Looks like Christmas barfed on my neighbor's yard.

A few days ago, I was driving around the neighborhood when I noticed some Christmas light-stringing activity going on directly behind my garage at the SWAT team house (you guys remember that, I hope. I sure haven't forgotten). Next to SWAT house there lies an oval-shaped patch of grass and a few bushes and trees. Owner of SWAT house (which is not the same dude who was arrested that fateful day -- they have since moved, bless them) understandably decided to take advantage of this convenient little area of landscaping adjacent to his home and filled it with lights, snowmen and Christmas trees. Exciting! You see, we don't put up lights (too lazy) but this year, we get to benefit from our neighbor's zeal.

Christmas cheer for everyone!

Then, night fell.

We pulled into our garage after a long day of Thanksgiving-related activities. I'm pretty sure the kids were whining as they are wont to do after a fun-filled day of wreaking havoc on Grandma's designer Christmas tree. We all got out of the car and to my surprise, I heard Christmas music.

What??? Do my ears deceive me? I thought. As we turned toward the sound and looked out our open garage door, we were greeted by a most fantastic lights display. Choreographed to music. Complete with a projected image on the wall of our neighbor's house.

Squee!

Then I realized we could hear it through the walls of my house and it would light up my kids' rooms like a rave party every night.

Yeyyyy ...

The good news is, I have yet to hear the same song play twice. There must be quite a soundtrack accompanying this lights display.

To prove I'm not making all this up, I created a video for you to watch. Enjoy.

And please excuse my man voice + unmakeupedness. And yes, I just made that word up.

Question of the Day: Do YOU put lights up on the outside of your house, or do you just revel in your neighbors' Christmas spirit?

I apologize.

If you happened to come across some DIRTY, NASTY ADS on this blog at any point, I'm so sorry. Not sure how that happened -- BLOGGER ... (stern mom face). But it shant happen again.

(But if it does, please tell me. Thank you.)

Oh and let's get excited for Friday!! We're going to help a stellar friend of mine next week and you guys are going to have a chance to bid on some AWESOME swag just in time for Christmas. So stoked. I'll have the deets in a few days!

Whatcha lookin' for? The BONUS ROUND!

Behold the phrase that someone had the wherewithal to so kindly type into Google today:

"laqrge unedited pictures of ugly faces"

Thanks to Google Stats, I happen to know that nice little phrase took them to MY BLOG. And straight to this picture:

Sweet.

The good news is, this benevolent person doesn't know how to spell  the word "large." You can fix pizza face, you know ...

Also, a recent increase in "unedited face picture" searches leading to my site might mean that there are now loads of beautifully Photoshopped pictures of me floating around the Interwebz. Or maybe hideously Photoshopped pictures. The world may never know.

What are YOU thankful for?

These people share their gratitude.

Some made me chuckle; all warmed my heart.

Also, Elder Oaks sings a little tune.

Watch.

Don't forget to say thank you today.

Whatcha lookin' for? Round 3!

It feels like Christmas when I open my stats to see where my blog traffic is coming from (does that make me incredibly nerdy? Don't answer). Some of these search terms slay me, they're so hilarious. Have a look for yourself!

1) Arab beards. Yes, I'm pretty sure this query led the curious searcher to Dill's multitude of beard pictures, located here. They were probably pretty disappointed to find a lumberjack beard instead of an Arab beard. Close, but no cigar.

Boy, am I glad that thing's gone. Although, it might be making a return next spring! Details forthcoming.

2. Birthday. Ok, this one's not really weird, just starkly ... generic. Maybe the person was having a rough day and needed a little birthday cheer to brighten things up? I only wonder how many pages of search results they waded through before they clicked on MY little blog. (Something to figure out when I have nothing to do -- like THAT day will ever come.) I bet they weren't disappointed by Bubby's rockin' princess party, though. An affair to remember, that one.

3. Plex from Yo Gabba Gabba and every freaking variation therof. Ever since I posted about Plex's mouth I've had a steady stream of visitors looking for the whimsical yellow robot of Yo Gabba Gabba. He must be a pretty popular dude. Either that, or everyone else is just as perPLEXed as I am about his mouth-neck situation. For the record, I'm starting to see the mouth when I watch the show. Which only happens every day of my life.

