Iron Man

My husband does the most peculiar things in the morning. I don't know if it is because he is mostly still asleep or if this is his optimal time for weirdness, either way his early morning actions fascinate me!

For instance - yesterday morning a full bladder woke me at 5am with an unbending urgency. After adhering to the call of nature I stumbled downstairs in search of my early bird husband to give him a quick peck before climbing back into bed.

As I entered our family room I came across a scene so disturbing I was sure I must still be sleeping. There stood Danny in front of the ironing board, dressed for work in dark slacks and a white dress shirt, fully heated iron in hand.....and here is the kicker......he was attempting to iron his shirt ON HIS BODY!

I stood motionless, mouth open like a cod fish, as I witnessed this odd display of male reasoning. With each pass of the hot iron up and down his chest he would make disturbing "Ouch, Ouch Ouch" sounds and the occasional " Hot! Hot! Hot!" remarks, all while blowing air out his mouth like an 8 year old puffing out candles on his birthday cake.

I still stood confused in the door way, unsure of how to process the scene in front of me.

"Honey" I ventured. "Wouldn't it make more sense to take off your shirt before ironing it"

"No time" he slurred durning an exceptionally impressive exhale while pressing his pectoral region with the hot iron.

Steam billowed above his head and the distinct smell of burning hair lingered in the air creating a full sensory experience.

Convinced that I would be of no help to this mad man and his torturous early morning experiments, I turned and headed back to bed.

About 4 hours later I received this email from my darling man at work "Hi honey, I think I burned my nipples pretty bad this morning. They are bright red and feel like they are on FIRE! Can you find me the first aid burn cream so I can use it when I get home? Thanks"

I guess the only thing I can say is I'm sure glad his dress pants were wrinkle free! LOL

School lunches

Yesterday Danny approached me with an air of arrogance "Guess who says I'm the best school lunch maker?" I stopped reading my book and glanced up at him " ummmm kaila?" was my half hearted guess. "Oh yeah" he bragged "According to our very observant 8 year old I'm even better than you" He grinned wide exposing all his top and bottom teeth.

He went on to brag about how this innocent, yet obviously perceptive child, had explained to him how he always put the best food in the lunches he pack never forgetting to add in special touches like hand written notes and surprises at the bottom.....his attention to detail makes all her friends jealous and "wish they had such awesome dads" and I quote.

Studying my face and finding it lacking in significant jealousy my dear naive husband demanded to know why I wasn't foaming at the mouth in envy. I smiled the smile of a knowing mother and explained. " The girls are in charge if making their own lunches you know? And as we both clearly have accepted our youngest is by far the laziest offspring we have yet to produce." he readily agreed.

"Well then let's think about this for a second shall we?" I tipped my head sideways in mock thought "Did you just spend the last 20 minutes packing her lunch for tomorrow?" he nodded suspiciously

"And let me guess you searched the pantry for several yummy treats -cookies, pudding cup, granola bar and added them ALL to her lunch, not just one like she knows is the rule right?" he glanced sideways choosing to avoid eye contact.

My tone became light and playful "Oh and I bet you carefully drew a cartoon image on her napkin and placed it proudly on top of her mountain of sugary treats, a monument of dad greatness?" he coughed uncomfortably

I continued "Finally you took the time to write her name with flare on the outside of the bag and even dotted the "I" in kaila with a flower instead of a plain old dot right?" He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"So" I recapped "your lazy, but brilliantly manipulative daughter, avoided making her lunch for tomorrow, she will not only enjoy the standard one dessert but 3, will receive a personalized note and custom artwork to show off to her friends AND she got to enjoy an extra 20 minutes of TV tonight while you prepared it all?" I finished this statement by leaning back in my seat and lacing my fingers together in a standard super villain pose. 

His smile was now replaced with a crestfallen expression.....he was a man who knew he had been doped.

