I'm not scared of silence. I just avoid it whenever possible.

I live my life with a soundtrack. In the car, in my home, at work (you know, back when I had work). I am a music junky.

If you looked at my iPod, you'd find a semi-eclectic mix of Hip Hop, Country, Classic Rock, Show tunes, and a whole lot from the late 90's, and early 2000's (What? I was in highschool. That music defined my generation). In fact, my iPod probably looks a lot like yours.

The only thing I steer clear from is Classical music.

Ugh. I hate Classical music.

Growing up, we didn't listen to the radio. My parents surrounded us with The Beach Boys, Chicago, Neil Diamond, and a whole lot of Classical orchestra music.

I can handle the first three, but I think I overdosed on the Classical stuff. It just makes me angry.

Whenever I blog, I do it with background music. And I think you can tell when you read it. For example, when I wrote this fairytale post, I was listening to Pandora's Classical Christmas station. And it is a lot more refined than my usual writing.

And when I wrote this graphically violent one? A combination of Alanis Morissette, Pink, and Avril Lavigne. Of course.

Today, I hopped on iTunes and decided to download my favorite hits of 2010.

And then I thought, "Why not them with you guys?"

You're welcome.

My favorite hits of 2010:

American Honey, by Lady Antebellum


Hey Soul Sister by Train

(I have a pandora station based on Train. I love them that much.)

Just The Way You Are, by Bruno Mars


Secrets, by OneRepublic


Love The Way You Lie, by Eminem

(I have a weakness for Eminem.)

Rhythm Of Love, by Plain White T's


Empire State Of Mind, the Glee version

(Other songs that I love more when Glee sings them: Don't Stop Believin', Bust Your Windows, and Last Name)

Shy Ronnie, Featuring Shy Ronnie and Rhianna

(technically, this aired in December of '09. But I didn't see it until a month later, so I'm counting it.)


Honorable mentions: Stuck Like Glue by Sugarland, Love Like Woe by The Ready Set, Fireflies by Owl City, Watcha Say by Jason Derulo, Billionaire by Travie McCoy,

What kind of music do you listen to?

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It's like an English fox hunt. Only, with children.

Christmas trees are pretty important to my family. I remember going to the Christmas Tree farm year after year, all bundled up in our snow gear. We would spend hours looking for that perfect tree.

Well, my Mom would spend hours looking, while the rest of us ran around playing our traditional game of "Hunt Chantel Down And Push Her In The Snow."

It was similar to an English fox hunt, only it ended with Chantel in tears, and the rest of us in time-out for a week.

(I asked Chantel if she had anything to add to this memory, but all she did was glare and turn off her webcam.)

If we ever came across a particularly amazing tree, we would run up and suggest it to my mom. But she never chose any of the ones we found.

(They always look smaller before you bring them home)

Once my Mom decided, all bets were off. She had the final say.

But we didn't mind. That wasn't really why we came to the farm. Now, where did Chantel go...?

One year, we were chasing Chantel through the Christmas tree field, and suddenly she disappeared. What the heck...?

We stopped, and looked around in confusion. We had been right behind her. Where did she go??

After a few seconds, we heard a little voice call "Hey guys? I'm in the hole."

She had fallen into this giant pit, camouflaged by all the snow.

We were laughing so hard, we could barely pull her out. It was the funniest thing that had ever happened- at least, the funniest thing at the Christmas tree farm!

Even now, We still laugh about that one.

I've tried to get Chantel to recreate it, but she refuses to go with me to a Christmas tree farm. Or even a snowy field.

Weird, huh?

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I'm linking this to Chantel's carnival, Small Treasures Tuesday (which is open all week long). Because memories like these are a treasure.


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What NOT to do at a slumber party.

When I was 5, I had a friend named Maggie. And Maggie had an older brother, who I was going to marry one day.

(this is me, circa 1989)
Maggie's brother was named Brian, and he had blond hair. That's pretty much all I remember about him. Well, I also remember the way my heart would start pounding when I heard his name. And that he was really tall (for a 7 year old).

But that's it.

