HABITUAL

Every Monday morning I wake up and decide, "This is the day, the hour, the moment...that I will live right."

Living right =don't spend money
exercise every day
avoid all things sugar
read my scriptures
post on my blog
be nice

Then comes Tuesday. Oops.

The checklist:
10 boxes of DIY bookcases, 2 gallons of paint, and 1 missionary overcoat does not equal free.
1 Monday morning weight training class does not an athlete make.
Curse you, Denise, and that bag of chocolate covered Peeps you sent home!
Scriptures? Does falling asleep during family scripture reading count?
Posting on my blog...well, I am a jokey jokester.
Being nice: Like I said. Oops.

One nice thing about me: eternally hopeful, I did the math. 38 Mondays 'till any of us have to set real goals...

TICKLED

I am hardly hilarious.

Zany, perhaps, and sometimes a tad off-color.
But funny is not my forte.

Want proof? Ask me to tell a joke. Inevitably I will forget, mix up, or completely massacre the punch line.

Or, leave your laundry unfolded on the laundry table. I will be anything but funny then.

So, it is with great pleasure that I share with you my April Fool's Day endeavor:

Dinner (which usually is a joke at our house).

On the menu were grilled cheese (toasted pound cake with frosting tinted to look like Velveeta), and cupcakes (meatloaf topped with mashed potatoes) for dessert. And carrots (real ones...my creativity does have limits).

I could hardly keep a straight face through the prayer. I about died when Lane pulled the A1 from the fridge. I couldn't wait until Joshua dipped his sandwich in ketchup. I hooted (privately) when Michael went to warm his toasted cheese. I, folks, had achieved hilarious.

(appreciative) Audience of one.

Next year I'm going to attempt the telling of a joke.

WRITING A NEW POST

APRIL FOOLS!

(Made 'ya look!)

LAME

Once upon a time I went on a trip to Atlanta.

Then, after more than a week past my return,
rather than expend any effort at recapturing the memories myself,
I decided to link to what other people
(read: my fellow travelers; read: my sisters and mom)
have had to say about our southern sojourn. They already did such a good job.

Yep, Keri is so very...p-lazy-rizing her own family.
I am a p-lazy-rist.

(P.S. Anybody want to write about my trip to Japan two years ago? I'll share my chopsticks...)

AWAY

I am away, doing this.

Hugs and kisses, and a promise of my own update soon.

DISTRESSED

Lane had his first soccer game of the season today.

I'm not sure if it was more upsetting to watch him get clobbered (knocked off his feet, pummeled to the ground, squished and squashed between a billion other players...and scored on to boot!),
or to overhear the three girls sitting near Joshua and me talking about Lane.

"Oh, he is so cute..."

"Yeah, he's awesome..."
"I love Lane...Lane, I love you!!!"

Definitely the squashed part; hearing the girls was pure entertainment!

R-RATED

WARNING: This post is inappropriate. Dana, stop reading NOW!

Last night at dinner we sat and discussed the parent teacher conferences I had just attended for Lane. I complimented him on his extremely good grades and the praise and smiles I received from each of his teachers, including his seminary teacher who is often times driven to distraction by Lane's antics (i.e. bringing in a lighter and burning things in class--"to help everyone understand Alma 14 better," filling his teacher's water bottle with vinegar, breaking in to his teacher's office and putting post-it notes with smiley faces over each framed photograph, etc., etc...).

"But, Lane," I mistakenly went on to say, "No matter how awesome you truly are, I still wish you would wear a belt with your pants. I am tired of seeing your undie-tundies all the time."

"You mean this?" Lane asked, as he stood and pulled his pants down further.
"Or this?" at which point he mooned me.


THEN...

Just when I thought I at least had Joshua to give me hope...
Joshua came in to Michael's office declaring that he was,
"So masturbated."

"What did Joshua just say?" I queried my equally stunned husband.

"I'm pretty sure he said what you think he said," was Michael's amazingly calm reply.

Seeing our dazed and concerned looks, Joshua quickly asked,
"What? What did I do? What did I say?"

"Tell us what you meant just now," Michael requested.

"Oh...(pause, pause, pause) I think what I meant to say was, 'exasperated.' Did I just say something bad?"

We laughed, and I told him he should maybe stick to saying he was frustrated.

I'm afraid that because we are (obviously) such a naughty, ribald family you may not want to a) come visit, b) say that you know us, or c) read this blog anymore. We are oh so R-rated.
I will miss you greatly, but I'm pretty sure I'll still be chuckling.