kiMs-kaM© :: The one with the spinning office chair

It’s Monday, you guys.  And my kids are sick.  They’ve been sick since last Wednesday.  I was almost certain that we’d beaten the bug when both kids were feeling well on Saturday.  But not a chance, stupid thing came back with a vengeance Sunday morning – guess it showed us whose boss.  Jerk.

Anyway, for your Monday, a kiMs-kaM© video: The one with the spinning office chair.

And just like last time, I advise you to read the disclaimer prior to watching this or any kiMs-kaM© video.

::kiMs-kaM© Disclaimer - The posting of video recorded material from kiMs-kaM© on this site, Our Life Unedited, does not in any way, shape or form, implied or otherwise, necessarily express or suggest good and/or decent entertainment.  It is merely posted to document the myriad of completely uneventful and unwarranted activity that takes place in the home in which Kim and her kam reside.

The viewer assumes the entire risk of wasted time in the use of this video for entertainment, leisure or distractive purposes.  In no event will Kimberlee, kiMs-kaM© or Our Life Unedited be liable to you or to any third party for any direct, indirect, incidental, consequential, special or exemplary loss of valuable time resulting from viewing this segment or any other segment of kiMs-kaM video.

A few things about this episode of kiMs-kaM©:

1.   Spence is singing the song that was the title of my last kiMs-kaM© video.  Sorta a theme song at our house.

2.   You’re welcome for that slow-motion instant replay.

3.   I love that Brynlee was completely unfazed by just being thrown from the spinning office chair.

4.   And I love even more that she jumps right up with a brilliant idea: maybe we should hold on next time.  Ya’think.

5.   Sometime I’m going to get a kiMs-kaM© video that doesn’t include my offstage cackle.  Wouldn’t that be awesome?

Anyway, back to wiping noses and soothing my sweet sickies.  The life of a mommy, it’s fabulous indeed.  Happy Monday.

*more about kiMs-kaM© here.

Oh My Quotable Friday: Blogiversary

Today’s my blogiversary.  Three years ago today I started this little thing called a blog.  I hadn’t a clue, at the time, how much I would enjoy it and how strangely fulfilling I would find it. 

It’s been a fun ride, thanks so much for tagging along - for reading my ramblings, for commenting, for laughing with me and for making me want to continue blogging.

Here’s to continually making that choice to write. {clink, clink}

*more about oh my quotable friday here

Color Me Red

I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things I needed for dinner.  Like some sour cream, parmesan cheese, pink peeps, and a box of raspberry filled doughnuts.  You know the necessities.  I left the store with a tube of bright red lipstick.  R-E-D, red lipstick.  BRIGHT RED LIPSTICK, you guys.  I haven’t a clue what I was thinking.

Except for I do remember what I was thinking, so forget that whole thing of me not knowing what I was thinking.  It was a lie.

I was thinking. . . oh look, bright red lipstick.  ON SALE!  A steal of a deal, too.  Maybe I should try it.

I was thinking. . . my mom wears red lipstick, and it looks good on her.  I’m my mother’s daughter so maybe it would look good on me.  Maybe.

I was thinking. . . oh, and here’s some nice subtle pink lipstick.  I think I have a tube almost that same shade at home.  Maybe I should buy another while it’s on sale.  Stock up, in the name of food storage, you know.

And then I put the red lipstick in my cart right next to the raspberry filled doughnuts.  And I grabbed two tubes of the pink lipstick because it felt like the right thing to do. 

Okay, here’s the thing.  I’ve been on a mission to find a decent shade of lipstick since my little sister told me my lips looked black.  She’s nine.  “Black lips, black lips,” she teased.  And I wouldn’t have let it get the best of me except for she made the statement at Kate’s wedding – after we’d spent the day posing for pictures.  And really the only thing worse than wearing a shade of lipstick that qualifies you for the nickname ‘black lips’ is wearing that shade of lipstick to an event where the picture evidence is sure to live on for-e-ver.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if that has become my distinguishing trait between Katie’s new in-laws.  Okay so Kim’s the sister with the black lips, right?