One day I went over to Maggie's house for a sleepover birthday party. I dressed up in my cutest outfit (which probably wasn't very cute, since this was 1990) and I let my mom brush my hair for the occasion.

I just knew that if I looked my best, there was no way Brian could resist me.

--------------

I walked through Maggie's front door, and stared. This was her house?

I didn't know the word Mansion, but I did know that this house was much bigger than any I had ever been inside.

While this impressed me, and kind of made me nervous, it didn't make me want Brian any more than I already did (I have learned a lot since then).

"Helena! Welcome. Maggie and the other girls are in the gym."

Maggie's mom gestured to a glass wall behind her. And behind that glass? Was a giant room full of gymnastic equipment. In their house.

Now, I was little, so the room probably wasn't quite as big as I remember it. But still- who has gymnastic equipment in their house??

I looked around shyly, but I didn't see Brian anywhere. This was kind of a relief, because my plans were limited to "He will see me, I will look cute, and then we will be in love," and I was starting to worry that it wouldn't be that easy.

I dropped my sleeping bag and backpack by the others, and ran to the balance beam. I had taken gymnastics the summer before, and I was anxious to show off my cartwheel-on-the-beam skills.

Maybe that would impress him?

A few hours later (Or maybe it was minutes? Time passes slower when you are a kid), we gathered around the table to sing happy birthday to Maggie. I knew that her brother would be there for this part, because that's how things worked.

Sure enough, he came walking in with his dad and another boy from school. I watched him smile at his mom, and say something funny to his friend.

Someone handed me my plate, and I started eating the cake without really tasting it. I couldn't stop staring.

(This should tell you just how devoted I was. Sugar was such a rare treat, it would normally have consumed my entire attention)

This was it. This was the moment I had been waiting for. Any second now he was going to look over and see me, and then he would be my boyfriend.

What will we tell Maggie? I wondered. I hope she won't get mad.

I smiled extra hard at her, because we were about to become family, and I wanted her to know that I was happy about that.

We will probably have 90 kids, I thought. And all of them will be girls. I wonder how old you have to be to get married?

I was so busy planning our reception, it took me a minute to realize that Brian was walking out the door.

"Have fun spending the night at Jamie's house!" His mom called after him.

WHAT??

He was leaving???

 

But, we hadn't even fallen in love yet!

We never even made eye contact (despite my constant staring).  

It wasn't fair!!!

I was crushed. I wanted to cry, but at the same time I didn't want the other girls to think I was a baby. And the last thing I wanted was to have to explain why I was sad.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. I probably had fun, but I don't remember any of that. I just remember laying down in my sleeping bag that night, on their thick white carpet, and thinking that life was awful.


--------------

A few hours later, I felt something warm on my lower back. That was nice. I drifted back off...

...and then I noticed that that warm spot was getting cold, and kind of sticky.

Wait a second...

Oh no, was that pee??! 

I sat up in a hurry, and felt around beneath me. Sure enough, I had wet the floor.

I didn't know what to do! Should I wake up Maggie, or go get her mother?? I just wanted to go home.

Heartbroken, I started crying. Not only had my future boyfriend forgotten to fall in love with me, but now I was going to be made fun of at school for the rest of infinity. Maybe infinity times infinity.

My little chest heaved with sobs as I climbed out of my sleeping bag.

I looked around for my backpack, which had tomorrow's clothes inside. My face was still dripping with tears as I took off my pajamas, and pulled up my jeans. At least I was dry.

I looked around the room, trying to decide what to do. I knew I should probably wake up Maggie's mother, but I was too embarrassed. If only I could pretend like nothing happened.

...Wait a minute. Why not? No one knew that I wet the floor, and if I could remove the evidence...

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The next morning, when Maggie's mom walked in to wake us up, she found all the girls still inside their sleeping bags.

All except one.

I was already dressed, with my sleeping bag all rolled up. I had fallen asleep leaning against it.

"Wow, you're all ready. Good for you."

She didn't even notice the yellow spot on her expensive white carpet.

I had pulled it off! I couldn't believe it.

This was the best party ever.


--------------

As soon as I got home, I ran to my sister Amber.

