Our Bold Adventure Continues

The towels in our bathroom belong to someone else. The stager we hired put them there. After we de-cluttered our house, the stager swooped in and made it look fancy, the way a house has to look these days to sell. We put our mis-matched dressers and garage-sale book shelves in storage. We got rid of our half-broken Ikea stuff. We packed away our photographs and books. The stager, Heidi, came with loads of comfy chairs and large vases of artificial flowers, lots of lamps and throw pillows. There are now 26 throw pillows in our house; two weeks ago there were three. She put nice towels in our bathrooms, gave us an acceptable credenza for our TV, and put red martini glasses in our living room. Because, if you buy our house, you'll just loll around drinking cosmos in that living room every night. So, the towels in our bathroom belong to the stager, and I can't use them. MY towel is stuffed under the sink, which means whenever I need it I have to scoop it out of the vanity. The to

This is a test. This is a test of the blog, but this phase of my life is also a test of my sanity. More to come.

We just returned from Disney World. I will admit that I went (somewhat) reluctantly. Grandma was persistent, and I knew the kids would adore it; we agreed to a short trip. And so, with fond memories of a childhood visit tucked in my back pocket and decades of snobby backlash against the evil mouse on my sleeve, we arrived in Orlando. I have been converted. Disney is all about having fun, kids, imagination, and happy endings -- what's wrong with that? They aren't pretending to be real, in fact they make a show of being magical. They entertain, and they do it well. They keep grandmas smiling as easily as five-year-olds. It's quite an impressive accomplishment, really. We spent two nights and one day in Disney World, and that was enough. We stayed on the grounds of the resort, which is so expansive it may be bigger than Boulder. Disney has four levels of accommodations: economy, moderate, luxury, and super-mega-expensive. We stayed at a moderate place, and it was perfect. We h

I have been keeping all kinds of humor to myself. Hoarding it. Laughing here at my computer, and you've known nothing about it. Now, my friends, it is time to share. Below are some silly websites and blogs I sometimes visit. Laugh with me. And if you know any similar sites, please share. This is the first of this "people watching" genre I discovered. It's hard to know which photo is my favorite, though "the closeness of you" is probably a good choice. Would you want to be in that relationship? If so, which person? Really, it's the collection as a whole that makes me chuckle so much. There's not much one can say about this that the site's title doesn't. It is called "People of Walmart." Be sure you go back a few pages to get the true flavor of the people of Walmart. This is not a site to visit just before lunch. Which, for some reason, is when I tend to check it out. Every single sandwich looks so freakin' good. The funny is

This is a painful time at our house: our kids THINK they know how to tell jokes. Tonight, Jon got them going with an old standby, and then, well, you judge: Dad: Why was six afraid of seven? kids: I dunno Dad: Because seven eight nine! M: Why was 10 afraid of two? Mom: why? M: Because of six and seven. Mom: That doesn't make sense. M: Yes it does, and it's funny. Like this one: why did eight nine ten? Mom: why? M: Because of three. Mom: Sweetie, the reason dad's joke is funny is because of eating, like the number seven actually ate... M: Why did the napkin cross the road and jump over the fence? Mom: why? M: to get to the other side. And it went on like this for at least ten minutes.

So what do you do when your daughter tells you she wants to be an exploding volcano for Halloween? First you give her some time to change her mind. When she doesn't, you get creative. First, I made a newsprint pattern and then tried it on the kid, cutting and adjusting as necessary. (She's being scary in the photo, like a volcano.) Then I cut out a huge piece of brown fleece. It's worth noting here that I don't sew. I cut, I glue, and I make liberal use of that fusing material that allows you to iron fabric together. Then I made shiny lava floes. Then I made a crown of flames. When she put it on she looked a lot like the Pope -- pointy red hat and all. She loved it, so I loved it. I don't know that she looked like a volcano, but I also don't know how else I could have done this without resorting to paper mache. I made the space between her arm holes too wide, so the fabric bunched in front. She didn't notice, and I wasn't about to try to fix it. I kept t