The Dog Wants In

If you don't have a clue what The Red Thing is, read this first.

There are six of us in this house. There is me. There is The Husband who has been featured in suspenders and the tie. There is The Boy who has appeared in several of The Red Thing photographs. There is The Golden Retriever. And there are The Felines. I doubt that Oliver will be featured in any Magic Scarf attire because he is very skittish and not trusting of strange objects. Evie (a.k.a. The Psycho Feral Cat that moved with us because we felt bad for her and she was making progress and she has now been fattening up in our basement and finally FINALLY going outside some of the time because it is warming up) will never appear in one of these shots because, in order to achieve that, I believe one of the other members of our family would have to sacrifice a limb. But our patient, lovable, adorable golden retriever has been begging me with his big chocolate eyes to join in the fun. And so, below you find The Red Thing Starring Beck and Featuring Troy:

I give you The Leash. Let me tell you that this dog was extremely disappointed that his walk lasted thirty seconds. He sat while Troy put The Magic Leash on. He heeled appropriately. (Not really in this picture. Yah. Not so much.) Just to turn back around and go inside. Poor boy. But don't feel too sorry for him. It's been warm enough that we've let Garrett play outside in the afternoons while I'm making dinner. I just keep the back door open so that I can hear him. Yesterday I realized that it had been quiet for too long and I peered out the window in time to see them in the grass. Beck was laying lazily next to Garrett who was simultaneously staring up at the sky and playing with leaves. It was precious and I tried to get a picture but the giant dummy of an animal came sprinting toward me, wildly abandoning his boy. And don't feel too bad for him because that canine, who has never been allowed to sleep in our room, except during thunder storms because OH MY GOSH we bought the biggest weenie dog ever, has been sleeping in our room on weekends. Part of the problem was that he was always a spastic psycho when we lived in San Diego and letting him sleep in our room turned into him roaming, scratching, licking, rearranging and we could not sleep. For some reason (ahem DEPRESSION!) he's been much more calm since we moved. We carry his bed upstairs and he lays right down and goes to sleep. Well except that last night, in the middle of a scary part of my book (have I mentioned that the church secretary has me addicted to Ted Dekker?) with my back to the dog, suddenly I felt something cold press against my neck. IT'S THE BARREL OF A GUN. SOMEONE SNUCK INTO MY HOUSE AND MY HUSBAND IS IN THE BASEMENT AND MY BABY IS IN HIS ROOM AND I AM GOING TO BE KIDNAPPED RIGHT FROM MY BEDROOM AND THEY WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN AND WHY IS THE BARREL OF A GUN BREATHING? Which led, of course, to the assumption that some sicko pervert had snuck into my room just to breathe on me and I don't know which is worse, the barrel of a gun or a breathing pervert. But then I felt whiskers and a furry muzzle and it was simply that my first baby was coming to say, "Hey, lady, are you ever going to turn out the light? I've had a really hard day of napping and playing in the yard."
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We went to see a school play last night to support a student in the church. And afterward, since we hadn't been to The Cheesecake Factory since our second anniversary, we bought two pieces of cheesecake curb side and headed home to relieve our babysitter. And you know what, I thought that Cheesecake Factory slice size was standard across the nation. Maybe it is and it's just that we haven't been in so long. Maybe San Diego just cuts a bigger slice. I don't know. But my cheesecake was not the quantity of which I recall from my So Cal days. On top of that, it was $14.55 for two slices. Is that absurd or is it just me? So I was moderately irked about it being kinda tiny and not gold plated which, for the price, it should have been, but then I sunk my teeth into this:

Tiramisu Cheesecake. Now on the one hand there is tiramisu which is probably my favorite dessert in the wide wide world. And on the other hand there is cheesecake which is probably my third favorite dessert in the wide wide world. Then they are thrown together in perfect cheesecake to tiramisu ratio and how much did I spend? Never you mind because it was WORTH IT!

