hatin'..."

Just try to catch me ridin' dirty.  I dare you.  

And then Nikki-my-Love has claimed one of my all-time favorite dance songs--EVER--as her jam:

Oh, Debbie Deb...When I Hear Music it makes me wanna dance...and pull on my fuchsia satin hot pants, lace up my roller skates, and spend the afternoon going 'round the rink.  (Olympia Skate Center--Warner Robins peeps, represent!!!)

As for me...

I have two jams...

The first is Prince's Raspberry Beret.  I've loved this song since it debuted in 1985. Y'all...there's a bicycle bell ringing throughout this mini-symphony...this ode to teenage love.  You know that is seriously the coolest. (Ok, so it's not really a bicycle bell--it's finger cymbals.  But bicycle bell sounds way more fun.)  You Tube has no decent video of Raspberry Beret...

...so I give you my all-time favorite...the song I've worked it out to for most of my 34.5 years:

My head is bowed in respect for the late, great Jackie Wilson.  Don't even think of dismissing him.  He was the legend among legends.  I love me some Otis Redding...Sam Cooke...and Marvin Gaye.  But Jackie?  He is IT.  And Baby Workout is MY jam.  I dance to it in my bathroom.  Out by the pool.  In my car.  (Yes, I have a whole seat routine choreographed to Baby Workout.  No foolin'!)  And I want it played at my funeral--so y'all can get your swerve on here on earth, while I'm groovin' in Eternity.

I'm not even kidding.  I want to go out with a bang.  A Jackie Wilson-serenaded bang.

So please help me add to my Summer Playlist '09.  I wanna know your jam.  What do you rock out to?  Share it with me.  I'll add it to my playlist and think of you all season long.  And maybe I'll create a new car routine to one of your favorites.  

That's grounds for a road trip right there.  So we can get down, girl, go 'head get down...wooooooo!

Happy weekend, y'all!

*Edited to add--a lot of you are mentioning the Black Eye Peas' "Boom Boom Pow."  Yes, I love that song.  Yes, I have an entire car routine for it.  (Ask my pal Lacey--she choreographed it.)  Yes, it's on the summer playlist.  Duh!

It's Come To This...

I looked at Scott across the table and pleaded, "You've got to help me."

He replied, "I will do what I can, but you have to find the strength within you...ask God to help. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery."

*CRICKETS*

Many long minutes later he pressed, "Are you willing to admit it now?  Can you say it out loud?"

Honestly?  No.  I'm not capable of divulging my faults to anyone other than God and Scott.  (Or my beloved Sunshine, my self-professed diet/nutrition/exercise expert.)  It requires heroics I do not possess, because at my core I'm rather a large wimp.

Thirty-four and a half years have I been in this world, and in all that time I've resisted.  Oh, there's been the occasional recreational use.  I probably enjoyed it more in my teen years than as an adult.  You know the song...be young, be foolish, but be happy.  

Party after party I've attended and completely abstained, never once giving it a second thought. Until now.

I have an addiction, people.  I'm either knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door...or knock-knock-knocking on Betty Ford's.   I'm inclined to believe that either door would help me now.

Oh, Blue Bunny Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream...what you've wrought in my life.  You've taken an occasional ice cream imbiber and made her a full-fledged devourer of this icy cold treat.

I will never be the same again.

Please y'all...send help.  And please let it be in the form of a deliciously prepared spinach salad with balsamic vinegar dressing.  Because I need some nutrition up in here.  Or else it will be death by Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream.

But what a way to go...

And Now I'm Wondering What Cain Looked Like...

Throughout the history of the world it seems the bad dudes have held a mysterious sway over the girls. And by "history," I mean mine. And by "mine," I mean I've always had a thing for bad boys. Starting with this one:
Seriously...Blaine is a "major appliance, not a name."  But Steff...oh, Steff...he was my Pretty In Pink crush, baby.  Full-on.   Even though I was twelve years old at the time, I knew it then. Andrew McCarthy was a cutie pie.  But James Spader?  Um...yeah...major pre-teen swooning. Steff smoked...Steff did drugs and had wild parties and wrecked his old man's house.  I. Loved. Him.  Much to my mother's chagrin, of course.