"You'll never guess what happened! They have a trampoline and a balance beam and all kinds of gymnastic stuff RIGHT IN THEIR HOUSE, even some uneven bars and I did a cartwheel and Brian was going to fall in love with me, but he left with a friend, and I'm not even his girlfriend but I still love him and OH MY GOSH I wet the bed, except it was the floor, and I hid it and no one knows and there's a yellow spot but i didn't get caught and it was the BEST PARTY EVER!"

Her reaction was kind of anticlimactic.

I never did end up marrying Brian, mostly because we moved away a few months later, and he hadn't seen my cartwheel yet. I think things would have ended differently if he had.

I still think about that house sometimes.

Who has gymnastic equipment in their living room?

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Making your little sisters doubt their parents love? Priceless.

People have been asking me this question a lot lately.

(and by "people" I mean Tara and Lori)

How do you pronounce Helena?

So I thought to myself, "Heck, why not write a post about it?"

(yeah, I'm kind of running short on ideas this week.)

(...and I'm copying some of this straight from my FAQ page. Because I'm lazy like that.)

Here is the official answer:

Hell-ay-nuh.

There is actually an accent over the second "e" to make it say "A".

No, I'm not making that up! It's on my birth certificate. My mom was really feeling her french heritage that year.

Here, I'll put it in: Heléna. That's my real name.

Which? Awesome way to make your kids hate each other. My sisters were jealous of my accent, and I probably didn't help when I told them that it was because "mom and dad just love me more.'

Yup. I was such a nice kid. Right Amber? Chantel?

Guys?

You can't still be mad.

....Crap.


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I'm linking this to my sister's party, Small Treasures Tuesday. Because having me for an older sister is a treasure.



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Dolls are nice. Until they try to kill you.

My grandma has a lot of dolls.

One time, I was spending the night at her house, and I got up to use the bathroom. I must have been around 5 years old. I had to creep through the doll room to get to there, and for some reason I was crawling.

Maybe to add to the adventure?

I was about half way through that room when I looked up, and realized that hundreds of eyes were staring at me.

HOLY FREAKING CRAP.

I got up, and ran as fast as I could! I was too scared to look over my shoulder, but I could feel them gaining on me.

I dashed into the bathroom, and shut the door. Panting, I triple-checked the lock, and my little body sagged with relief.

That was close. Too close.

I spent the next few minutes with my ear to the door, trying to hear what the dolls were planning. But they must have been talking really quietly, because I couldn't hear a thing.

Finally, my need to pee overruled my sense of self preservation, and I grabbed a toothbrush from the counter. I figured it would be a good weapon if they broke down the door. Then I climbed up on the toilet to do my business.

When I was done, I put my ear back against the door, and listened as hard as I could.

...Nothing. They must already be in position, ready to ambush me as soon as I opened the door.

I didn't want to die that way.

I'm not sure how many hours I spent huddled on the bathroom floor before I fell asleep.

In the morning, I crept back out to look at the dolls. It was just as I suspected. They had snuck back into their normal positions before my grandma could catch them at it.

They may have fooled her, but I knew the truth.

And they knew it, too.

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Homeschooling: My side of the story.

Everybody has something they are afraid of. Kurt is afraid of debt. Chantel is afraid of feet (which is NOT my fault). I am afraid of spiders, guest posting, and people breaking into my apartment and peeing in my trash can.

My mother was afraid of homeschooling.

I was in third grade when we moved into a terrible school system. After exhausting every available option, mom realized that homeschooling was the only thing that made sense for our family.

And so she started teaching all four of us at home.

And then a few years later, when she had another baby? He joined in as well.

That's right. 5 kids, all home, all the time.

And It.Was.Awesome.

Back in the 90's, homeschooling was not exactly popular. Especially not with my grandmother.

Everybody worried constantly about, well, the same things that they worry about today:

"How will your children socialize?"

"How are you qualified to teach?"

"What about standardized testing?"

"Will they ever get into college?"

"Will they ever shower??" <---that one was mostly aimed at me.

"Will they end up living in a cave, afraid of human contact, only going out at night to drink the blood of stray bats?"