If you're wondering what my second favorite dessert in the wide wide world is, I'm pretty sure it's Creme Brulee. It's hard to tell, I've kind of become a dessert fanatic in the past two years.

I'm Brother Josiah of the Monastic Order...

New to Red Thing March? Read how it all began!

Ever wanted to be a monk or a nun but worried that you'd grow weary of the lack of color in your wardrobe? The Red Cowl just might be your loophole. I'm not entirely sure how the monasteries would feel about the vibrant fuzzy garment but it sure would seem less dreary. Just think of it. The monks are in line, filing in to the church for the daily liturgy and then BAM like the first rose of spring, there you are! While The Magic Scarf does not actually possess enough material to cover the hooded cloak and wide sleeves needed for an adult male cowl, it certainly provides enough for your little monk in training.

Monk In Training: Mommy, I want to be a monk when I grow up.
Mommy: Well, Jim Bob, while that is certainly a noble aspiration, we aren't Orthodox or Catholic.
Monk In Training: But Mommy! I REALLY WANT TO BE A MONK AND WEAR A COWL!
Mommy: But I REALLY WANT GRANDCHILDREN!
Monk In Training: Sacrifice, mom, sacrifice.
Mommy: Fine. I'll buy you a Red Thing and you can practice being a monk.
Monk In Training: Yippee!!!

THE NEXT DAY

Mommy: Jim Bob, what are you doing?
Monk In Training: I'm playing Guitar Hero in my cool new Magic Cowl.
Mommy: But son, monks don't play Guitar Hero.
Monk In Training: They don't? Why not?
Mommy: No. They pray and worship and do chores and sometimes garden.
Monk In Training: (eyes growing wide) For the entire day?
Mommy: Uh huh.
Monk In Training: (Rips the cowl off) I don't think I really want to be a monk. I want to play Guitar Hero.
Mommy: Oh good. Grandchildren after all.

So you see, not only does The Red Thing function as a bright child's cowl for Halloween or just for fun, it also helps guide them out of their "I Want To Be A Monk" phase.*
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It's warming up here in Utah, the mini golf place opened and if Garrett hadn't been a tired and whiny grumpity, we would have gone today. Maybe he'll be a happy toddler tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow he won't have already had a cold and then rolled down the stairs and thumped the side of his head on the tile thus creating an even more miserable, snot infested, little person. Here's another tidbit of information on the "Hooray it's warming up" front. It actually rained yesterday and, well, while I'm not a fan of rain, I don't mind it every once in a while and the fact that it didn't turn into snow was definitely a pleasant occurrence.

The little "I don't talk" guy has stumbled upon a couple of new words. Ish. We had a minor setback two days ago where he would not stop referring to his father as baby. It didn't matter that he's been saying dad, daddy, and dada for some time now in reference to Troy, the word just dropped out of his head. For a day. Now he's back to saying daddy although, much less often than he says baby. He really likes that word. But, he's added an emphatic NO no his repertoire as well as uh oh and meow. I realize that meow is more a sound made by a feline and less a word but we'll take what we can get with the grunter. As long as he doesn't start referring to me as sweetie or honey, I think we'll be okay.

This blog author thinks that those who dedicate their lives to the Lord by entering a monastery are noble and, obviously, self sacrificing. She just wants grandchildren, is all.

I'm Sorry To Say It's Just A Shirt

If you haven't stopped by in March, read this first or you'll be a little confused. Maybe. I don't know.