A few years later I had a thing for the vamps in The Lost Boys.  But not as big as the thing I have for this particular vamp, whose name is not Edward Cullen.  Oh puh-lease...Eric could take Edward.  Anyday.  At Fangtasia.  Or in Bon Temps, Louisiana.
Hi there, Alexander Skarsgard, also known as Eric Northman.  Yes, you are delicious, and yes, I am so glad True Blood returns in a few days.  Because I love you.  That is all.

Oh, and let's not forget the ultimate badass, stranded on an island with the rest of the survivors of Oceanic 815.  I feel in love with James "Sawyer" Ford the instant he swaggered out of the jungle and snidely remarked to Kate, "I'm a complicated guy, sweetheart..."
Yes you are, my dear.  Yes you are.  And while his character has changed over the past 5 seasons of the best show to ever float across the airwaves,to me he will forever remain that snarky redneck who wasn't afraid to pull out his gun and use it.  (That's what she said.)  Ahem.

And...he needs no explanation.

He'll kick your boo-tay.  And I love him.  Amen.

So how does one parlay her love of the bad boys into a passionate marriage to this man:

He couldn't be farther from a bad boy. I mean, look at him...slaving away over doctor-type stuff, pen behind his ear, wearing khakis, sporting a 'do that elicits "What branch of the military are you in?" queries from total strangers.  

If there was a contest for Mr. Straight-Laced USA*, Scott Litton would be crowned the King, hands down.  The dude doesn't even walk around with an untucked t-shirt, nor would he dream of wearing unpressed khakis.  Or jeans.  Kid you not.

And I'm a sassy kind of girl...I have a tattoo (Mr. Straight-Laced USA eschews the permanent inking), I wear black nail polish (Mr. Straight-Laced USA calls it "punk!"), and sometimes a 24 year old stud tries to mack on me at a Kings of Leon concert.  Seriously, it happened.  Couldn't believe it myself!

Then there's this friend...
Say hello to Heather!  Yes, that Heather...from SITS and Mindless Junque, of course.  She's one of my sassiest friends, for sure.  She has the ink...and she favors black polish, too.  Sometimes her hair has bright red streaks in it.  She rocks Hello Kitty like no other, I tell you.  And, just as I dig the bad dudes, so does sweet Heather.  Which is kind of funny, because she really is sweet (much sweeter than I could ever be) and her agreeing with me that James Spader was THE hottest thing in Pretty In Pink is kinda like hearing a three year old say a cuss word.  It's shocking...hysterical...and totally catches you off guard.

Because this is Heather's man...dear PB...super stud, super genius, and second runner up to Mr. Straight-Laced USA*:

Do we love a man who plays Xbox live with such fervent intent while surrounded by his twin daughters, one of whom has a face covered in something I'm assuming was really delicious?  Of course we do.  Because this man, like my man, is the real deal.  No doubt.

So while I'll continue to enjoy the bad boys, let it be known both far and wide that I'm happily married to the biggest nerd in the world.  And when I say "nerd," I mean it with all the love in my heart.  Because a hot "geek" trumps a badass dude any day.  Especially when, while in Target last night, that hot geek tells his youngest daughter, "Here--hold Daddy's hand so that I don't get lost."

It made me fall in love with him all over again.  Yeah, I'm a sap.  Yeah, I married a hot geek. Yeah, we're total opposites, but also exactly the same.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  

*Straight-laced as in appearance...but we all know appearances are not always what they seem to be, and this is why I'll keep the best of Scott and PB a mystery.  It adds a bit of badass-ness to their mystique.  (And just about now, PB is ready to kill me.  Save it for Vegas, dude.)

Play Nicely.

Elsie De Wolfe (who was so fabulous that I will one day devote an entire post to her) once said:

"Be pretty if you can,

be witty if you must,

but be gracious if it kills you."