I patted his arm lovingly. Don't worry about it love, you ARE the best school lunch packer in the family no matter the reason. he smiled weakly. "Hey and do you know what else you are AMAZING at?" I exclaimed with wide eyes "Rubbing feet! Seriously your hands are like magic!" he smiled at me appreciatively "Thanks babe" he sighed "You always know what to say to make me feel better" I batted my lashes at him and carefully stretched my achy feet into his lap and dramatically rubbed my growing pregnant belly.

"Hey why don't I grab the lotion and give you a foot rub" he innocently offered sweetly. I clasped my hands together in excitement. "That would be wonderful!" I said with obvious admiration and handed him the lotion bottle I just happen to have nearby.

Gosh I love that man! :)

The grass is always greener on the other side....literally

 It is only 8am and I have already broken two of the Ten Commandments. I have coveted my neighbor's lawn and murdered my husband....ok, maybe I haven't but it says in the scriptures even thinking something counts as if you have already done it....and boy am I thinking about it today!
 
A few weeks ago I nagged encouraged my sweetheart to perform his manly duties and pick up arms against the dandelion army that had invaded our front yard. They had organized themselves into a full frontal attack and I was darn tootin' that this year we would prevail! This meant war!
 
I rooted around in the garage until I found the super extra powerful weed killer that we had purchased at the end of last summer. I knew I had the right product since it showed a dandelion on the cover being tortured in an iron maiden.
  
We had been out smarted, out lasted, and out done by  annoying weeds since we had moved in 8 years prior and I was more than determined to do whatever was legally possible to administer a lethal dose of whoop A' to those little yellow lawn pimples . 

 Our neighbors all had nice green carpet like lawns. Some even flaunted their weed free flower beds and little upside down tomato and strawberry hanging plants (cough, cough, Brian). I couldn't even get things to grow right side up! Their mockery seemed completely unneighborly if you ask me. This year I would show them, I was determined that our lawn would be the talk of the neighborhood!
 
I found Danny hiding under a quilt in the linen closet. He said that he couldn't hear me calling him but from the shifty eyes I had my doubts.
 
I handed him the explode-a-weed and pointed to the front door. In the background I blasted the sound track to his favorite movie “Braveheart”. I then ceremoniously smeared on some Barbie makeup war paint and insisted he take off his shirt while I tugged on his Scottish kilt…. It was actually one of my daughter's pink plastic hula skirts but we were in a pinch and I figured it was close enough.
 
By the time I shoved him out the door, locking it firmly behind him, I must have done a pretty good job getting him into character because when he turned to look at me, with my face pressed against the front window and flashing him a a-o-k sign, his face read nothing but REVENGE! I almost felt sorry for the little buggers.
 
An hour later he triumphantly stumbled into the house. Pink War paint smeared with dirt ran down his face and his hula skirt kilt was in shambles. He grabbed me in a manly embrace, dipped me low and with the smolder of a baritone, declared victory over the front yard! His eager kiss oozed with pure warrior testosterone and tasted like strawberries from the Barbie shimmer lipgloss. It took my breath away!
 
By the next day, I was ready to view the battle field. How many bodies would I joyously trample beneath my feet on the way to the mail box? 10? 20? I relished the thought.
 
The first thing I noticed when stepping onto our front porch was the lack of weeds, just as I had hoped. Instead of holding their white seeded stems of mockery 5 inches high, they dropped centimeters from the ground...pathetically. They were suffering and I basked in their demise!
 
The second thing I noticed was the large yellowing rings that surrounded the dying enemy. Giant yellow ring of grass.....and they were everywhere!

I was greatly concerned and I immediately called Danny at work. "Why does our yard look like it has the measles?" I asked in my calm warning voice. "What did you do?"

He assured me that the yellowing was completely normal and just meant that the dandelions were well on their way to weed purgatory. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head over" he mocked lovingly into the phone. I figured his uncharacteristic cockiness stemmed from some sort of after war shell shock since he knows how much I love condescending sexist statements. Lucky for him 7 miles of phone line separated us, because if he was to have followed that remark with a head pat, I would have broken his arm.