So I understand that given the burqa and the sleeping bag, yesterday's Red Thing usage seemed a little basic. My brother thought that I was running out of ideas and needed some suggestions. Actually, I have more than 31 ideas already and The Belt had to come at some point. Perhaps I should have put it at the beginning. Don't worry though, there are still what I consider to be some major gems coming soon. Today, however, we've got to stay with another simple garment. I present The Shirt or, if you so choose, The Dress Over Pants.
I've never done the dress over pants thing. NOT ONCE NEVER EVER IN MY LIFE. It isn't that I don't think it can be pulled off, because I do. I just don't think that I'm exactly the kind of person to successfully do it. I'm a tank top and flip flop kind of girl. I can totally pull off beach bum and I can totally pull off jeans and fuzzy necked ski jacket. I can't pull off the dress over pants thing. And I don't want to. I'm actually kind of glad I don't see fit to attempt it. It's a fashion trend I can generally do without. But if you want to try it, I encourage you to do so with The Red Thing. If you're like me and you don't want to rock the double clothing genre because you get confused, you don't know where to look, or your head starts hurting, wear it as a shirt.

Now the truly amazing thing about The Magic Scarf Shirt is that it grows with you. Magic Scarves are one size fits all so, then, are the shirts. Where tops are concerned, I usually wear a small. But trust me when I say that if you wear an Extra Large, no problem where The Red Thing is concerned. But the greatest of all is that it is also a maternity shirt. Not just any maternity shirt, my friend, a maternity shirt that grows with you. It doesn't matter if you're fifteen weeks or forty, a huge pregnant person or a small one.

That's a hard hat in there but I'd be lying if I said that the thought didn't cross my mind to wear it for the rest of the day. That's how desperately I want to be pregnant. I'm almost willing to wear a hard hat all day just so I can pretend that Garrett's brother or sister is on the way. It should be noted that I was NEVER that big when I was pregnant with my son. Much to the chagrin of several family members and a few friends, I only gained 22 pounds and I decided to start wearing maternity pants at 26 weeks because I'd paid for them so I might as well put 'em to use. It should be noted that I was really careful about what I ate and I've always had decent abs that came in handy for holding him in tight. Side note: "I'm eating for two," while true, is a completely ludicrous statement. Yes, you are. You're eating for yourself and a FETUS, something that, for the majority of the pregnancy is the size of a large piece of fruit. How much does a cantaloupe need to stay alive? Okay, climbing off my high horse. Yes, there was the day that I strongly considered eating an entire Costco cake and yes my mother talked me out of it and yes, I know, for that lecture I just gave, if there's ever a next time I'm sure I'll be huge with child. And I'd gladly trade my figure for another one. And, if I had a second pregnancy and gained 60 pounds, I'd gladly accept a tongue lashing from anyone who feels offended. And at least, for a little while, I'd have my mammae back. And YAY! The Red Thing doubles as a maternity shirt for tiny pregnant people all the way up to the ones who have sextuplets. Well...maybe not them. Even the Magic Scarf has it's limitations.

In This Post I Very Randomly Start Talking About Israel And Then Can't Seem To Stop...

Welcome to Red Thing March! If you're new to this wonderful event, read this first!

So today it's back to basics folks. It really is time to just accessorize with abandon. I know that The Red Thing can be a sleeping bag. I know that it can even be a burqa. But you've gotta join with me in admitting that these are pretty innovative uses for such a scarf. Today, we're going to take a step back and examine how The Red Thing can function as a very basic clothing companion. Take a look at just how much it snazzifies a simple gray shirt and pair of jeans as The Belt:

Oh yes, sister, you know you'd be styling. You know you'd turn some heads.

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And, while I'm sure that this will be yet another word that falls out of Garrett's head (he said dog at nine months old, stopped saying it at ten months and has really never gone back) today marks the day that he emphatically says, "no!" every time I ask him a question. Unless that question happens to be, "Would you like a cookie?" Then, of course, he squeals with glee. He's caught yet another cold and this time he's running a low grade temperature so I doped him up on Tylenol and sent him off to bed. But not before I confiscated his sunglasses. Yesterday he developed the wild notion that he needed to be wearing them at all times. It's continued into today but luckily I was able to convince him that we don't actually need them for sleeping.