4. Sister wives outfits. So there was that one time I layered my shirts like the Sister Wives do -- short sleeves over long sleeves. Please note: While I am a Mormon, I am NOT a polygamist. If you came here looking for a real-life sister wife, I'm sorry to disappoint you. However, I'd definitely be in the running for Smokin' Hot Wife if I joined the Brown clan. Watch out, Robyn!

What are people searching for to get to your blog? Find out by logging into your dashboard, clicking on the Stats link and choosing "Traffic Sources" from the list below.

Oh, and please check out my friend Jessica's darling knitted hats by clicking on the yellow button over yonder. --> So glad I have crafty friends to make up for my severe lack of skillz in that department!

Too skinny.

It's time to be serious: I have a confession to make. You know I love some good hijinx but I have to get real with you now.

So, do you remember when I went on my 50% raw food kick? It was great, really. I felt amazing and (TMI, TMI) I could FINALLY, after many years, go to the bathroom with no issue  And I lost a ton of weight. It just fell off without me even trying. I think I was even slimmer than when I got married.

Back in April, I went shopping for some new-to-me jeans for my birthday. In the past, I have always worn somewhere between a size 0 and 4 (don't hate -- remember, I'm not crafty and can't run!). I have found success with Banana Republic's jeans. They seem to fit me best. They aren't too low, they aren't too stretchy and I love the quality.

So anyway, here I was at Buffalo Exchange looking for jeans in the 0-2 section on the rack. I pulled out probably 10 pairs and went into the fitting room.

They were all too baggy.

I finally settled on a pair of dark wash Banana Republics in size 0 because, well, it doesn't get any smaller than that, does it?

I got home and found out they were waaaaay too loose on me. After wearing them for only a few minutes, I could slide them off my body without even unbuttoning them. So much for that.

I don't own a scale so I don't know how much I weighed at that point, but it's probably a good thing because the number may have shocked me right outta my pants (pun definitely intended). But I didn't need a scale to tell me what I couldn't ignore: I was TOO SKINNY. Even for me.

Here I am on my birthday. You can see how deathly thin I am. My face is gaunt; my collar bones are sticking out, my arms are pencils and my once-tight shirt is loose and baggy. Ironically, I am sitting behind a decadent red velvet cake.

WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME HOW CRAZY SKINNY I LOOKED?!

It's not like I was really trying to lose weight; I was just trying to eat healthier. Yet I was slowly killing myself. Hello, the human body needs a little fat to cushion it up. It needs fat in case there's a famine or some kind of disaster and you can't eat for days on end. Well, I'm pretty sure my body had zero fat at that point. Good thing there wasn't an earthquake or something.

I am pleased to tell you that today, those Banana Republic jeans I bought on my birthday that were too baggy? Yeah, now they fit me quite snugly. My butt looks good in them. I am not too skinny anymore. And I feel great.

I still try to eat raw fruit and/or vegetables with every meal, but I am done going overboard. I will not say no to fats and sugars. I will eat them in moderation; they're welcome in my diet! I don't want to wither away ever again.

Plus, I like being able to wear adult-sized jeans. Yanno.

So, if you decide to cut all processed foods out of your diet, please remember you do still have to eat some fats. Some healthy options for this include Greek yogurt, cheese, eggs, avocados, lean meat and milk. And I'm a firm believer that there's no harm in a cupcake now and then. Nor in eating half your kids' Halloween candy.

The time she went to a famous dude's house and saw a play.

Do you recognize the guy in the white dress shirt? Maybe not. Let's try a different question: Have you ever seen An American Tail, The Land Before Time, The Secret of NIMH, All Dogs Go to Heaven or Anastasia?

None of those? Ok, let's try these: Disney's Robin Hood, The Rescuers, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, Pete's Dragon?

Odds are, you've seen at least one of those films. That fellow we're getting chummy with up there is Don Bluth, director and animator behind all of those. Certainly you've seen Anastasia; Dmitri has to be one of the best-looking animated chaps ... er, alive. (Should animated people be considered alive? Life's big questions.) If you haven't, it's on Netflix. So no excuses. Plus, who doesn't love Meg Ryan and John Cusak?

