Seven Years.

Dear Libbey,
Tomorrow you turn seven years old. It's been almost fourteen years since I've seen your great grandmother, Memaw Roth, yet she is never far from my thoughts because I see her gentleness and goodness in you, every day.

Papaw Raley and Uncle Everett have also been gone almost fourteen years (one day Mommy will tell you all about how 1995 was the worst year of my existence!), but I love that you've inherited their spiritedness and southern charm.

When I think of your great grandfather, Papaw Smith, I am thankful he had three and a half years getting to know and love you. His ability to love without condition has clearly been passed down to you.

I never knew your great grandfather, "Frank," but it's apparent from all the stories we've heard that your sense of humor is pure Litton, through and through.

I often wonder if Mamaw Raley and Aunt Doris, now in Heaven, are fully appreciating your obsessive love of shoes and jewelry, your burgeoning fashion sense, and your hope that one day, like the rest of us Raley women, you will have big boobs, too.

I love that you are my daughter, my firstborn, and my heart. I love that I can see our family's heritage reflected in your smile and in the manner in which you conduct yourself as you grow to be a young lady. I love that these people we hold dear are never far from our hearts...because we see them in you. I love that you have Raley, Roth, Litton, and Smith in you. But more than anything...above all else...I love that I see Jesus in you.

"Seeds of every generation between our hands, and the promise to teach you the little I have learned so far. Child, what will you live to do? What have I left for you? What will we leave behind?" ~from Seeds by Brooke FraserHappy 7th birthday, my darling daughther! I love you more than you could possibly know.

Forever,

Mommy

xoxo

Seriously...

Do you know what a four day headache does to me? A misery-inducing, pounding headache?

It keeps me from my family.
It keeps me from my church.
It keeps me from blogging.
It keeps me from reading blogs.
It keeps me from fasting & praying for a better New Moon. (Dakota Fanning as Jane? Eh...)


It keeps me from praying for Kat's husband.
It keeps from hanging out at the newest blog on the block, Sussing Out Lost.
It keeps me from cleaning my house in preparation for Libbey's birthday party.
It keeps me from learning that my Jason has an Audi commercial which will air during the Super Bowl, thereby making that game now worthy of my time.


It keeps me from reading the latest Entertainment Weekly, which just gave Battlestar Galactica an "A" rating, and a glowing review: "BSG is in every sense a spectacular blast." Why of course it is. Right, Cara?


It keeps me from having a fridge stocked with organic skim milk & mini Cokes.
It keeps me from hearing Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You."
It keeps me from tending to the pile of laundry that is quickly reaching the ceiling.
It keeps me from personal hygiene. Ahem.
It keeps me out of the loop. I feel so detached, y'all.

But I'm better. Two doctor appointments, one CT scan (complete with contrast dye, intravenously), and a bag full of medication later, and I'm starting to see the light...without having to put a pillow over my head.

Bear with me y'all...another new episode of my beloved show airs tonight, I have to check on Kat, respond to 53 e-mails, throw away the latest issue of People (blah, ad nauseam), plan, prepare, and clean for Libbey's two parties (yes, two--more on that later!), hang out at my favorite blogs, clean some more, and start reading my latest YA novel, Envy, by Anna Godbersen (the third in the Luxe series).

And I just totally gave myself another headache. I'm quite certain Calgon is calling my name, and doggone it...I am answering.


*Thanks for the calls and e-mails inquiring about my absence...Heather K., Heather B., Denise, April, Kristen, my Mommy Blabbers, and others I'm probably leaving out. (And I'm clearly too lazy to link all of you.) I feel loved. Also, a big HEY and THANKS to one of my lifelong friends, Abby Sanders Hunt...who does not blog but who worried about me via Facebook. Love you, Abby! Facebook is the best, huh?

My New BFF.

Everyone's all, "Tina Fey, oh I love her!" And yeah, I dig me some Tina. I do. Have you seen Mean Girls?