Days passed and the demon dandelions continued to die.....and so did my yard. Within 4 days I had rivers of barren wasteland weaving its way through every inch of my grass like tiny crop circles.

Finally admitting concern, Danny dug up a clump of grass and we raced the sample to the lawn ER -Zamzowz. The yard guy met us with a grin. A few weeks earlier he had tried to sell us their lawn program at which we privately exchanged winks of superiority and said we were confidant we didn't need it since we knew what we were doing and had everything under control. I could tell from his demeanor he knew we would be back, tails tucked between our legs.

After a few tut tut's and heavy sighs he concluded that it might be possible to save the lawn. It was his suspicion that my 'handy man extraordinaire' may have used the wrong ratio of water to weed killer when mixing it. I shot Danny an accusing look but couldn't get his attention since he had his face buried in a game of angry birds. "I retain the best when I'm multi-tasking" he remarked without looking up, "it's just the way I process things".

We left the store with $40 in intensive care lawn products and strict instruction of the amount of application. Mix 1 cup per 1 gallon of water and saturate the dying areas. I repeated this to Danny 3 times on our way home until his eyes threw daggers in my direction.

"I can follow directions you know! There is no proof that what happened to our lawn is my fault!" he spit at me defensively. "You're right of course" I sweetly replied, "the fact that our yard looks like a dairy cow and every spot just happens to be in the exact places you used the weed killer has to be coincidence, right?" I matched his icy stare with one of my own. "Purely circumstantial” he whispered loudly enough for me to hear and refocused on driving.

Once home, Danny set to work administering lawn CPR while I prepared dinner. After he was done I remarked on how quickly he was able to apply the thrive to the lawn. "You used one cup per one gallon of water right" I asked skeptically

"Yes babe" he said exasperatedly, "It didn’t take that much you know, it's not like I was supposed to saturate it". My eyes widened in disbelief "YES" I yelled "it was EXACTLY like you were supposed to saturate it!”

He stared back at me blankly.
 
I found the bottle of thrive and took 3 deep breaths to calm myself. If measured correctly the entire bottle would have barely covered the whole front yard. It was still 3/4th full. I then grabbed the explode-a-weed and was anything but shocked to feel that only drops remained when it should have been mostly full.
 
Mystery of the disintegrating lawn solved.
 
It's been a week now and despite our efforts there has been little change. The Good news is that among the rolling tumble weeds and barren wasteland that streams through what remains of our front yard, some green has started to resurface ....the bad news is that it seems we have only managed to resurrect the weeds.
 

Oh goody.

Sour Milk

Last night we sat down to partake of our delicious meal of homemade Mac n cheese (the kind that is oozing with gooey goodness and leaves a string of melted cheddar from plate to mouth) when my youngest daughter, Kaila, made a startling comment. "This milk tastes like fish!"


We had just began eating and I had not had the opportunity to try my milk yet, and since we inhale milk at our house at an impressive rate, it has never, in 11 years of marriage, made it even close to an expiration date.


Kaila is known for her dramatics so I assumed we were gearing up for an award winning production of "let's blow everything out of proportion". So I gave her a stern look and a warning tone "drink your milk and if you keep complaining I'll assume you're dehydrated and I fill your glass with more"


That is my answer to any type of whining. Give them more of whatever they are complaining about. Rebelling at bedtime?...they must be overly tired and need to be sent to bed earlier so they can get more sleep. Complaining about an annoying sibling?....they must not appreciate one another and are made to spend more time together......Roll your eyes at your mother for hugging you goodbye at school?.....they must need more affection so I'll leave them with a hug AND a kiss next time. This system works surprisingly well!


Kaila dipped an eyebrow in concern but raised her glass to her lips again and took the smallest of sips. Just to demonstrate how ridiculous she was I grabbed my full glass and took a swig. It was cold....refreshing....and.....fishy?