I would love to take this bit of wisdom put it in the first chapter of the "Proper Etiquette Guide For Bloggers" manual.  

What?  There's no manual such as this?  Well...that certainly explains a lot.

Over the past few weeks one of my favorite bloggers, who also happens to be one of my favorite people in real life, has been receiving the most salacious, vengeful, rude, and hurtful comments on her posts.  And these posts are not controversial in nature--just daily musings on her life as a newlywed, daughter, sister, and friend.  Yet the haters seem to be coming out...in a force seemingly fueled by jealousy.  

I. Don't. Get. It.

I realize we are all entitled to our own opinions, on every topic from politics, music, books, and which brand of milk is best.  (For the record--Horizon Organic Skim is tastiest.  Just sayin'.) I realize we're entitled to voice our opinion whenever the mood strikes.  But personally attacking someone on their own blog?  Someone who is not Ann Coulter or Keith Olbermann, that is...I just do not get it.

I'm not always a gracious person in real life.  In fact, less than 10 seconds ago I just got rather snarky with my husband. (I will ask his forgiveness...after The O'Reilly Factor is over, that is, because his ears will be closed to me until Bill stops opining.)  But I do try to be a kind commenter...even when I disagree with a particular post, especially if it happens to be written by one of "my" people.

I try to be gracious if it kills me.  I think we could solve a lot of problems in the world if only we'd add a little grace and kindness to our speech.  And by "we" and "our speech," I mean M-I-N-E, first and foremost. 

End of soapbox/sermon/rant.   

But not end of post...

I want to give my dear, sweet, beloved friend, Lizzy, (better known as Hot Tub Lizzy to some of you!) some lovin' here.  Because two days ago I got this in the mail:

No more Calico Devastation!   A brand new Holly Hobbie spoon rest (tea bag holder, whatever) showed up at my house and I wept.  Wept, I tell you.  Tears of joy, tears of thankfulness, tears of gratitude.  When I asked Lizzy why she felt compelled to send such a treasure, she replied, "It was something you needed...I found it...thank God for eBay...end of story."

Lizzy is the epitome of graciousness and thoughtfulness.  Again, my friend...I thank you.

Happy weekend, y'all!

Oh, and Happy Birthday to our niece, Helen Katherine, who turns the big ONE today, June 5th. We love you...and your awesome "did," and squishy-nosed expressions!!!

Disconnected.

Have I told y'all that I love my BlackBerry, Blanche? I named her "Blanche," because she is attached to my hip, kinda nosey, and all up in everyone's Kool-Aid. Just as I imagine a "Blanche" would be...all pink-haired, gum-chomping, and polyester culotte-wearing Blanche. That's my phone.

And, through no fault of her own, Blanche had a bit of a setback this past weekend. The usual suspects who send multiple texts a day (ok, an hour!) were rather silent on Saturday and Sunday.  Like Duckie in Pretty In Pink, I sniffed under my arms and questioned, "Do I offend?"

Turns out the usual suspects were indeed texting me throughout the weekend.  Blanche, however, was not delivering said texts.  What gives?

Saturday passed with nary a word from my beloved peeps.  Oh, Nikki phoned while I was at a birthday party...and I think I talked with Tiffany at some point during the day. Otherwise, Blanche remained rather silent.  I didn't think too much of it.

Sunday is always busy around here. And by busy, I mean that after church we went swimming and floated the afternoon away in our pool, also known as the vacation in our backyard.  Good times.  And, as was her custom of the weekend, Blanche continued her silence.

At 9pm Eastern time the MTV Movie Awards obnoxiously roared into our living room.  Surely someone would text during these festivities!  After all, Twilight won a bojillion awards, Rob and Kristen didn't kiss when winning their kissing award (onscreen that is--ahem), and Andy Samberg called High School Musical "a movie about an all gay high school."  Are you kidding me?  WIN, WIN, WIN!!!!  Oh...Kings of Leon rocked it out and Denzel Washington, the last of the real dope deal movie stars, classed up the joint with his presence.  And Blanche didn't utter a peep from my peeps.  Seriously?  

