Mooshy Mooshy Wuv Stuff

This weekend my brother, Bri-Bro, got married.

Thus, there was a wedding.

Music.

Smooching.

Champagne.

Cake.

A good time was had by all!

Everyone should get married, I highly recommend it.

And when you do, please invite me.

I do so love a good wedding.

Moose even let me style his hair.

This is my new sister, Rachelle!  Oh, and some bum she married.  HAHAHA!

This are two of the most ridiculously photogenic people I know:  Roosky and Aly-Gator.

Only slightly more ridiculous, and slightly less photogenic, my other brother and my other daughter. Don't you wanna pinch their cheeks? 

Brian is actually extremely short but he doesn't like people to notice so for the sake of the blog and the photos he knew I would publish, he stood on a stool so he looked taller.

Halfway through the reception, Moose got a call from Jack Bauer at CTU on his shoe phone(s) and he had to rush out and save mankind.  But he was back in time for the dancing.

"Mother dear, I fear something's come between us..."
"That's just Cora, Brian."
"Ah, right."

Evidently, I left my eyeballs somewhere back at the table or something.  I'm sure they'll turn up.  Only to disappear at the next Kodak moment.


Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs Downum!  I hope you have many, many happy years ahead of you.

Date night

Yesterday husband mine and I decided to sneak out and do some much needed, overdue, and desperate homeschool planning/scheduling. In case you haven't noticed, we have been homeless for 3 months now, and occasionally the stress of trying to educate these here chitlins have made me a little stressed. Maxed out. Frustrated. Itching to chew off some one's face. You know the feeling. Anywho, after a day of wanting to eat my young, Mike saw my frustration and despondency and also noticed that his children take about eight billion times longer to write a report than is logically necessary, seem to retain any and all knowledge of math facts for about as long as guacamole stays green, and have a strange knack for using their school supplies as forts or weapons or anything other than what they're meant for, he offered to be a love and help me plan out a better schedule. What follows is a typical date night for a dozen year married couple who are unemployed (in Greenland) and living on people's goodwill and couches, who have three offspring who are there every time they turn around, and whose names rhyme with Ike and Clarissa. Ok. Maybe it's just us. But this is how it goes for us.




Wifey is looking a little haggard. A little twitchy. A little like her face might open up to reveal a fire breathing shrew at any moment. Better take Wifey out without the company of little angels. Better do it right now. Better not even take the time to put on shoes. For the love of God, man, HURRY!

It's raining in southern Oregon, and dark. Turn the wrong direction. Wifey doesn't miss a beat and points it out. Head to a dollar store to buy a day planner with which to plan our schedule. Can't find a dollar store. Finally find a dollar store a half hour later. Doesn't have any day planners. Wife begins to snarl. Well, Walmart has everything, right? Let's go to Walmart. Found the Walmart. Can't find the school supplies/office section. Circle the entire store 3 times, while Hubby groans something about the word shopping, uttered in a lifeless, hopeless mutter. Wonders if he has been suckered. Was this all a plan of Wifey's? An evil genius plan to get Hubby to, gulp, shop? Was the bra section next? The cosmetics aisle? God forbid, the feminine products section? Hubby tries to slink away out an emergency exit. Oh good, there's the office supplies. They were right where it should have been and where we had passed it 3 times. One time we were standing right next to as we complained about the lack of it's existence. Pick out $5 day planner and a pack of forty #2 pencils (which will be misplaced in less than the time it takes to sharpen them). Pick out a checkout line. Picked out the wrong line. Oh so wrong. So very, very wrong. As Christmas came and went and we aged approximately 12 years, we slowly edged up in line. Of course the other lines moved along smoothly but every time we considered switching something (was it hope? optimism?) pulled us back in. Finally, and I do mean finally, it was our turn and we pay and head back with our walkers and canes to the parking lot which by this time is empty of everything but one lone minivan with Wyoming plates and a tumble weed. Now, we think, comes the fun part! The part where we head to a coffee shop and plan out the future of our tiny scholars. Turn the wrong direction. Get stuck in a parking lot trying to turn around but everywhere we turn we find curbs and one way streets going, of course, the wrong way. Wifey snits (that's what you do when you're in a snit) and Hubby wishes he remembered his blood pressure medication. Eventually find coffee shop. It's closed. Head back to tiny scholars with no new flawless plan to forward their education. Hope they don't mind. Hope it won't all come out on a shrink's couch someday that their parents spent minuscule amounts of time teaching them improper fractions and lots of time watching Lost and drinking.