I looked around the table at the others. Allana, my marathon milk drinker, had drained her glass before the prayer had time to leave our lips and she was was winding a large forkful of cheese with pure joy. Danny also had emptied his glass and was now savoring each cheesy mouthful in what only could be described as PG-13 rated expressions. Makenna was too busy talking to no one in particular about her day at school and she had yet to touch her plate, or glass.


Not wanting to cause concern I reasoned that milk has a tendency to take on the taste of whatever the cows had recently eaten. Munching on onions causes a slight onion flavored milk. Certain clovers can sweeten a gallon or two. Perhaps this cow had unknowingly wandered into....ummm...a stream? Snuck up on an unsuspecting fish, hoofed it to death, and then eaten it? Seemed unlikely.


I asked Allana to please go to the fridge and retrieve the milk carton. She was happy to oblige hoping to beg off another refill. I turned the carton and located the expiration date. To my horror it was over a week expired! How could this be? Did it get shoved to the back of the shelf when new gallons were bought and then resurfaced only after all the others had been drank? Whatever the reason, I knew what I must do.


PUT YOUR GLASSES DOWN! I announced. Conversations stopped and all eyes turned to me. "We have a situation" I went on, "the milk in your glasses have expired and is no longer good to drink, please make an orderly line to the sink and dispose of it immediately"


Have you ever seen a movie where an unknown epidemic spreads throughout a town or country and people go into a state of hysteria and panic? Insert my family and welcome to the show.


Makenna (saved by her gift of gab) had only taken a swallow. Wide eyed she slowly slide her glass into the center of the table as if it contained acid and even a drop of it would melt the skin off her hand clean to the bone.


Allana stood frozen in mid twirl carefully taking an inventory of how her inners were settling. "I drank a full glass" she said in a shocked state, her face frozen in a doom-like expression, as if I had just told her the doctor called and she had two days to live.


Danny smacked his lips together thoughtfully."I didn't even notice" he said in a surprised tone. "Oh well a little diarrhea never hurt anyone." I immediately wanted to point out that people who had died of Dysentery would probably disagree but changed my mind and kept quiet not wanting to add to the frenzy and glad for his optimistic attitude.


And Kaila.....my poor theatrical bundle of useless energy. Her eyes glazed over, her body went ridged, and within seconds she started making gagging noises, willing her body to rid itself of the poison within. "Am I going to die?" she asked weakly supporting herself on a nearby chair.


"No honey, a stomach ache maybe....death? Unlikely" I answered with rolled eyes.


This did little to appease her. Over the next two hours I had to witness episodes of stumbling and drunk like weaving, all due to the effects of the tainted milk. Arms too weak to pick up her backpack or hold a pencil to complete her homework. And several announcements that she was sure that the stomach ache she was experiencing meant that she was bleeding internally and because I refused to take her to the hospital, and I was the one who forced to to drink the poisoned milk, I would probably be charged with murder after they found her cold lifeless body In the morning......all in all she was handling it better then I thought.


I had just gotten all my sleeping beauties off to their assigned beds and had settled in with a good book when out of the corner of my eye I saw movement at my bedroom door.


Kaila staggered to my bedside. She stared into space as if looking for something far off into the distance. "Yesssss?" I inquired exasperatedly " Can I help you with something?"


"Mom?" she answered as if surprised "Mom is that you?" she turned her head towards my voice but continued to look straight head, her hand searched the top of my quilt until it rested upon mine.


"I was sleeping" she continued "and when I woke up everything was blurry......(insert a dramatic gulp)....Mom I think the poisoned milk.....(another dramatic gulp)..... has made me BLIND!"


Dun Dun Dun!!!


It took all my strength not to burst into hysterical laughter. Where does this kid get her imagination? Did I unknowingly eat some tainted mushrooms when I was pregnant? Maybe her nursery walls contained lead paint? Whatever the reason this was out there, even for her.


I prepared for my tactical maneuver "Sweetheart put yourself back to bed and if in the morning you are still blind I will look into getting you a seeing eye dog" I had tapped into her weakness. Dogs.