Anyhoo, on Saturday night I accompanied my handsome non-animated husband Dill to Mr. Bluth's lovely home, known also as Front Row Theatre, to see a play he was directing. Remember my best friend MoniQue? Her husband Mike had a role in the play, Charley's Aunt (which was hysterical, by the way), and of course we couldn't miss an opportunity to behold some fine theatrics. As well as eat some of Q's delectable pumpkin scones. We did that, too.

Front Row Theatre is super cool because every seat is pretty much on the front row (hence the name). There is a small stage area in the center of the room, but the actors use the entire room during the performance. And I mean ENTIRE. Dill and I sat in the actual front row, just off stage left, and I worried on multiple occasions that the actors were going to end up in my lap. I loved it, though! I felt like I was part of the action instead of just a casual observer. What a unique and exciting way to experience theater.

Anyhoo, Mike did a fantastic job as Brassett the butler and we had a great time watching the play. I'm not one to enjoy British humour, but this particular show had me laughing out loud throughout! So many great lines and characters.

I wish I had taken some pictures to show you how close the actors were to us during the play. Well, truth be told I did take some, but only on my crappy cell phone camera that has been dropped one too many times by my over-eager toddler. So they're not worth posting; trust me. Instead, go check it out yourself! Here's Front Row Theatre's Facebook page. Such a novel concept! You won't see anything like it.

Big thanks to Don for putting on a great show. We loved it!

(P.S. -- Do you like how I'm in glasses? One of my contacts ripped and I only have one pair left, which I need to save for my choir concert, so ... glasses it is. Embracing my inner nerd these days.)

Inalienable rights.

At Arlington Cemetery, May 2011

As you know, today is 11/11. Veterans' Day. I remember as a kid, the school would usually invite a veteran or two come and share their war stories with us. I was always captivated by their presentations, honored to hear their solemn memories. I thought about how I could never be brave enough to put my life on the line for my country the way they did -- the way my grandfather did in Korea. As evidenced by the above picture, many don't live to tell their stories of combat and heroism.

In D.C. this past summer, I had the humbling opportunity to visit Arlington Cemetery. President John F. Kennedy is buried there. Many know he is famous for saying this during his inaugural address: "And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country."

Who better to epitomize this statement than the courageous servicemen and women who willingly volunteer to fight for our inalienable, God-given rights?

Life. Liberty. The pursuit of happiness.

We have these because of them.

God bless our veterans -- past, present and future.

Walking.

Let's start with a confession, shall we? It's not particularly juicy or anything (but don't quit reading!). It's a problem that has plagued my entire existence and I've finally decided to admit it to myself and the world:

I can't run.

Me, after approx. 2 minutes of "running." I drew this in Paint. Believe it.

There. It's out there. Never coming back to me.

I know, you're thinking, "Can't is for losers! You can do it if you put your mind to it! I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!"

Well ok, if a bomb went off and I had exactly 30 seconds to get to safety, I could probably manage it. Probably.

But I don't enjoy running for fun or even for exercise. I never have! I swear, within moments of even the mildest jogging, my lungs and throat feel like they're on fire. And I can't stop coughing. You'd think I smoked a pack a day my entire life. I'm jealous of the people who can run even 5 miles without stopping and get a "runner's high." I still have no idea what that means.

When I was 14 or so, I came down with a serious bronchial infection that seemed to last for months. After a few tests, the doctor concluded I had asthma. This news was slightly devastating (but not as crushing as the awful haircut I received from a Vietnamese woman earlier that day), but I was fully expecting it. Aerobic exercise has never been comfortable for me because I CAN'T BREATHE while I'm doing it. Asthma was a reasonable explanation for this phenomenon.

It's not that I haven't tried to run, though. In high school I ran quite a bit for exercise. I was up to 3 miles each session. Then, I got super sick one winter with, like, four illnesses and gave up. The truth was, I liked being able to tell people I could run 3 miles. But I hated everything else about it. So I took the first excuse to quit.

During my freshman year of college, I enrolled in a required fitness class. I had to run 1.5 miles under a certain amount of time (I think it was 20 minutes; something very reasonable) by the end of the term. Additionally, I had to exercise regularly throughout the semester. So I started jogging again. I'd head down the Stairs of Doom (just beyond the SWKT, for you BYU peeps) to the rickety old Smith Fieldhouse and lumber around the track for about a half hour before deciding I'd been tortured sufficiently. Then, I'd hike back up the Stairs of Doom and to my dorm, wondering all the while why I didn't think of something more fun to do for exercise.