So, I bought the red lipstick.  Brought it home.  And put it on.  It immediately caused me to do kissing faces in the mirror.  Repeatedly.  It also caused me to do that sassy-pants hair flip thing, striking a pose after each successful flip.  And when I walked, weirdest thing, my hips swayed.  I kid you not.  I felt so trendy.  So put together.  So sassy.  And when I was finally done acting like a teenager in love I stopped with all the unnecessary movement and took a good look at myself in the mirror.

And ohmygosh.  Oh-ho.  Oh my goodness.  I looked like a ten year old who’d just experienced a successful heist that involved her mother’s make-up bag.  Only worse. 

It didn’t help that I had a dab of bright red lipstick on my teeth. . . and on my chin.  I haven’t a clue.

Anyway, the decision was unanimous.  I can pull off the red lipstick look just about as well as I can pull of the string bikini look.  As in, NOT AT ALL.

But at least now I know.

Top diggity dog

Miss Lori, Brynlee’s cuter than a yellow vintage button preschool teacher, does a little thing called ‘The Top Dog’ with her preschool class.  It’s like the coolest thing ever, just ask any kid that’s ever taken preschool from Miss Lori.  Good things come with that Top Dog title: you get to be Miss Lori’s special helper, display pictures of yourself on the Top Dog board, and sit in the reserved Top Dog Chair.  And there’s more, at the end of the week you get a Top Dog Certificate AND a sucker!  Better than Christmas.

Anyway Brynlee finally* got to be the coveted Top Dog.  And it didn’t disappoint.  Here’s what Brynlee classmate said about Top Dog Brynlee.

Adrie: She’s cute and she’s nice and she’s super nice.

Joshua:  She’s a good friend.

Nathan:  I like her.  She’s an angel.

Trevor:  I love her.

Bonnie:  I like her and she plays nice.

Kaya:  I like to play with her.

Shelby:  She’s nice and a good friend.

Tyson:  I like her and I love her.

Allison:  I like her.

Kudter:  I like to play with her.

Taylor:  I like her and she’s fun to play with.

Miss Lori:  Brynlee, you are adorable!  Thank you for being so kind and helpful.  You are terrific. 

I love you, my little top dog.  Always and forever.

*Brynlee was actually Top Dog a few weeks ago.  I’m just a bit delayed in getting anything posted.

I like to call it Apple Green.

I felt his stare from across the bright colored climbing toys.  You know that feeling when someone’s eyes are upon you?  When you want to look, you’re going to look, you know you shouldn’t look, but, still, you look.  And then the eye contact, it’s awkward.  Quick, uncomfortable, you look away; trying to pretend it never happen.  Until it happens again, of course, and then there’s no denying.

Why’s he looking at me!?  Do I know him?  He doesn’t look familiar.  Oh, for crap sake. . . I just caught his eye again.  Why does he keep looking at me?  

Nose check?  Good.  Zipper check?  A-okay.  Zit check!?  

Ahh dang.  It’s probably this zit.  He’s totally staring at my zit (!!)  What a jerk, like he’s never had one. 

It was around 3:00 on a Thursday afternoon.  The kids and I had spent the morning demolishing the toy room and I was completely out of entertaining ideas.  It was too cold to spend the afternoon outside and we still had a good amount of time to waste before Brynlee’s ballet class.  And that’s the story behind how we found ourselves in the middle of the local mall playing on those germ-infested climbing toys.  We were joined by about ten other kids whose caretakers were obviously just as desperate as me.

I’d brought a big ole’ stack of reading material – that day’s newspaper, the mail, a cookbook, a FamilyFun magazine – and they were all rolled up and stuck in my oversized purse.  I’d already freed the kids of coats and shoes and while doing so had picked out an isolated, unclaimed corner to attend to my reading.  Just as I was about to read Abby’s response to Feeling Forgotten in Texas I felt his stare again.   This time he’d left his spot from across the play area and was sitting right next to me.  In my corner that I’d already claimed for mysellf.