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I wish I had enough money to buy my body weight in fresh fruits and vegetables. I read in this week's Parade that eating a heart-healthy Mediterranean diet can help you live to be 100. Now, it's not that I actually feel the need to live for an entire century but I did lose like five pounds while I was in Israel eating a Mediterranean diet and walking like 200 miles a day (okay, probably not quite that many) and I just felt healthy. And most of the time the food was yummy. Subtract the lamb and the constant use of the chick pea and add in some sugar and the occasional french fry and I'd be one happy camper. I remember especially loving breakfast while we were in Israel. Typically we would have a spread which included tons of fresh fruit, salad (which I know sounds weird for breakfast but it's just as good at eight in the morning, trust me), assorted breads, cheeses, cucumbers, olives, tomatoes and occasionally yogurt.

And while we are talking about the promised land, if you ever have an opportunity to go, I would recommend it in half a heartbeat. I really didn't want to go at all and I thought that maybe I would get shot or something but I totally did not. It is such a different and amazing culture and you gain an incredible amount of perspective where your daily time with the Lord is concerned. If you are reading this and you aren't a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, well, obviously I would encourage you to strike up such a relationship because your life will never be the same. However, if you are shaking your head in horror and vowing never to read this Christian blog again and you get an opportunity to go to Israel, still go. It's beautiful. I'm serious. I know you're thinking, "It's in the middle of the freakin' desert." But if you think this is a picture of Hawaii, you'd be wrong.

This is actually a picture of Gan Hashlosha National Park near Beit Shean.

And that is a picture of Ein Gedi located west of the Dead Sea and close to where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. It is mentioned several times in the scriptures. Song of Solomon 1:14 "My lover is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of Ein Gedi."

Which, consequently is how I think spouses should greet one another, "Good morning my cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of Ein Gedi..."

Oh It Can Even Be A...

If you haven't stopped by in awhile, you can read about the birth of The Red Thing here.



So I'm sure that it's a fairly common dilemma. You're in line at WalMart and, after the cashier rings up all of your items, you realize that you just can't actually purchase all of them. You're short on cash or your spouse will claw your spendy little eyes out or you just didn't realize you'd put that much merchandise in your cart. You are left with a decision. Do you opt out of the tie for your husband or the child size sleeping bag? Oh have I got a solution for you. Put them both back and pick up a Red Thing. I'm not actually sure if WalMart has gotten in on the Magic Scarf action yet but you can just go buy one on the Internet from the confines of your own home. As you've already seen, The Red Thing makes a wonderful tie and let me assure you that it also makes a fantastic children's sleeping bag. Or, really, let Garrett assure you:



Directions:

1. Spread out The Red Thing on the floor or bed or in a tent or wherever.

2. Insert child into the hole in the scarf.

3. Prop child's head up with pillow.

Optional

1. Insert pacifier into child's mouth. (This is really only acceptable if the child is quite young.)

2. Distribute literature to the youth.



Now if you're surprised that he stayed still long enough for me to get this shot, you're not the only one. Especially since the camera has been malfunctioning lately and decided to get stuck on display and I had to keep saying over and over in the most soothing voice I could muster, "Stay there, Garrett. You're being such a good boy. Just lay still." Finally, I got the shot and you know what? He didn't want to move once I had it. So you see, The Red Thing as Sleeping Bag is comfy, cozy and downright sublime.

You know you want one!

Must Supress The Cravings

New Red Thing readers click here.

I thought it was time for my ever impressed husband to appear in another Red Thing shot. The following photo shows just how versatile the Magic Scarf can truly be. We've appealed to infants with the use of the fuzzy diaper. We've appealed to women across the globe. We've appealed to men with the tie. (And by we I mean, of course, The Red Thing and me.) Now we are showing you that even old men, who would probably not be caught dead in the boutiques that these are often found in, can effectively wear the Magic Scarf. All hail the suspenders:

So, not only are these great for your average suspender wearing man of any age (also, they match the tie and cummerbund) they are great for someone who has recently become memory challenged. If your friend, spouse, or great-grandfather has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's simply shove him into Red Thing Suspenders or, as I like to call them Magic Scarpenders. This way, when he wanders off and Search & Rescue tries to locate him, he'll be helping them out by proudly displaying his humongous, bright, fuzzy suspenders.