(....let's not talk about this one)

This was back before the internet. Before The Pioneer Woman. Before educational tools and curriculum were available at the click of your mouse.

Sometimes it was a struggle to get us to focus. Sometimes she would cry in frustration, and give up for the day. Or the week. Or even the month.

And yet, we turned out just fine.

More than fine. I'd say we turned out awesome.

When we weren't learning, we were helping each other learn. And when we weren't fighting, we were becoming best friends.

We are still best friends.

I'd say I turned out pretty normal (stop laughing).

Most people would never guess that I didn't spend my pre-adolescence dressing like a felony and picking on my classmates (or maybe hiding in the bathroom, praying the mean girls didn't find me).

I think it helps that I started showering regularly.

Most of us went to college. Most of us are married. All of us have good jobs. None of us have kids yet, but since we are all younger than 26, I'd say that's pretty normal.

Despite my Grandmother's dire predictions, all of us are happy.


(see?)

I guess the moral of this story is, not all homeschooled kids are weird.

Or maybe, if it's right for your family, go for it.



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This post was inspired by one of my favorite bloggers, Loralee, who recently decided to homeschool her son.
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Guess what I'm giving away? Here's a hint: Best. Mullet. Ever. (closed)

The flowy mullet, the incredible eye make-up, the tight, tight pants.

I am talking about my childhood dream hunk, David Bowie.


Obviously.

I used to dance around the house, singing the theme song to his greatest movie at the top of my lungs.

"Dance magic!" "Dance magic!" "Dance magic!" "Dance magic!!!"

Chantel and Amber knew to run when they heard this. I took the lyrics as instructions, and liked to incorporate them into my dance moves.

As Chantel mentioned in this post, my favorite babysitter introduced me to The Labyrinth at an early age.

It was creepy and weird and strangely seductive.

Everything a 6 year old could want in a movie.

(Fun fact: this movie came out in 1986, 1 year after I was born. But I didn't see it until 5 years later. Because my parents hate art.)

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Since it's October, the perfect month for creepy movies, I am going to do a giveaway.

Right now.

For this movie:



Or this version:



(you pick)

How to enter:

Leave a comment telling me what you love/hate about this movie. Or maybe a memory about watching it.

That's it.

.....Well, ok. I'll give you some more options.

For additional entries, follow me somewhere, or share this giveaway somehow. I'll leave those details up to you.

If you are entering multiple times, be sure and leave separate comments for each entry. That way I won't miss any.

This giveaway will end on Sunday, October 10, at midnight.

And it's open to US residents only (not because I'm a hater, but because I will be using my amazon super saver shipping, and I want that part to be free).

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We have a winner! thank you all for participating, and for having such sophisticated taste in movies and music.

To see who won this giveaway, and to check out my Goblin King inspired hairdo, check out the post And the winner is...


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Six year olds are gross. Or maybe that was just me?

Did you read Kenzie's post on Monday? She wrote a really funny story about how she always wished she was a boy, because it would be so much easier to pee standing up.

It spoke to me.

When I was little (let's say 6-ish), I decided that sitting on the toilet was boring. I needed to spice things up.

So I started straining my pee. Whenever I sat on the toilet, I would leave my underwear on. On purpose. To strain it.

And then when I was done, I would just pull my pants up and get on with my day. I didn't have to wipe or anything- bonus.

Sure, it was pretty uncomfortable running around with wet jeans, but I didn't let that get in the way of my experiment.

.....I can only imagine what I smelled like.

When that got old, I started peeing outside. My brother Jimmy got to do it on camp outs, and it sounded like fun.

I would crouch in the bushes next to our house, with my pants around my ankles. Once I got going, I would have to shuffle my feet to avoid stepping in the river. You never knew which way it was going to flow, so I had to be very alert.

I quickly discovered that leaves and grass don't make very good toilet paper.

Then it got cold, and running outside whenever I had to go lost it's appeal. I thought about it for a while, and I realized that I needed to learn to pee standing up. If I could do that, I could do anything.

This one was tricky. I had some ideas, involving standing on the toilet seat, or maybe using a bent peace of paper. But after a few failed experiments (Kids, why is there a puddle of pee on the floor? Again???), I was ready to give up.