But there's another SNL gal who's making me actually want to watch the show. Seriously, I gave up on it years ago. No Cheri Oteri and Will Ferrell getting their Spartan Spirit on? Not worth watching, I tell you.

Have you seen this? Go watch. Now. Really. It's completely hysterical.

"I like chasing cars!"

Kristen Wiig...please be my friend. We can hang out in our fuzzy slippers & pajamas and watch reruns of Remington Steele while eating cookie dough & Doritos. Then we'll call KFC and ask if they have big breasts, or have "Phil McGroin" paged at the bowling alley. Ooooh, let's sneak out at midnight and go cow tipping. It will be good times.

Call me, Kristen. I'llBeYourBestFriend.

Unbelievable.

True story.

A couple of nights ago Scott and I were entering bills into Quicken. I had the credit card statement and would call out each purchase so he could log it properly. We were coasting along fine, me reading off the statement, naming where the purchase was made, the amount, and the budget category (i.e. gift, entertainment, household expense, etc.), and Scott keying the info into the computer.

Then...

Me: Target...$24.87...gifts.

Scott: Wait. $24.87? At Target? Double check that.

Me: Yes, $24.87. Wow...

Scott: Yeah, when have you ever spent less than $25 in Target? Was there another purchase there that day?

Me: No.

Scott: I don't know what to say, honey.

Me: It's a Christmas miracle!

Amen.

We will tell our girls about this one day, who will, in turn, pass it on to their own families. It will grow as legend and will be retold each Christmas, forever immortalized as that year Leigh Anne spent less than twenty-five dollars on one Target shopping excursion.

At Last!

I wish y'all could hear me...'cause I'm totally squeeeeeeeeeeing right now.

It's here! My little counter has been ticking since I swiped it off Kat last May, mocking me as the days slowly passed.

It mocks no more.

Folks, destiny calls...and I will heed it at 9pm tonight.

My show is back! My. Show. Is. Back!

Please resume your life now. Or, if you are also a Lostie, please join me and a gaggle of fabulous bloggers over on a brand new site: Sussing Out Lost

This is a safe haven for discussing, theorizing, summarizing, and raising your Lost flag. Without alienating your non-Lost watching readers, that is. (I know, I know...hard to believe these people exist.) Come...love Lost with us. It's gonna be good times.

This Day.

No politics...no religion...no unnecessary diatribes...no debating. Instead, a prayer for this day, and for our new president. From my heart, as well as David's, as he's quoted in Acts 2:25, 26:

Lord, I see You always before me. You are at my right hand. I will not be shaken. Yes, my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices. Indeed, I choose to rejoice!
Thanks, my God. I trust You implicitly.

Peace, my friends...
XOXO,
Lula

A Bit O' Fun.

It's Monday, y'all...and here in my mountain town that means ice, snow, blah-blah-blah and all that. Kristen posted this game over at her place, and I figured it would be fun to play along, too. It will lift me from the doldrums.

It's vitally important to our existence that we know our alter ego names. So participate, please...do 'em all or pick a few, and lemme know what you come up with. Good times.

To find your ROCK STAR NAME take your first pet & current car:
Heidi Odyssey.

To find your GANGSTA NAME take your favorite ice cream flavor and your favorite cookie:
Lime Sherbet Peanut Butter. (Eh, that's lame.)

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME? Your favorite color and favorite animal:
Pink Owl. (What a fab name for a nightclub, huh? Just sayin'.)

Want to know your SUPERHERO NAME? Just add the word "The" plus your 2nd favorite color, and your favorite drink:
The Black Coke.

Your NASCAR NAME. Take the first names of your grandfathers:
Edmund Levoid.

If I ever go into WITNESS PROTECTION you can find me with this name. Your mother & father’s middle names:
Elizabeth Henry.

TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME? Just take your 5th grade teacher’s last name and add a major city that starts with the same letter:
Housand Houston.

Of course, if you find me in witness protection I will assume it was because you were using your SPY NAME. Add your favorite season/holiday to your favorite flower:
Autumn Peony.