It should be noted that it is not the intention of this blog author to make light of Alzheimer's or any other disease which effects the memory.

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Dang it stays light here for a long time now. Being that I now live more north than I ever have before and we are pretty close to where Mountain Time ends and Pacific Time begins and we just leaped forward, it was light last night until sometime after 7:30. It's March! I don't know what the summer will bring other than a later bedtime for Garrett or some kind of black paper on his window so that he can sleep when it's still light out at 10 pm. (Exaggerating, I hope!)

My brother called last night and left me a nasty message about how he was eating white sauce from Miguel's. I didn't think it was a very nice thing to do to his best and only sister. Three and a half months must be the point in a move where you start longing for specific restaurants not found in your new neck of the woods because additionally, I'm craving a tostada from La Cocina and a piece of boysenberry apple pie from The Julian Pie Company. I'm sure I'll live through the cravings. Other than the yummy Cafe Rio, living out here is like Mexican food detox. I'm just a bit afraid of trying Comida de Mexico so very far from the border. I'm spooked that it will be Tex-Mex masquerading as authentic Mexican food. Or, more accurately, Tex-Mex masquerading as the exquisite California-food-with-its-heritage-rooted-in-Mexico that I know and love.

Eastern Apparel (UPDATED)

***Scroll to the bottom to read the update!

If you're new to Livin' In A Fishbowl, read this first.

Secondly, for those of you who were appalled that I put my offspring in a fuzzy diaper, you join the ranks of my father who called last night insisting that I take it down. Something about, "No self respecting grandson of mine, etc, etc..." I did hear him but, much like some of the decisions I made as a teenager in his home, I decided not to listen. Loincloth Garrett is still happily gracing the March 8 blog.


Now on to today's Red Thing.

I don't encourage anyone to actually wear her Red Thing or Magic Scarf in the following way. I am just attempting to be multicultural and show the rest of the world that this wonderful accessory is not limited to Westerners. Behold, the burqa:

The burqa is a garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions for the purpose of cloaking the entire body. It is typically removed once the woman has reached the sanctuary of her home. It was a good thing that Troy and I were laughing pretty hard whilst trying to take this picture because otherwise I might have puked or gone into a temporary nervous breakdown over the situation. I pretty much want to rip these off the heads of the women I see wearing them and scream something along the lines of, "With Jesus you are free!" Actually, there's no "pretty much" about it. I definitely want to rip them off. It's not that I don't understand the call to modesty but I think it can be done in a way that allows for identifying who's who in a family picture. I mean, see below:

Can you even imagine this? Okay so, one day, ten years from now, a woman will say to her little girl, "Look, there's mommy, the second burqa from the left. And that's your auntie there on the end. I know because I recognize her purse. And that one next to me is...is...is. You know I can't remember. I can't tell us apart. We all look so much alike." It's ridiculous.

I know that if I had been born as a Muslim in Afghanistan I wouldn't know any different and I would think that bikinis were of the devil and I would maybe even be happy to just live my life behind my mask. But I would like to think that I would still be the strong-willed woman that I am today. I mean, I was born stubborn so I suppose that they would have had to beat it out of me in the Middle East. I hope that under my burqa, even if there was nothing I could do about my place in life, I'd be giving some abusive and controlling man in my life the finger. I mean, as a pastor's wife I don't flip the bird. Ever. But if I had grown up under the oppressive weight of the burqa I wouldn't be a pastor's wife and I think I would consider my middle finger a great deal more of an asset than I do now.

But I totally digress. The Red Thing can be used as a burqa so yay for that, right? In fact, it would be an alternative to the traditional blue and black that they typically wear. I'm all for integrating color into people's wardrobes.