Then one afternoon I was helping my mom bake, and a funnel caught my eye.

Perfect.

The next time I had to use the bathroom, I dashed into the kitchen, and grabbed the funnel.

It worked perfectly. I thought about keeping the funnel in the bathroom, for easy access. But I was worried about getting caught. In the end, I snuck it back into the kitchen drawer, in between to pasta scooper and the cheese grater.

I'm about 99% sure that I didn't wash it.

When I told Kurt these stories, he just stared at me in horror.

"Come on dude, it's not that weird."

"We are never having children."

I'm sure you all have stories like this. Right?

------

So I just googled "pee funnel for women" and it turns out it's a big market. I was way ahead of my time.

Maybe I'll just put one of these on my Christmas Wishlist. For old times sake.

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"I bet you just lost 20 followers." -Kurt

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I prefer to call it "genetically superior"

I went to the dentist the other week.

For the first time in 12 years.

No, you read it right. 12 years. And it was the second time in my life.

Growing up, we were really poor. Remember how we didn't have money for Health Insurance? Well, we didn't have money for a lot of things. Including yearly teeth cleanings.

And, um, when I was little? Brushing my teeth wasn't exactly my first priority.

I was really nervous. I had admitted to Kurt that is had been a few years since my last visit, but I hadn't told him just how many years we were talking about.

He's a dental student. He wouldn't understand.

But I did insist on going to see a real dentist, and not a student at the school.

There's nothing wrong with the students- they do a great job. But I know a lot of them, and Kurt knows the rest of them, and if my teeth were crumbling and about to fall out, I didn't want it getting around the school.

Dental students are the worst gossips.

Especially the male ones.

-------
I was nervous. Really nervous. I even flossed for the occasion (I floss my teeth just about as often as I go to the dentist).

I had years of Calculus buildup (Kurt refuses to call it Tartar), and it took me a few tries to figure out the spit-sucking machine.

But as for my teeth? The ones that I thought would be crumbling and falling out?

4 Cavities.

That's it.

And they aren't even serious. "You could just wait until next year, and have your husband fix them in the clinic. They aren't bad at all."

I was shocked. And impressed with my dental genetics.

But I guess it makes sense, because my little brother just went to the dentist for the first time in his life (he's 15), and he didn't have a single cavity.

We totally lucked out in that area of the genetic lottery.

Kurt was impressed. Mostly when he saw my X-rays.

"Whoa, 3 of your wisdom teeth are missing! And the other one is fully ruptured, but perfectly placed. You aren't going to need any surgery."

Even better. For years I'd been worried about it. I had heard that it's possible for the surgeon to nick a nerve, and for one half of your face to go completely slack for the rest of your life.

And I just knew that that would happen to me.

(It turns out the nerve damage would only cause loss of feeling, not loss of motor function. But I didn't know that.)

A few years ago when I was teething (which hurts like hell), I decided that I was going to wait until after I got married to get them removed. That way, if my face became lopsided, it would be too late for the guy to run. I'd have already snagged him.

But now? I don't have to worry about any kind of nerve damage. Score.

I guess the moral of this story is if you are going to be really poor, make sure you live on a farm in Michigan. The fluoride levels are to die for.

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And there wasn't even a tornado that time.

(I'm scheduling this post ahead of time, because today I'm heading over to Suzy's Artsy-Craftsy Sitcom for an interview. Which you will not want to miss)

YES! The leaves are starting to change. Pretty soon there are going to be piles of crunchy leaves on the ground, just waiting to be raked up and jumped in.

(photo by michaelaw)

When I lived on the blueberry farm in Michigan, we had a really flat yard (except for the bomb shelter in the back), with a lot of trees. And our yard was HUGE. We're talking thousands and thousands of leaves.

I loved jumping in the piles. And then picking bits and pieces out of my hair for the next three days (I didn't shower very often back then).

(the yard was similar to this one, by mossholder)

You know what else we had? Giant wind storms. The kind that would knock the power out for a whole week.

This one time we had a crazy windstorm, and when we went outside the next day, all of our beautiful, crunchy leaves were gone.