Find your CARTOON NAME by taking your favorite fruit, and an article of clothing you’re wearing right now, then add "ie" or "y":
Appley Hat. (I changed the order around. It's my game, I'll play as I want to!)

Your ROCKSTAR TOUR is heading across the northeast...it's called "The” + Your fave hobby/craft, your fave weather element + the word “Tour”:
The Reading Fog Tour.

Finally, I'm adding in that one we all know and love...your PORN STAR name! Take the name of your first pet and the first street you lived on:
Heidi Hills.

I win this one. I'm sorry, but I do. Come on, Heidi Hills? You know that was meant for the centerfold. (If there is a Heidi Hills out there and she reads this, please forgive me if I've offended you. But I have to ask...were you Miss March or Miss September?)

For the rest of the day I will now plan The Pink Owl Nightclub. It will be our respite from the world, for bloggers only...where we go to relax, unwind, dicuss Lost, Twilight, music, good reads, etc. And all things in between, of course.

Gnawing My Toes.

I fully realize this means diddly squat to about 99% of you. OK, probably all of you, with the exception of the brilliant Cara, who has impeccable taste when it comes to habits involving the small screen. (Unless Greg is reading, in which case I will not leave him out--hey, Greg! The wait is over! Wooooooooo!)

Tonight is a very, very, very big deal for me.

Wait, quit skimming. Did you hear what I said?

Tonight is a very, very, very big deal for me.

It's the first of the final 10 episodes of my beloved Battlestar Galactica. The critically acclaimed and universally lauded Battlestar Galactica. The hour of television too complex to be pigeonholed into a mere "Science Fiction" label, because it's so much more than that. Seriously, it's the best show out there...right after Lost, that is.


I'll have no toenails by the time the show airs tonight.

Again, since I'm aware this evening's epic return to all things BSG is not a big deal to y'all (and I forgive you for this!), I'll pose a question. Other than Lost, whose return next Wednesday is being anxiously awaited by all sane, level-headed people on Earth proper, what show(s) are you looking forward to this season? Personally I cannot wait for the premiere of Joss Whedon's latest, Dollhouse, and Mad Men is absolutely my newest addiction. Oh, and The Tudors? Why yes, it's brilliant.

Love me...love my not-so inner geeky, Sci-Fi loving self.

Happy weekend, y'all!

Pretty Soon I'll Need A Room To Hold 'Em All.

I've long been convinced that we mothers are racking up imaginary awards and trophies and points and badges for the victories we encounter in the every day routine. Didn't scream at little Sally when she wrote on your newly hung wallpaper? SCORE! You get an award. Took your child and a van full of other kids to the park, remembering to bring snacks, juice boxes. repellent, and SPF 50? AWESOME! You've earned a medal, super mom!

I tally my little awards a few times every month. It keeps me sane and gives me something to do. I'm not busy enough with raising my kids, hanging with my husband, being a chauffeur, cook, maid, teacher, friend, foe...

Most of my trophies are on the small scale, but I have a few really shiny ones which warrant special attention. I've endured and persevered in categories such as:

That Time Libbey Threw Up 2 Hot Dogs (i.e. A Bojillion Chunks) All Over Her Bedroom When I Was 9 Months Pregnant With Her Baby Sister.

and

The Night A 3-Week Old Caroline Shot Shadoobie Across The Room And Some Of It Got In My Mouth.
(Yeah, it happened...I'm not painting the picture for you, though.)

or my current favorite,

When I Refrained From Beating The Fire Out Of Caroline For Hiding In A Rack Of Clothes At Kohl's While Every Mother In The Store Gave Me That "What Kind of Mother Loses Her Child?" Look Of Incredulity When I Ran Frantically Through The Store Sobbing Her Name.
Yeah. That one's a big honkin' trophy.


Tuesday night (well, Wednesday morning, really) I earned another award. It's a small plaque, but it's brass-coated and awfully nice, and I figured I'd share it with y'all.