On Monday morning I talked with Bekah and she was all, "Um...hi...why didn't you answer any of mine or Lauren's texts this weekend?"  

HUH?!?

On Tuesday afternoon I received the strangest text from Heather...it was the continuation of a conversation we'd had last Friday.  So rather than answer with the oft-used, "What? Huh?" I rang her and and asked, "What?  Huh?" Heather then laments, "I texted you a bojillion times during the MTV Movie Awards...that non-kiss...Bruno's bootie on Eminem's face...the trailer...and after about 6 messages I realized, 'Wow, she's not getting these!'"

Regrettably...no...Blanche did not deliver a single text.  Kid you not.

Around 3 pm on Tuesday, June 2, Blanche's chest swelled to double-D's and filled my inbox with about 27 text messages. Seriously.  She needed an underwire to support the strain of a full inbox.

Better late than never, Blanche.  

I love that in her bag of tricks, Blanche holds the keys to Twitter...Blackberry Messenger...Yahoo Messenger...Google Chat... and regular e-mail and texting, as a means of keeping in touch with the outside world.  Yet I still spent the weekend disconnected from my peeps.  (Except for that chat with Shannon while in Applebee's...love you, girl.)

Blanche, I love you.  

But not as much as I love my eldest child, who is able to climb into a locked car--via the sunroof--and collect the keys for me.  All while wearing a monogrammed sundress.  A southern belle in the making if I ever saw one.

This, my friends, is why children are the handiest beings in the world.  Forget Blanche...forget Twitter, messaging apps and whatnot.  Go get a Libbey.  Not mine, of course.  Your own.

She's going to be an amazing wife to The Boy one day.  No app purchase necessary.  No tweeting.  No disconnect.  Amen.

Blanche could learn a thing or two from my child.

Effervescent.

I'm sad to say goodbye to the month of May...it was full of delicious goodness that made me all kinds of giddy happy.  Witness:

No more barren, desolate-looking yard...it's a color explosion 'round here,

 which ups my glee factor exponentially.

Did you know Lacey and I traveled to Heather's to see Kings of Leon?  

Well, we did.  And we were fabulous.  Oh, and so was the band.  

Heather was so fabulous she couldn't fit all of her fabulousness into this picture.

I've had May 8th circled on my calendar since last year.  No lie.  

Thank you, JJ Abrams, for not disappointing.  

Also, thank you, Chris Pine, for not disappointing. Ahem.

Libbey finished her first year of Awana as a Spark.

Caroline was a Puggle in Awana.  I didn't take good pictures during

their commencement ceremony, so I figured I'd just show them off...

...with their Blow Pops.  'Cause they're way sassy.  

My father-in-law is kinda cute.  I'm just sayin'.  

Remember when you were a kid and every December 26th 

you couldn't wait for December 25th all over again?

This is exactly how I've felt for over 15 years.

No more, my friends.

My beloved Designing Women.   Season 1 on DVD.  Finally.

God is good!

For Memorial Day weekend my sister-in-law and her family

came to spend a few days with us.  The best part of their visit?

This picture of our niece, Eliza:

Best. Ever.  In the history of the world. 

As of May 30, my parents have been married 39 years.

That is a Very Big Deal.

Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Henry Roth, Jr.

Also...I love you, Mama and Daddy!
Mary Elizabeth Raley Roth--May 30, 1970

Finally, May was a special kind of month because I fully believe

all the fasting and praying is paying off. 

How you doin', Rob-As-Edward...

Never doubt for a single second that God doesn't answer prayer.

Amen.

Your turn...

What was the highlight of YOUR month?  Other than seeing that most excellent picture of my niece and the ultimate pouty face?  Go ahead...share, please!

p.s. If you tell me you've only seen the New Moon trailer once, I'm gonna have to call you a liar. Or normal.
THE TWILIGHT SAGA: NEW MOON trailer in HD

Kristen, it's working...the fasting and praying. Just that glimpse of her lying in the forest is enough for me. I think they're getting it right this time.