****A comment by anonymous wondered if that was entirely Red Thing or if, perhaps, a red sweater accompanied the Magic Scarf. It is, in fact, entirely the wondrous Red Thing.

Oh The Versatility

First time readers: Find out more about The Red Thing here.

Have you ever noticed that it seems the cloth diaper has been done away with? Gone are the days of scrapping fecal matter into the toilet and then doing a load of laundry encrusted with dried crap. Oh sure, it costs boatloads more money to purchase disposable but what price are you willing to put on not playing with poop, right? Well, I wanted my boy so very desperately that, truthfully, I don't really care how much of his feces I end up handling. So luckily, as it turns out, my awesome Red Thing doubles as a diaper:

Or a loincloth. Really you can take your pick. See, not only can my kiddo use this soft and fuzzy Thing as a diaper--which I am sure would cut down on diaper rash--he can also be Mowgli for Halloween. Or he can wear it to Show & Tell in kindergarten and give his fellow five year olds a titillating speech on the clothing customs of the South African bushmen. Or he can take up sumo wrestling. The possibilities, along with the uses of The Red Thing, are endless.
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I'd like to point out something else entirely. In the photo, just to the right of Garrett's ear, is a scrapbookish picture frame that my very good friend Michelle made for us when he was born. When I posted the loincloth photo I realized that newborn Garrett was there, next to jumbo toddler Garrett and I just do not have a clue where all the time has gone. Two years ago he was a fetus. Now he is posing in Red Thing photo shoots and cramming sticks of wrapped gum into his mouth behind my back. We've covered the fact that he's still not talking oh my gosh what's wrong with him but he communicates by the aforementioned grunting, pulling, pointing, and babbling. He COMMUNICATES! That infant just laid in the plastic bin under warming lights attempting to regulate his own temperature. He woke up one time during the first night of his outside life simply to hack up some charming amniotic fluidy gunk. He slept, he pretended to drink some colostrum, he pooped meconium (oh how Red Thing would have been ruined forever) and that's it. It's astounding to me that he has become a tiny little person with very strong opinions about feed me now and no I'd rather not have my diaper changed thank you very much. That newborn had my heart from the second he peered deep into my eyes. But that toddler has my soul. He has every inch of my being wrapped around the tip of his pinkie finger. He has me realizing that without infertility I might have had forty-two babies before it occurred to me that stopping would probably be a bright idea. My mind cannot fathom that he is the same kid that's in the picture. It's hard to believe he hasn't always been as long as the changing table or as hyper as an overexcited puppy. I never knew that I would love my child a little bit more with every day that passes, but I do. There are moments when I look back at the infant in those pictures and long for one more day with him sleeping soundly in the notch of my arm. But every day I long to see what tomorrow will bring in the life of my little Red Thing model.

Finally, happy half birthday to me.

The Texas Look and My Boy Genius

If you're a first time reader, catch up on Red Thing March here.

Okay so let me set the scene for you. You've been invited to some sort of hoedown or you have to take your kid to the Mother and Son Cowboy Chili Cook Off or you've recently started dating a Texan. Trouble is, you have nothing in your wardrobe that even resembles "southern attire" so what the heck are you gonna do? But you see my friends, that is the sheer beauty of Magic Scarf. Even if your invitation to the Hoedown was lost in the mail and you only learned of your desired presence an hour before the event is scheduled to commence, you can fall back on your trusty Thing. Slap on a pair of jeans, find your southernmost looking boots, stick a piece of hay in your mouth (if hay is not readily available, a toothpick will work almost as well) and tie up your Thing as such:

The outfit is truly complete if you have a cowboy hat but it's alright if you don't, just make your hair really really big. It's hard to believe that wondrous piece of material can be both a skirt and a bandanna isn't it? Once again I apologize for the frightening picture of me.
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I have decided that my son is a genius inflicted with Einstein Syndrome. This is, of course, the only logical explanation for his lack of verbal skills. He does not come from a quiet home. His father and I are always talking to him, always asking him to repeat things, always encouraging speech. He might have ten words. Actually, I think he has about 200, he just doesn't say them. He can follow such commands as "Take the Q-tip into the bathroom and put it in the trash can." He did it this morning. Well, truthfully he first put it into his potty chair but when I then said, "Take the Q-tip out of the potty chair and put it in the trash can." He did. At his 18 month check up, his pediatrician seemed mildly concerned about his lack of language and, unbeknownst to me, put the boy through several baseline tests for autism declaring, at the end of her exam, "Well at this point I don't think he's autistic." Given his babbling, pointing, grunting, grabbing our hands and leading us around the world and back, sound effects for cars, planes, dogs, cats, incessant desire to play peekaboo or basketball or chase-me-and-catch-me-and-I-will-crack-up-hysterically, I kind of don't really think so either. Never really crossed my mind, actually. Therefore, the only other logical explanation is that the poor child has Einstein Syndrome. Here are some signs of the syndrome:

*Parents who are highly intelligent (well then, clearly. Ahem.)
*Strong musical gifts (this kid has loved music since day one, can keep a beat with his foot, points to the radio when we get in the car and makes a backseat ruckus until we turn it on, and is obsessed with the musical instruments, especially the piano, at church)
*Many relatives who are musicians (I could have been a musician. You know, if I'd ever taken a lesson in my life. Troy played the piano. Otherwise, um, this one is not so indicative of Garrett's genius)
*Delayed toilet training abilities (Great!)
*Strong Willed (oh is he ever!)
*Outstanding Memory (it's hard to tell with a one year old but when we take him to my dad's work, he walks down the hall, turns the corner, and goes straight into his office. And he's only been there a few times.)

Maybe he's just a late talker. But, for the time being, I prefer to assume he's a boy genius.

Accessorize With Abandon

So before we get to the important business of today's Red Thing, you should know that, concerning yesterday's post, I also thought the word was spelled cumberbun. All my life I swear I've been pronouncing it with two b's. I also, most certainly, do not end the word with a "d" sound. However, not knowing for sure if cumberbun was the actual correct spelling, I looked it up on dictionary.com and behold, it is cummerbund. And my world felt somewhat askew and much like my shoes were on the wrong feet. So, for those of you who have confessed, either on this blog or elsewhere, that you've gone your entire lives thinking that it's cumberbun...me too, my friends, me too.

And now for an all new Red Thing. You should read this post first if you're new to The Red Thing. Although, I'm pretty sure that I know all six of you so I'm kind of gonna just off and run with the fact that I don't have any new readers. Anyway...

You just don't see enough people walking around in hand *muffs anymore these days. And you know what, I don't know why. There is no logical explanation. I mean, I get why no one wears them in Hawaii where every single day is tank top weather. Fuzzy hand warmers just don't compliment flip flops very well. I even understand why you don't see 'em in San Diego. It's pretty toasty there most of the time. But I live in Utah now and I gotta tell ya, I haven't seen a single one. Why aren't we rockin' the giant fuzzy hand warmers? They used to be such a sign of style and fashion. Maybe they're still big in Russia? I get that they can be a little pricey and what with the economy these days and blah blah blah. Apparently Hermes makes one one that totally doubles as a purse and you can bypass their two year waiting list and buy it on ebay for $9,495. Yah. You read that right. But for that price you get the original box and the original dustbag. The DUSTBAG people! Doesn't that make it worth your money? You should know, before you go bidding on such a gem, that it doesn't come with the tags so it may or may not be a knock off ...but the DUSTBAG! Don't forget about the DUSTBAG. Here is a picture though...

Or for $15 plus shipping and handling you can buy The Magic Scarf and make your own muff...