Libbey woke at 3:00 in the morning and came to tell me, "I almost thew up but I swallowed it back down." I was still completely asleep and unable to comprehend her name, much less process her story of re digesting bile. I put her in bed between me and Scott and resumed my slumbering status.

Thirty minutes later I was dreaming of a waterfall. Then I realized the waterfall was, in fact, a geyser of puke.

Another thirty minutes later, after Scott cleaned and changed both he and Libbey, and after I'd stripped the bed, put on new sheets, cleaned myself and the area surrounding the bed and bathroom, we all fell back asleep. For thirty minutes.

We then lathered, rinsed, & repeated, as needed, for the rest of the night.

I've totally earned every bit of my newest plaque. I'll mentally hang it in my virtual trophy room while browsing the aisles at Target over the weekend. Why yes, I do need those Converse wedge tennies! They'll position me higher so I can hang my latest award just so.

Escape Into My Thoughts...

That's the title of my dear Amy's blog. Every time I go hang out at her place and see her page header, I always think, "Escape into my thoughts...yeah, and there ain't no way I'd let my peeps rummage around this noggin o' mine!"

I mean, come on...deep down inside we are all weird in some way or another. Some of us choose to fly our freak flags out in the open, brazenly unfurled. Yet others have their flags at half-mast, or even better, off the pole completely, folded and tucked away in a dark drawer.

My flag is usually at half-mast, to be honest. Most of you know by now that I'm an enormous Sci-Fi Geek of the highest power, and this admission brings me no shame. I don't mind revealing that I have a large amount of cheesy fluff on my iPod...easy listening goodness such as Barry Manilow, Little River Band, Neil Diamond, and Olivia Newton-John. Furthermore, I firmly believe that anyone who doesn't think The Goonies is one of the greatest works of film in the history of the medium should have their respective head examined.

This is all well and good. But then I feel an urge to let y'all in on the daily panderings of my train of thought. Actual thoughts which scroll through my brain. Such as today's offerings:

*Would Rufus Wainright agree to sing to me each night at bedtime if I paid him a handsome figure for his melodic services? I was meant to be lulled into slumber by the sound of his voice, live, performing "Poses." Seriously. When I'm a millionaire do not think I won't try to make this happen.

*Clearly the best cake mix on the market is Duncan Hines Butter Recipe Golden. Why doesn't the world accept this as fact and move beyond those pointless imitators named Betty Crocker and Store Brand?

*There are actual men and women walking around in this country, clueless as to the genius that is that hour of television known as Lost. It's very hard for me to love someone who doesn't love Lost. And why don't you love Lost? Lack of Lost fervor mystifies me in ways I cannot fully express here. There. I said it. You cannot imagine the weight that has been lifted off my shoulders. Sigh...

*Next time I see Lizzy (soon, baby--soon!) will we have time to watch Space Camp, Better Off Dead, the original Parent Trap, and Meet Me In St. Louis? Because this has to happen. It means that much to us.

*I miss Lawrence Welk. Deeply.

This makes me want to drink Tang and have some Jiffy Pop. In my footed pajamas. I am not remotely joking, either.

Yes...escape into my thoughts. I cannot make this stuff up, people. I cannot believe some of you are still reading at this point. OK, so go check out Amy's thoughts...they're Tang free.

Mr. Lula In The House.

*I have given over the reigns of the blog to my husband, Scott. This was all Tattooed Minivan Mom's idea. I want everyone to know he did this all by himself, except for the photobucket tutorial I had to give him. He even went to imdb.com to look up pertinent info. Kid you not.
Lord, help me.

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The real title of this post is:
The Top 10 Reasons Why I Am Really Cooler Than Jason Statham.

Now that we got that out of the way...hello to everyone in Lulaville! This is Scott, also known as June...Dr. Litton...Scotty...Scott, Jr...or Mr. Lula. I'm glad I have this opportunity to speak to the millions of daily readers of my wife's blog. Now that I have your attention, I believe quality is more important than quantity, so please relish my thoughts as I share them here.

