Mister Bubby, who turns eight later this month, is going to be baptized on November 1.  I just talked with our stake’s “baptism coordinator” (who knew there was such a thing?  I mean, it makes sense, but who knew?  not me), and she asked me how our family would like to participate in the program.  Note:  not “whether,” but “how.”  I knew that my mother-in-law, who is flying up for the event (much to her dismay, as she would rather take the train and be four days late), had a little talk prepared from when she spoke at Princess Zurg’s baptism, and I really thought that would suffice, since there are a total of three families with kids getting baptized, and there aren’t that many jobs to go around, but no, she said one of us had to lead the music also.  Bah.

I had to lead the music at PZ’s baptism.  I hate leading music!  Leading a bunch of people in song who don’t particularly want to be singing is a thankless job.  They don’t really pay any attention to you, so you’re sort of just standing up there waving your arm like a dummy.  A dummy with arm-waving capability.  Not that I like drawing attention to myself, but if I’m going to be standing up in front of people, I would like it to feel less…superfluous.  It might be different if I had a baton.  Then I could pretend I was a conductor.  Then people would pay attention to me.  But it wouldn’t be the right kind of attention.

Anyway, this baptism coordinator lady is very sweet–she said she’d make each of the kids a customized keepsake to remember the day by, which is nice–but she’s a little on the pushy side.  I suppose it pays to be pushy.  Which reminds me, I promised to e-mail her a photo of the Bubby.  I’m trying to decide between the one of him wearing his Paddington blanket and sticking out his tongue and the one of him holding a light saber and pretending to punch the photographer.  Which would you say is less profane?


This is the best headline ever:

GOP deploys squirrels

You know what would be awesome?  If they used real squirrels.  Like an army of squirrels, set loose on the American people.  (To what end?  How should I know?  I’m not the political mastermind!)  But no, it’s just a couple of nutters in squirrel suits.  That’s almost awesome, but not quite there.  Maybe awesome-lite.

Speaking of awesome, how awesome would it be if Barack Obama really did change his name to “Steve”?  That would be ten kinds of awesome.  Because it’s about time we had a Steve in the White House.


Here’s a fun quiz, for those of you who have watched too much television in your short lives.

I got nine out of ten.  You?


So Elvis is the authority on recycling in this family.  He’s pretty much the authority on garbage, period.  He takes out the trash and separates the recyclable materials.  No one gave him this job.  He volunteered for it.  Several times a day he comes up to me with a recyclable item, looks me in the eye and says, “It goes in the blue trash can.”  I then confirm that yes, it does go in the blue trash can, and then he’s free to carry on his mission.

Sometimes he comes up to me with a recyclable item that I don’t particularly want to recycle yet.  Perhaps I have another use for it, or perhaps I haven’t used it yet in the first place.  For example, on Tuesday he approached me with the as-yet-unfolded newspaper and said, “It goes in the blue trash can.”

“Not yet,” I said.  “I want to look at it first.”

“It goes in the blue trash can,” he said.

“Not yet.  I still need it.  Leave it here.”


“Fine, take it!  Put it in the blue trash can, you zealot!”

I’m raising Oregonians, what can I say?


So it’s been at least two weeks since I bought my Clairol Perfect10 hair color, which is supposed to give me perfect color in just ten minutes–which is good because at the rate I’m putting off using it, I may be doing my roots ten minutes before the world ends and Jesus shows up.  Which means, unfortunately, that my roots were showing when we got our family pictures on Monday evening.  I didn’t think it would be that noticeable, but when I saw the computer images, I learned that “light auburn” really does have a way of setting off the silver “highlights.”

I think my fears are coming true.  When I finally stop coloring my hair, I’m going to have nothing but gray and I’m going to miss that dull brown color it was before.  When I was fretting about this Monday night, Sugar Daddy reassured me that the gray makes me look distinguished.  I asked if he’d prefer that I just embraced my distinguished look, but he said it didn’t really matter to him either way, as he only really looks at me from the neck down.

The romance is still alive!

I’m off to have a humdinger of a weekend.  Everybody Wang Chung tonight.