I pretended to continue my reading while making sure I had tabs on both my children.  You can never be too safe.

“Ummm Miss. . . .?” 

I glanced up from my newspaper, looking right at him.  He was a good looking guy.  Early thirties, well dressed.  Business man would be my first guess, but then again it was 3:00 on a Thursday afternoon and he was hanging out at the mall play area – so, maybe not.

“What color is this?” he asked while pointing to my purse that was currently spewing personal belongings and reading material all over the bench next to me. 

“It’s aaa..um..” I was completely caught off guard.

“Lime green?” he finished for me.  “It’s lime green, right?  Isn’t that some kind of fashion faux pas?  A lime green purse?” 

Excuse me?  Who do you think you are?  You come over here, on my claimed turf, and start pointing out my ‘fashion faux pas’.  No, it’s not lime green.  It’s um. . .I don’t know. . . more of a. . .

“Yeah I guess that’s kind of what I am,” I answered back, pretending to find humor in the whole ordeal, “one big walking fashion faux pas!”

Wanna know what else is a fashion faux pas?  Having a zit on your chin.  A zit so big it should be paying your face rent.  Ya gonna mention that too, huh?  Why don’t you go ahead and point that out while you’re over here.

“It’s huge.  What do you carry in that thing?  A gun?”

I assume you’re still talking about my lime green purse and not my zit, thankyouverymuch.  And a gun’s not a bad idea; I think I’ll start carrying one.  And why do you think its okay to ask a girl - a girl you don’t even know - what she has stashed in her purse.  That’s personal.

“Well, a gun, a small library, and some goldfish” I answered his bizarre question while trying to shove my purses contents back into a part that could be zipped for safe keeping.

“A purse that big would be good for shoplifting” he continued the awkward conversation.  “Ever shoplifted with it?”

What the crap.  Shoplift?  Why did I agree to bring the kids here?  Am I really having this conversation?

“Never successfully!”  I smiled, and then turned my eyes back toward my newspaper hoping he would just go away.

“Well the good news is,” he continued, not letting my newspaper reading put an end to our enlightening conversation,” that with your blue eyes and your beautiful smile no one will even notice the lime green purse.”

Say wha!!  Did he just hit on me?  He totally just hit one me.  Are you kidding!  At the play area in the mall?  Didn’t he see my kids?  My wedding ring?  And most importantly, the zit?  He couldn’t have missed that zit.  Was the talk of lime green purses and fashion faux pas part of his hitting on me tactics?  Or was he really disgusted by my purse. 

Now what?  What do I say?  Should I pretend I didn’t hear him?

“Um. . . thanks?” I mumbled glancing back at my newspaper.

And then he continued talking to me while I watched my kids, read my paper and texted my husband.

And then, to make an escape, I pretended it was time for Brynlee to be at ballet.  I gathered the kids, took hold of my ‘lime green’ purse, and quickly said goodbye. 

He thanked me for the conversation and told me to keep smiling.  And then he winked at me.  Twice!

I decided he must have been drunk.

Happy Presidents Day, you guys.

Oh My Quotable Friday: Celebrate

Brynlee decorating for our family valentine's dinner with handfuls of rose pedals.

A head over heels in love with her post.

Spence went back to school, right.  I think I’ve mentioned that.  Anyway, I’ve been spending his late night hit-my-head-against-the-wall-and-pretend-I’m-excited-about-getting-my-masters-degree study sessions sticking’ my nose into the intriguing world of blogging.  And intriguing it is.  While navigating my way through dazzling pages of handcrafted goodness and perfectly photographed toddlers clad in pink tutu’s with larger than life flowers wrapping their wee little heads, I’ve learned a few things:

One.  Bloggers are an incredibly creative bunch.  I mean, I already knew this.  But I’m still trying to wrap my social media head around the fact that there are thousands and thousands of bloggers, and every single one of them thrifts/crafts/cooks/designs/photographs/decorates oh so creatively.  And in perfect style, too.