I think we all know that my wife's boyfriend is that one guy called Jason Statham.

I don't get what the big deal is, but hey...he's her dude. I'm ok with it.

(For the record, I have a girlfriend...her name is Katherine Heigl, and she's smokin' hot, however not as hot as Lula. Awwwwwwww...)

She ain't a boy, that's for sure.

That Jason guy is all well and good, but I think I'm significantly cooler than he ever thought about being. Here's my proof--all 10 points of proof.

*My hair line is not receeding.

*I'm a country boy, and as Hank Williams, Jr. says, "A country boy can survive." Take that, action hero!

*He may have a charming British accent, but my southern drawl is much sweeter...and more soothing.

*Jason never graduated medical school, with honors. No one has ever referred to him as "Doctor Statham." I'm just saying. (Lula got that from me, by the way!)

*He is capable in the butt-kicking department, but I have serious butt-screening skills. That's colonoscopies, just so you know. I perform this procedure every week. On Brown Friday. Without a stunt-double.

*Jason Statham is 5'10". I looked it up. I'm 6'3", and you know what they say...size matters.

*That guy may get all the ladies due to this high-profile status, but I got Lula. 'Nuff said.

*So he's been on the British National Diving Team, but have you seen my cannonball? I'd take him anyday. Me and my mad diving board skills, that is.

*I don't think he's ever recorded a CD. I have. Let's hear it for the University of Virginia's Spinal Chords, particularly the baritone section.

*It takes more skill to repair a facial laceration than it does to create one by use of fist and force. Oh, and I can deliver babies with my bare hands. I can also stitch one-handed. I think it's clear that I win!

So I'm not an action hero. Or a member of the cast of Lost. Or a vampire named Edward. Or a Cylon. But I am a pretty swell, guy. I am Mr. Lula.

Hear me roar!

Thanks for letting me bend your ear. And thanks to you, honey, for letting me take over your blog for once. See? I am way cooler than Jason Statham. But I don't have to convince you of that!

Going Public.

Somewhere in the world there is place for people such as me, who struggle with addiction. There is no 12-step program that I am aware of, nor a facility akin to the Betty Ford. Unless Coco Chanel has recently opened a luxurious treatment center, in which case I'm booking my stay now.

My addiction is a collection of paints, powders, and potions in all shapes, sizes, and hues. There is a reason I refer to my beloved Sephora as The Mother Ship. Because truer words have never been spoken. Please take me seriously when I inform you that upon entrance into this bastion of the cosmetic world, the heavens part and I audibly hear the Hallelujah chorus being performed by a cloud of witnesses. Amen.

Witness one of my drawers full of delights so outstanding that mere words fail me:

Lest you think I'm spoiled rotten, please know it has taken me years (and many Bare Escentuals TSVs on QVC!) to accumulate this collection. And yes, I wear it nearly every day. Not a full-face of it, mind you. But at least some lipgloss and mascara--you know, so I'm not frightening people with my bare visage. My mama brought me up right.

This little white bag is full of fun stuff--glittery, sparkly, "date night" make-up. Meaning I wear it once a week. Or when I'm in California. Necessities, y'all.

And here's my perfectly pink bag, all packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. It stores all my applicator brushes, fun eyeshadows, mascaras, and eyeliners. (Yes, plural--everyone needs black, charcoal, and mocha eyeliner, of course, but navy, plum, and emerald are fun to have on hand, as well!

And here's the stuff I received at Christmas...I've yet to store any of it away, because I just like looking at the newness on my vanity. Painted my toes in the blue color--it's called "Skinny Jeans!" Fabulous, no?
Please stick with me through this admission of my addiction. We all have skeletons in our closets, of course. Mine just happen to have remnants of highlighted cheekbones.

"Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." ~Proverbs 31:30

Yes, I know it well, Lord. And You still love me...