Satisfied with my proposition Kaila felt her way along my bedroom wall, expertly stepping over stray shoes and decorative pillows as she made her way back to her room.


In the morning, as usual, all was forgotten and back to normal. No one had died or been permanently maimed and surprisingly, a miracle had happened and Kaila's eye sight had returned....hallelujah!!!

Hip Chicks

Every year my in laws hold an EGG-travaganza at their house to celebrate Easter Sunday. My mother-in-law is a fantastic cook and cooks up a bunch of hams, potatoes and a variety of salads and side dishes. We married-inners fill in with appetizers and desserts. Of course I signed up for two desserts. I had a cute idea to tie both desserts into one theme and after seeing these adorable cupcakes online I knew I had to go with the "Hip Chicks" theme. Since I have a house full of girls I thought it was fitting.

 I had Makenna (my 10yr old) help with the decorating of these awe-too-cute chick cupcakes.

They were made with moist yellow cake and filled with buttery whipped cream filling (think Twinkies) then frosted with cream cheese frosting. The fun part was decorating them to look like chicks.

We colored some shredded coconut yellow to give them the appearance of feathers and pressed handfuls into the frosted tops. We then used a little icing to attach Reese's Pieces for eyes (we ran out and switch to upside down chocolate chips towards the end) and then cut sugared orange gummy slices into wedges to make cute little beaks! Could it be any easier? I think not!

I then made a crowd pleasing batch of Oreo Truffles coated in melted decadent chocolate- One of my absolute favorite desserts! How did I tie in the chick theme you ask? She is cleverly hidden under each delicious truffle- Surprise!!

My mother in law has the neatest tradition- she buys ALL (and I mean ALL) her grand kids matching Easter outfits to wear to church on Easter Sunday. We are up to 17 total Grand kids...17 matching Easter outfits. It is quite an undertaking and it makes the most fabulous pictures! Thanks Grammie Homer!

I hope everyone had a EGGxtra special Easter!

Hoppy Easter!

Every year my husband’s work holds an auction to help raise money for charity. As you all know I L-O-V-E to bake so I take this opportunity to bake my little heart out. Unfortunately this year my sweet procrastinator of a husband let me know on Wednesday that the auction was today....only leaving me one day to bake. Ugh. So instead of sending in a variety of delectable’s I only had time to do one.

Being close to Easter I saw these amazingly cute cupcakes online. I added a Marshmallow Cream center and a few unique flares of my own and Voila! Total cupcake cuteness!

The only thing I did not anticipate was how much time it would take to place all the embellishments on the bunny faces using a pair of kitchen tweezers. 24 cupcakes....all with faces...and pink pearl polka dots....that equals 144 whiskers, 48 eyes, 24 noses, 48 sprinkle dipped marshmallow ears and about 288 polka dots...all by hand. For those of you that have never worked with tweezers and sprinkles it can be really frustrating! If you squeeze too hard the sprinkle bursts into dust, squeeze too lightly and it pops right out of the tweezers and rolls across the counter and onto the floor where your pet wiener dogs awaits with gleeful anticipation. I lost half the bottle of pink pearls to that dog.

From start to finish these baking beauties took 6 hours, an afternoon well spent in my book! Of course I ate one just to make sure they were yummy and man were they ever! The marshmallow cream center is a total keeper!!

Coming soon- Coconut Chick Cupcakes with marshmallow cream centers! Stay tuned!!

IKEA

My best friend Jenni's birthday was this last Sunday and her wonderful husband made all of her friends jealous by buying her a beautiful light green VW beetle. In true Jenni fashion, she called her sidekick roady best friend (me) on Monday and announced a spontaneous whirlwind overnight road trip to Salt Lake to christen her new baby. Of course I was totally in!
 
In the last 8 years Jenni-Bean and I have been on several crazy mini vacations. We have dubbed them “Jenber” ( Jenni/Amber) adventures.
 