We looked across the street, and our neighbors house was covered.

You couldn't even see the front windows.

It was the biggest pile we had ever seen.

We felt kind of bad, and thought about mentioning it to our parents...

...but then we realized that they would make us clean it up.

You guys, these weren't even our nice neighbors.

So we pretended we didn't notice.

(these are actual photographs from our childhood. We had an awesome camera.)

In that same crazy storm, the wind picked up our trampoline, and wrapped it around a tree.

No really, that happened.

It was pretty intense.

(David really liked soccer)

And there wasn't even a tornado that time.

It really did knock out our power for a week. My mom got pretty stressed out. But I didn't really mind. It's not like I would have showered anyway.

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I'm not sure what the moral of this story is. Maybe...go jump in some leaves? Or possibly... Chantel loves Cats.

What do you love about fall?

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I probably have hundreds of ghosts all up in my nose hair.

When I was little, somebody told me that if you didn't hold your breath when you passed by a cemetery, something bad would happen.

I assumed ghosts would fly in through your nose, because why else would it matter?



I told my sisters, and it became our favorite superstition. We never worried about black cats, ladders, or throwing salt over our shoulders. But whenever we drove by a cemetery, we made a point of holding our breath, and crossing our fingers.

(No, crossing your fingers wasn't part of the original superstition. But we figured it couldn't hurt.)

My dad caught on, and sometimes he would slow to a crawl when we drove by the tombstones. Our little faces would turn bright red, and we would start bouncing up and down anxiously.

Clearly, he had a terrible sense of humor.

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Sometimes when I had friends in the car, I would try to do it subtly. Not because I was embarrassed, but because there simply wasn't time to explain. I would slouch down in my seat, and quietly hold my breath.

"Why are you crossing your arms like that?"

Because crossing your fingers once is good luck, and twice is bad luck. Obviously. Since I wanted both hands involved, I needed to counter-act the bad luck by crossing my arms, too.

I would have explained, but my dad was slowing down again, and I had to focus on holding my breath.



By the time we were teenagers, we had it down to a science. If you saw headstones in the distance, you would nudge the person sitting next to you, and gesture with your eyes in an effort to keep dad from noticing. Then you would wait until the last possible second, and take a big gulp of air.

"I can see your eyes are crossed. Maybe I should slow down, and let you catch your breath."

Like I said, terrible sense of humor.

(yes, crossing our eyes WOULD have ruined it, but we crossed our legs, too.)

I haven't done this in years, mostly because trying to steer with your fingers, arms, eyes, and legs all crossed is a lot more difficult than it sounds.

Yeah. I probably have hundreds of ghosts all up in my nose hair.

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It's been years since I've thought about this superstition. Amber reminded me of it when she was here, and when I explained it to Kurt, he didn't seem surprised.

He probably already knew about it, actually, since I am so predictable (jerk).

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I don't really have any superstitions anymore. I check the doors before going to sleep, I glance in the back seat before getting in the car, and I try not to park next to big white vans when I'm at the grocery store. But those are just practical things.

Then again, most superstitions probably seem practical to the people who believe them.

For example: We've all heard stories of people who park next to big, windowless vans. They get dragged inside, and are never heard from again.

But a few hundred years ago if someone witnessed an abduction, and noticed a black cat watching from a nearby windowsill, they would have made the obvious connection.

Black cat = YOU WILL BE KIDNAPPED.

(It's how that one started. Probably.)



I wonder if anything we do right now will be considered a superstition by our grandchildren.

Things like....

....huh. I can't think of anything. Except for brushing your teeth and putting on deodorant. I'm not sure why those things came to mind right away. Maybe because I forgot both today?

Hopefully those don't go out of style.

I'll let you guys know if I think of any more.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go look up superstitions on the internet.

Do you have any favorites?

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I didn't know Skittles weren't chocolate until I got to college. I just figured they were brightly colored M&M's. THAT was a surprise...

My family didn't eat refined sugar when I was growing up. ever. Not even at birthday parties.

Turns out the sugar used in candy bars and marshmallow cereal is bad for you. And since diabetes runs in my family, my parents weren't taking any chances.