Two.  Bloggers are fashionable.  Dressed to the nines, always.  An Anthropologie skirt paired with an H&M Blouse, tied together with thrifted mustard yellow flats and a vintage necklace.  I say that like I actually know what any of that means.  And, I don’t.  Fashionable, I am not!

Three.  Bloggers are truly, madly, deeply – head over heels - can’t get enough of him - in love with their husbands.  And they want the world to know.  Creating lists to prove their point: ‘Top 10 Reasons my Husband Rocks my World’.’  ‘8 reasons I love my husband on our 8^th anniversary.’  ‘Top Five as to why my husband could beat your husband in an arm wrestle.’

Now don’t get me wrong, I adore these lists.  I’m a hopeless romantic with a serve addiction to all things list-y.  This sort of thing suits me perfectly.   In fact, I’ve been known to write a list or two of public blogging adoration about my very own sweetheart.  But the whole phenomenon got me thinking.  Where are all these fabulous husbands?  Do they blog?  When’s it their turn to create the list?  When do the devoted blogging wife’s get their turn in the head over heels in love with her limelight? 

To be fair, I was going to ask Spence to write a list of “Nine Reasons that my wife is the BEST WIFE EVER!” since you know, it’s his turn.  But he’s sitting right here next to me in his flannel pajama pants acting all busy and stressed about an upcoming project due in his Digital Systems class, and I hate to be a nuisance.  So I’ll pick up his slack and present you the list: “Nine Reasons that I’m the BEST WIFE EVER!

1. I am a highly intellectual being.  So highly intellectual that I know the one and only way to do everything.  Not sure how to fold the socks when doing the laundry?  Ask me.  Wondering how to get the baby to quit crying?  Ask me.  Confused on how to stack the firewood?  Ask me.  Actually, he doesn’t even have to worry about the asking part.  I tell him how to do it regardless.
2. And along those same lines:  I am always right.  Always.  In such a confusing and ever changing world isn’t Spencer the luckiest man in the world to be married to a girl who knows no wrong.  Must be comforting.
3. I act extremely interested in whatever boy show Spence in watching by snuggling up next to him then asking a million plus questions using my outdoor voice,  ”Who’s that guy?  What did he just say?  Wait, what just happened?  Why did they do that?”  It’s just the sweetest thing.
4. When we go out to eat I try to act all flirty and stuff by sharing my food with Spencer.  Or rather sharing Spencer’s food with Spencer.  He should know by now that when I order a salad for lunch he should order two servings of fries.  Not my fault that he forgets.  But, I’m always thoughtful and considerate and save the last few of his fries for him.  Seriously, best wife ever.
5. After a night out to a fancy restaurant I always thank Spence by acting sexy in the car by unbuttoning the top bottom of my jeans.  It also aids in breathing.  And helps in getting blood flow back into my lovely shade of blue lips.  Two birds, one stone.
6. I bought him socks for Valentine’s Day.  Romantic and practical.
7. He doesn’t have to worry about any of the banking, paying bills, financial side of things.  I willingly do that part of running a household.  Which, luckily, also means he doesn’t have to know what “oh, it was around $15.00” actually means.
8. I let him take care of the kids while I run downstairs real quick to do some work. {read: switch the laundry, start the dishwasher, read the newspaper and check my email, again.}
9. Although I’m completely capable, I willingly let him be the bread winner.  Huge self-esteem boost, wouldn’t you agree?

Can I get three cheers for me, the best wife ever?!  Spencer is one lucky guy.  Kind of.

***Wanna brag?  I'd love to hear, what makes you the BEST WIFE EVER!***

Spence and I on our Tuesday night Valentines date.