There was the time we traveled nonstop sleeping in our car, and freezing our tushes off so we could see our beloved Broncos play in the 2nd Fiesta Bowl. Or the time we locked ourselves out of our car in McCall and had to call Jenni's husband to come rescue us. Our super cool trip to Oregon with our daughters where we visited all the Twilight film sights like giddy teenage stalkers....and who could forget the time we frantically ran down a subway terminal in San Francisco trying to catch up with a train that Jenni accidentally left her purse on.
 
My craziest adventures have all had Jenni at the heart of them- and this trip to Utah did not disappoint.
 
We were packed and on the road by 10am, great timing for two wonder moms who are always running behind. One small overnight bag apiece took up a fraction of the roomy trunk/backseat of Jenni's new baby, so much potential for a promising spontaneous shopping spree and we were highly motivated.
 
After 5 hours of laughing, crying and getting out all of our "feminine" venting the floor of our car was covered with Kleenex and candy wrappers and we had reached our destination. The large Yellow and blue IKEA sign peeked over the freeway like a welcoming beacon. Smiles spread across our faces like warm butter in a hot pan. We exchanged a knowing look of excited anticipation. Kid free and without time restraints we were about to enter one of our favorite stores....this was EPIC!

 
IKEA (for those of you living in a bubble) is the utopia of home furnishing stores. I'm talking Disneyland for homemakers. It is ginormous! Take two Costcos and stack them on top of each other and you are getting close to understanding the bodacious size of this 8th wonder of the world. I'm not into idol worshiping but if I was...and you gold plate the outside...I would be among those lighting incense and leaving burnt offerings.

I think whoever named the store IKEA made a mistake on the spelling though. It should have been named “ISEEA”. This is because, from the moment you walk through the front doors, everything you see you will want to buy.  I-SEE-A bookshelf I have to have! I-SEE-A rug I can’t live without! I-SEE-A chandelier that is begging me to take it home! It is pure glorious torture.
 
We had shopped for 3 hours and had covered an impressive quarter of the store. This is mostly due to Jenni's ability to power shop. Jenni has any number of impressive lists stored in her head at all times. Today she had submerged herself neck deep in one labeled “Jazzy's bedroom makeover." Her daughter had just turned 17 and she was updating her room with modern furniture and bold colors.
 
She saw each isle as a challenge. She would scan the area quickly, take immediate inventory and with the skill of a professional shopping athlete, snatch items off shelves with lightening speed while checking them off her mental list. She was a buying tornado! Stackable boxes- check! Storage bench-check! Knickknacks and decorative pillows- check. Shelves, Desk, full length mirror, large black coffee table, padded chair, and a Four foot framed picture- Check, Check, Check! If shopping was an Olympic sport Jenni would be the US team captain!
 
I, on the other hand, am annoyingly  charmingly methodical. I engage in a mental war over each possible purchase. Will it fit? Is it the right shade? Will I like it when I get home as much as I do in the tricky store lighting?

 I held a $2 set of votive candles in front of me for 20 minutes talking myself in...and then out of them, until Jenni sent a search party. I added the candles to the 2 other items in my cart. Three items in 3 hours. I smugly patted myself on the back for my expedient decision making. Jenni nodded at my growth approvingly.
 
Four hours in we stopped at the full-sized cafeteria to power up on steamed veggies and French fries. We figured if we ate equal amounts they would cancel each other out. Fed and rehydrated we caught our second wind and headed for the second floor elevators.
 
We were up to our elbows in wicker baskets when the loud speaker announced 30 minutes until closing. Panic shot through us like turkeys on November 24th. Jenni left me desperately wading through a sea of baskets (trying to find 6 that perfectly matched) and made a mad dash for the "big" item pickup isles.
 
We agreed to meet by the registers and if one failed to show, the other promised to put up “lost friend" posters and offer a substantial reward.
 
With 15 minutes till close I tracked Jenni down in isle 211.  She had been crushed under a coffee table box and was pathetically trying to reach her Burts Bees chapstick that had rolled out of her purse in the fall.
 