I pretty much haven't run since then. I think I tried after I had Bubby, but I decided I'd rather lose the baby weight some other way.

But you know, I think exercise is important. I really do. I am naturally thin but don't let my size fool you -- I am OUT OF SHAPE. I have noticed lately that my middle is squishy and I feel lethargic all the time. I get winded easily and can't lift heavy things. And I decided last week that these are the stepping stones to diabetes and high blood pressure and I don't want that.

So, last night I put on my New Balances and my Spandex pants and took myself for a brisk one-mile walk.

I know, that sounds so lame. Whooooo doggie, ONE MILE! I did jog about 300 yards of it just for old time's sake, then BURN! COUGH! WHEEZE! so I quit while I was still ahead. My legs felt like jelly afterward and my head was spinning, but I did it. I exercised. And I've decided that even though walking is kind of wimpy and geriatric, it's still exercise (especially when you power walk). So I'm going to keep it up. It's rather nice to get out of the house after a long day of chasing kids and jam to some tunes on my iPod. Also, the weather here happens to be gorgeous now. So really, the benefits outweigh the cons.

I'll keep you updated on my progress. I'm sure you can't wait for when I hit TWO miles!

Question of the Day: What do YOU do for exercise?

Mini-me's.

Some ... ok, LOTS of people say my kids are clones of me. You be the judge.

My handsome Smush (seriously, those EYEEEEES!)

My Bubba-Love with her fabulous hair (she hearts taking pictures with me)

Ok, yeah. It would appear my husband had nothing to do with them. But I can assure you he did. However, I won't go beyond that because eww! Gross and inappropriate! And this is a FAMILY BLOG.

What's on deck for your weekend? I predict more laying around for Dill and less staying indoors for the rest of us. It's pleasantly overcast today and the park is calling our names.

When your schnoz is hopelessly crooked.

You know my handsome, sweet, amazing, all-other-gag-worthy-modifiers husband Dill?

(Ahem, insert mandatory super-cute picture:)



Before yesterday, Dill couldn't breathe through both nostrils simultaneously like the rest of us cool people. You see, his septum -- that thing that divides your nostrils -- had been crooked (aka "deviated") for many years and this situation wasn't making nasal respiration easy for him.

So yesterday, he got that there septum fixed! Yaaaay.

It was a cakewalk for me. I dropped him off in the wee morning hours and then they called me to come get him when he was done. We live about five minutes from the hospital where this all went down which was highly convenient.

Here's the funny part: I, the woman who has given birth to not one but TWO children, who has been sliced open while awake and has seen her own blood smeared across an entire delivery room ... I took one look at Dill in his hospital gown and bloody gauze dressing and yes, I started getting lightheaded and blacking out.

I can't make this stuff up.

The nurse was relaying all the discharge information to me when I suddenly felt warm and heard that all-too-familiar buzzing in my ears. Having passed out many times before, I quickly told the nurse it was getting hot in there and I was seeing stars and then my butt found the closest chair. Within seconds, another nurse came in with a cold, wet rag and a Styrofoam cup of apple juice. Nurses take this fainting business seriously, I guess.

How embarrrrrrrrassing. I mean, I wasn't the one who'd had her nose hacked into just hours before. And yet I had the nerve to get queasy and require medical attention! Oh man! I'll never live this down.

In the meantime, I'm playing nurse (not naughty nurse; get yo' mind outta the gutter!) to my recovering husband. It's extremely sexy, changing bloody dressings and dispensing his pills. Let me tell you.

One thing we know for sure is I could never be a REAL nurse. I'd probably spend more time with my head between my knees drinking apple juice than actually tending to sick people.

I've said it once and I'll say it again: Nurses are saints.

Any tips to speed up Dill's recovery? Or maybe some embarrassing stories to help me feel better, since my ego is clearly wounded.

P.S. That weird-o alien circle is still on my face. It dried up and flaked off last night, but the pink outline is still there. Starting to freak me out.