(this is my adorable little grandma, who has diabetes)

We practically lived at the health food store, and everyone thought we were crazy.

We were way ahead of our time.

I hated it. I mean, I loved being different, and this definitely made me stand out. But I hated missing out on the candy and chocolate and doughnuts that I saw at my friends houses.

I hated going to an ice cream shop, and being limited to the "sugar-free" options- usually just plain vanilla, or chocolate if we got lucky.

I hated that juicy fruit was never an option.

And I hated going trick-or-treating, and then giving all of my candy away.

So I would sneak it, every change I got.

(Why yes, I did identify with Claudia the most).

-----

At the bank, when I was sure my mom wasn't looking, I'd snag a fistful of DumDum's from the dish.

Was that a tootsie roll on the sidewalk? Score.

And that one time, when the mall Santa was in a real life-size gingerbread house? I took a bite. Out of the wall.

I wish I was kidding.

Late at night, when I was devising my elaborate candy schemes, I would think to myself "Someday, when I'm all grown up, I'm going to try everything."

And I did.

-----

Here are a few things I've learned:

Sugar headaches hurt.

One Oreo is never enough.

They aren't called "fireballs" because of their color...

And if there is a dessert table at the party, you know where to find me.

Yup, I've made up for lost time. But it's not really a good thing.

I have no control when it comes to sweet stuff. I don't know if it's the taste or the guilty thrill that makes it so delicious.

Unfortunately, every time I go sugar-crazy, I gain more weight. I'm starting to think the two are related...

-----

Kurt and I have talked about this a lot. And here is what I've we've decided.

I don't think I'm going to forbid my children to eat sugar (it becomes a million times more tempting when it's off limits), but I am going to monitor it, and make sure we eat it in moderation.

But first, I have to work on that for myself.

-----

How about you guys? Do you have a special diet, or know someone who does? How do you feel about it? I want to hear about your experiences.

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Is 14 too young to read Romance Novels? You know, the bodice-ripping kind?

Remember that time when I wrote the post about my Top Two Baby Names? And then my sisters stopped talking to me, and my husband started thinking I was baby-hungry, but everybody else seemed to like it so it was kind of worth it?

I was participating in Top Two Tuesday over at The Undomestic Mama. Each Tuesday she chooses a new topic.



Today's topic is:

TOP TWO FAVORITE BOOKS.

I read a lot. And not just blogs. I started reading when I was really little** and I am kind of a book addict.

I read Gone with the Wind when I was 11. In Two Days.

Then when I was 13, I discovered Star Trek books (Yes. I was a Trekkie. But I never watched the shows, and I think that that is an important distinction). This usually shocks people. Maybe because I seem more like a Star Wars kind of a girl?

Don't worry guys, I read those books too.

I went through this awesome phase when I was 14, where I would only read Romance Novels. If it didn't have a bodice-ripping cover, I just was not interested.

My mom was really excited about finding those books all over my room.

Basically, I have never read age appropriate books. Which probably explains my current favorite genre: Young Adult Fiction.


Artemis Fowl

This series is definitely one of my favorites. And as an added benefit, someday my 11 year old son will love them too!
Yeah, these books are written for young boys. But they are so clever and interesting, I have read them over and over again.

The Tiffany Aching Series

There are three books in this series by Terry Pratchett. And you can share these ones with your 13 year old daughter.
I snorted with laughter 4,065 times while reading them.

Yes, I counted.

I have so many other books I could recommend.



But I am only supposed to list 2, and anything more is cheating.

What are your top two favorite books?

(You can tell me in a comment, or write it in a post and link up to the party.)

**I started reading when I was 3. When I was 4, we moved, and I had to switch schools.

On the first day my teacher asked me if I could read. I said no (I was probably hoping for a lighter homework load). And so they started teaching me the alphabet.

A few weeks later, one of the teachers caught me reading a book by myself. She watched me mouthing the words as I went along. The jig was up.

When my mom told me this story, she started laughing when she remembered the look on the teachers face that afternoon.

"You mean, she is already reading chapter books??"

I had just started Les Miserable.
(Just kidding, I didn't read that one until I was 12).



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