We managed to muscle the last of our purchases into one overflowing shopping cart and a flatbed and headed to the registers. Needless to say we were the last ones in line to check out.
 
While Jenni helped the two IKEA employees ring up her treasures I began to notice for the first time how much stuff we were actually buying.....and then simultaneously.....what car we had arrived in. I have had similar thoughts of unrealistic expectations when I shop with Danny for bikinis - "you want all this (sweeping my arm down the length of my body), to fit in to that (imagine a string bikini that would cover a 6 month old)” Comical....sure, realistic...nada. 

 
Jenni- the forever the optimist- giggled when I expressed my doubts and assured me all would fit. I reminded her that since the store was now closed and we were from out of town if something didn't fit we would be forced to leave it in the parking lot or sleep in our car so we could watch it until the store opened in the morning. She quickly thought this over and then in a stroke of genius played the part of “Damsel in Distress” and asked two male store employees to help us load our car, this way insuring we had a way back into the store if necessary.
 
Walking outside we were greeted by a torrential downpour. The deserted parking lot looked like a wading pool. Jenni set out into the darkness in search of our car while I waited under an awning with our unsuspecting 'man'terauge. 
 
The men joked about the rain and how we women sure “stocked up" on our little shopping excursion, when out of the darkness appeared Jenni in her tiny lime green beetle. "Ummm....that's our ride," I said sheepishly trying not to make eye contact.
 
"You have got to be kidding me," I heard the older worker say in an awed hush, while our younger helper was more optimistic recalling similar challenges he had been involved in while pledging a fraternity in college. I was impressed with his ability to stuff 8 hot dogs in his mouth at one time and for the first time since we had checked out I was hopeful. 
Jenni jumped out of her car with inhuman energy and whipped open the back hatch revealing a trunk space that I was positive had shrunken to the size of a toddler bed in the time since we entered the store. I hid my concerned expression and turned to our helpers with an overly convincing smile and an encouraging thumbs up.
 
Who were we kidding....we all were standing on the deck of a sinking ship with the name “Titanic” plastered on its side and we knew it. All except Jenni - she was the one person still dancing in the ballroom refusing to get worked up over a little chunk of ice.
 
With the experience of a person who has pack a car beyond its limits before, Jenni started directing her helpers in “where and when” to hand her each object. She stacked and stuffed with extraordinary skill while I stood under the awning falling comfortably into my usual position of “Doubtful Observer”. No need for all of us to get wet I reasoned.

 
Remember the Disney movie “Mary Poppins?" There is a scene in it where Mary Poppins starts unpacking her carpet bag while she sings and by the end of the second verse she had managed to pull out a dresser, a mirror, a hat rack and a large 5 foot sofa lamp. I swear this is exactly what I was watching, but in reverse. 

 
Boxes after boxes, and Bags after Bags, entered the trunk and disappeared into the black hole of her beetle. One worker foolishly sacrificed his own wellbeing by climbing into the mobile vortex.....I was pretty sure he was a goner until we found him trapped under the desk box gnawing off his own arm in an attempt to escape.
 
What took us 6 hours to find took only 20 minutes to load. The entire car was packed tight like a fat man in a scuba suit. In the end we managed to fit everything we had purchased except a 4 foot framed picture that we couldn't jimmy through the trunk's opening. 

 
Low riding from the significant additional weight we set off rattling down the interstate with Jenni driving and happily singing show tunes. And me, sitting in a rain soaked seat 3 inches from the windshield (my seat had been pushed forward as far as it would go) with my knees firmly plastered to my chest (my foot room was taken by our luggage) and my neck at an unnatural angle, since my headrest had folded in on itself from the weight of our cargo. 

 
Yes, the 6 hour ride home was uncomfortable. Yes, I have had to see my chiropractor twice in the last 4 days, but baby, it was all worth it! Who needs a straight spine when you have an amazing best friend and 6 perfectly matching wicker baskets instead?
 
I can't wait for our next “Jenber” adventure!! Giddy-Up!