He makes me smile!

It’s an idea that’s been stored somewhere in the back of my mind for almost a year now.  It was born last Valentine’s Day as I took multiple pictures of my babies dressed in ‘i heart daddy’ shirts.  Picture after picture the camera captured their every move.  And then - after we had adequately celebrated the day of love – I reviewed the constant stream of pink and red photos.  That almost looks like video, I thought to myself.  Oh my awesome.  A video out of still shots? That’d be rad.  Radder than rad.  The ideas were flowing.  My creative mind was spinning.  Next year, I promised myself. Next year.

And then it was next year, and I forgot all about it.  Imagine that.

Until Saturday morning.  And although I was starting a little late in the game, I decided to give it a try.  Because really, procrastination is an unappreciated art form.  And some of us (ahem, me) work best in the very last minute anyway.  Or at least I find comfort in telling myself that.

Not going to lie, I wish I’d started earlier.  I had so many other ideas that were left out simply because of a lack of time. And my kids are only entertained by taking pictures of felt hearts on the wall for so long, and then they start demanding my constant attention.  But the final product {all 398 photos of it} still makes me smile. 

And so does my husband.  I love you Spencer.  Happy Valentine’s Day to my best friend.  Thanks for caring for me.  Thanks for appreciating me.  Thanks for loving me.  Thanks for making me smile.

To you, Spence, on Valentine's Day:

12 on the 12th [The February Chapter]

01. Breakfast. Strawberry-peach smoothies for four.
02. Me. It was a ‘messy bun on top the head’ type of morning.  A.K.A. a ‘pajamas ‘til noon’ type of morning.
03. Ouch. Cut my leg while shaving. {{{shudder}}}  On the positive side: at least it wasn’t my armpit.
04. Water balloons.  Used 3 bags of balloons in 2 days, and none wasted.  The balloon options are endless. 
05. One of many. Working on a last minute Valentine’s project.  Come back Monday to see how it turns out. 
06. Park.  Bundled up and pretended it was spring.  And even with suberb imaginations our hands & noses still froze.
07. Fridge.  It’s suffering from a major heart attack.
08. Shopping. Purchasing Valentine balloons for the two pint-size loves in my life.
09. Request.  Text message to my sweetheart.
10. Love. A message in the snow.
11. Rock climbing.  Trying to keep up.  My kids smoked me.
12. A favorite. Dinner at Johnny B. Goode’s.  They have fry sauce!

12 on the 12th inspired by her.

Oh My Quotable Friday: Love

Spence and I Halloween 2007

And now a responsible driving tip from yours truly:

Always double check that your motorized vehicle is in park prior to evacuating the driver’s seat to yell at the dumb dog pooping on your lawn. 

I mean - hindsight 20/20 - I would’ve been more successful in scolding the squatting dog had I not been chasing down my rapidly accelerating vehicle.

Chatting in list format.

Brynlee, Jace, Brooke & Zayne
A self taken picture by Brynlee

• I’ve done a bit of remodeling to my wee little plot of the World Wide Web over the last week.  I get that bloggy makeover twitch every now and then and without thinking twice I let it control me.  I’m not sure what is misfiring in my brain to make me think that blog remodeling is just a quick evening project that can be done while Spence watches one more episode of Thirty Rock.  But some day I will realize that all those little changes add up to one ginormous headache.  Especially when you have not the slightest of clue as to what you’re actually doing.  I’m still not done.  If you read blogs exclusively from reader then you should click on over and take a peak.  If only to indulge me.
• And while you’re there:  I’ve written a bit about my family on the [family + photo] link and hope to get my [about me] link written and posted before I suffer from that twitch again and decide that spending an unfathomed amount of time trying to figure out how to display less white space between the blog date and the blog title sounds like a good investment of my most precious commodity.
• And I finally added the follow me feature to my blog.  And then I suffered from a severe case of indigestion.  Something about the follow me thing makes me 207 different levels of uncomfortable.  And by something I mean the entire follow me phenomenon.  Why the heck did the people in charge ever see fit to invent a follow me button in the first place.  What does that even mean?  To follow somebody.  And then to do it with a public tally and a big fat black number assigned to your blog.  I put off adding such a button to my blog for a long, long time because WHAT IF NO ONE FOLLOWED ME!  THAT’D SUCK.  And is one’s blogging worth decided exclusively by that follow me number?  Or is there some sort of equation that takes the amount of followers and then divides it by the average amount of comments squared by two - for good measure.  Does the number of your Facebook friends come into the equation?  What about blog content or average spelling and grammar errors {please no}?  I distress.  But anyways, that follow me feature is on my sidebar now.  I mean – you know – if you want to.
• And while we’re talking about blogging:  I’ve been having an internal discussion with me and myself about blogging lately.  Specifically the ‘now, why am I blogging again’ part of blogging.  I’ve kinda, sorta been consumed by it.  Not consumed by blogging, but consumed by the internal debate about blogging.  I’ll let you in on the conversation as soon as the voices in my head stop debating {does that sound creppy?} and I come up with some sort of clear resolution.

• And unrelated to blogging: Jace is rockin’ the whole potty training thing.  And if I weren’t a mother, and wasn’t fully aware of the ramifications of bragging about a child’s success, I would tell you that he is a trained potty-er.  But I am a mother and I know as soon as I admit success I will spend the next three days doing laundry and kicking myself for the jinx.  You know, like that time that you were bragging to your house guests that your children ALWAYS GO TO BED WITHOUT INCIDENT and how you feel sorry for her and her FOUR HOUR LONG BEDTIME ROUTINE.  To only spend the next two hours trying to comfort a screaming child who will not go to sleep.  No way, no how.  Or that time, at the library, that you gave the mother of the bratty, unruly kid that kept hitting all the other children the stink eye because seriously has she no control over her offspring.  And then, before you have a chance to end the glare, your own sweet, and perfectly controlled child has managed to hit a little girl on the head with a dinosaur.  I mean, not like that would ever happen to me, but just for example.
• Like I mentioned, my sister came down for the second half of last week.  We spent her visit catching up on all the things we hadn’t talked about during the last eighteen times we’d talked in the previous two days before her visit.  And then immediately after she left I called her, because I had loads of important things that I had forgotten to tell her during the three days she was at my house.  Sisters are the best.  Wouldn’t you agree?
  



My sisters minus Marie.
And Alan, you aren't half bad either.


• Brynlee opted not to take gymnastics this season.  She watched a few episodes of Angelina Ballerina and was smitten.  She’s decided to instead take ballet in hopes that she’ll put herself in the running to be the next Mosquete ballerina.
• We went to ice-cream last night.  Jace fell asleep on the drive home and I did that little dance number where you say a quick ‘let him stay asleep’ prayer before gracefully tip-toeing your way to their bedroom.  I was completely dedicated to keeping the sleeping baby – sleeping.  It worked.  And then this morning he woke up the most brilliant shade of Farrs play-doh ice cream.  Memo: next time ice-creams on the agenda, pack wet-wipes. 
• Brynlee and I spent the morning at her dentist appointment.  We returned home two hours later with a numb lip, a tear stained face and a cavity yet to be fixed.  Second time we’ve done this.  I tell you what if that chic EVER gets another cavity I’ll be damned.  As will her dentist.

kiMs-kaM© :: The one where Jace spins ‘right round baby right round’

Now would you look at me!  It’s only been two weeks and I’m already on episode número dos of kiMs-kaM©.  Seriously you guys, that there is what Mr. Webster would define as dedication.  Err, um, something like unto it.

I had every intention of going to bed early tonight to try and recover from my wild weekend spent with Jami&Co {read: grocery shopping, closet Facebook stalking under Jami’s disguise, and an afternoon outing to the land of distress and torment more commonly known as the McDonalds play land.}  But then Spencer had to stay up late to finish a homework assignment and I decided to join him.  Because really, what good is marrying yourself a wife if not to stay up with you until all hours of the night, sprawled out on the comfy reclining chair, typing obnoxiously loud on her laptop while you, slouched over a pile of books on the toy room floor, wrestle with intricate engineering homework while attempting to answer her eighteen HUNDRETH question about how to convert a .mov file to .avi file.

I do it all in the name of love.

I feel like I need to offer up an explanation of this kiM’s kaM©, but alas I can’t think of the right words to say.  I just hope you weren’t expecting anything grand, or even mediocre, because if you were then, a) have we met? and b) most definitely not going to happen.  It suffices to say that you should probably read the disclaimer* prior to watching this or any other segment of kiMs-kaM© video.

*Disclaimer - The posting of video recorded material from kiMs-kaM© on this site, Our Life Unedited, does not in any way, shape or form, implied or otherwise, necessarily express or suggest good and/or decent entertainment.  It is merely posted to document the myriad of completely uneventful and unwarranted activity that takes place in the home in which Kim and her kam reside.

The viewer assumes the entire risk of wasted time in the use of this video for entertainment, leisure or distractive purposes.  In no event will Kimberlee, kiMs-kaM© or Our Life Unedited be liable to you or to any third party for any direct, indirect, incidental, consequential, special or exemplary loss of valuable time resulting from viewing this segment or any other segment of kiMs-kaM© video.

Oh My Quotable Wednesday: Dad

Me as a bride begging my empty pocket'ed dad for money.

*****

A few things about Oh my Quotable Wednesday.

First off, Quotable Wednesday is changing to Quotable Friday. Why? Because my quotable juices just seem to flow so much better on a Friday. Thanks for asking.

Errr. . . umm. . . it's really just because I'm enjoying Oh my Quotable Wednesday and it's something I want to keep up. And Friday's just an all around more convenient day.

Second thing, I had a request/suggestion to post Quotable Wednesday on Tuesday night so it could be read on Wednesday rather than posting it late Wednesday night so it's there to be read on Thursday. Something about confusing the reader about what day it was.

A few things about that.

• Thing one. We'll all be. That makes a whole lot more sense.
• Thing two. My heck. Buy a calendar. Geez.
• Thing three. Kidding.
• Thing four. Quotable Wednesday which is now Quotable Friday will be posted, if posted at all, on Thursday evening or Friday morning and not late, late Friday night. So help me.
• Thing five. I would hate to be the cause of somebody sending their every-other-day kindergartener to school on the wrong day because 'Kim said it was a Wednesday.'  
• Thing six. Completely unrelated. Spence is fixing Brynlee a bowl of cereal. He just asked if she preferred milk or mountain dew on top her cereal. My husband's such a comedian.
• Thing seven. She chose mountain dew.
• Thing eight. Kidding again.
• Thing nine. Now this list is getting a little out of hand, isn't it?

Remember how I told you that there was actually a purpose behind Oh my Quotable Wednesday Friday?

It is this: I was scanning a little coffee table quote book at the library one afternoon when it hit me. Wouldn't it be fun to make my very own coffee table book with my very own favorite quotes with my very own pictures of the people I love the absolute most? Wouldn't it be fun if every week I thought of a quote that somehow portrayed one of my very own pictures? Wouldn't it be fun if I did it every week for an entire year and then at the end of the year had it printed into my very own hardbound coffee table book to be displayed on my very own coffee table? Wouldn't that be fun?

And thus, right there on the second floor of the library among shelves of self-help books and two restless kiddos, Oh my Quotable Wednesday was born. May she live a long and quotable life.

Thanks for being part of my very first coffee table book.

Happy February. Happy Groundhogs Day. Happy Quotable Wednesday, my friends. Make it a good one, alrighty.