I know it doesn't come with a dustbag but you can't wear the Hermes Kelly Shearling Muff as a tie or a skirt, now can you? And I mean, the Hermes model does look a great deal more...fierce than I do. She's much more put together than I will ever be. Her hair is flawless and mine is all courtesy of the wind that likes to whip around between the Wasatch and the Oquirrh mountains. But her hand warmer doesn't scream, "Service with a smile!" If, you know, she were serving something to someone, somewhere. All I'm saying is that aside from the obvious financial perks, would you rather be friends with impeccable and snooty looking model lady with nearly 9,500 dollars on her hands or Hurry-up-and-take-the-picture-already-my-hair-is-on-a-journey-to-Park-City-without-me lady who is making wonderful use of The Red Thing for 15 dollars? I mean, really, my muff has so many functions it's paid for itself after just a few days.

Turns out that on the Magic Scarf website there is a video that shows several different functions of the Things. (And by several I mean four or five. Nothing like the plethora that you will see featured here.) At the very end of the video the narrator says, "Accessorize with abandon." And oh my gosh if that isn't my new motto for life!

*It should be noted that the author of this blog realizes that there are several definitions for the word muff. The definition that coincides with this particular post is "a thick, tubular case for the hands, covered with fur or other material, used for women and girls for warmth and as a handbag."

Ladies & Gentlemen May I Present The Fuzzy Cummerbund

If you're new to Red Thing March click here to read the post that started it all.

To be honest, it is rather difficult to get the boy to cooperate during his photo shoots. He's not thrilled with being wrapped up in The Red Thing. He'd rather be covered in mud or baked into a cinnamon roll or, at the very least, running around naked. But occasionally I manage to get a shot like the one featured above. I call it "Garrett in Cummerbund" and I can just see him in bright red pants. Now I know you're all fired up and running out the door to buy your best guy TWO Magic Scarves. That way his tie and his cummerbund will match. And if it's that adorable on a toddler, just think of how, um, magical, it will look on your man. I hear they are all the rage at weddings.

If you're wondering what that big splotch of wetness is on Garrett's left shoulder, well, that would be drool. This shot was taken when he was fighting valiantly to overcome his cold. When his nose is plugged it seems that he loses his ability to simultaneously breathe through his mouth and swallow his own saliva. I hope that he manages to overcome this or he's going to have a difficult time as an adult in the professional world. Apparently, though, it's genetic. While I have the presence of mind to swallow my own spit when my nose is plugged and not wear it proudly on my shirt, the stories about my nighttime drool are practically legendary. It's really attractive, I'm sure. So now you know what my poor husband deals with as a large part of that love, honor and cherish business. It's probably awesome when he climbs into bed, glances over at me, and wonders if I might drown in my own pool of saliva. It probably makes him love me more just knowing that he might have to resuscitate me in the night. No worries though, people. I was a competitive swimmer for ten years. I can hold my breath for a really long time.

Prepare Yourselves For Today's Red Thing

If you're new to Red Thing March, or have no idea what I'm talking about, click here to read the post that started it all.Here we have my wonderful sport of a of husband modeling The Red Thing masquerading as a necktie. I know exactly what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Oh my goodness. Until this very minute I had no idea what to get my husband/boyfriend for Easter. Candy is so 1990's and I've gotten him a DVD for the last three years in a row but behold, I have found the perfect gift! Magic Scarf! Who knew it could also be a necktie?" And, no doubt, if you are a guy you are thinking, "How can I drop subtle hints to my wife/girlfriend that this is exactly what I want for Easter?" And, I mean, if the recipient of such a gift doesn't happen to wear a great deal of red, remember that there are all sorts of shades including The Multicolored Thing. I'm thinking that they should sell these at Men's Warehouse with all their other ties.

One of the members of my marriage thinks that this looks like a 1970's pimp tie and the other thinks it looks like something Fred Flintstone would wear. I'm sure, if you think hard enough, you can figure out which spouse goes with which opinion. Really it's just a simple matter of deduction. One of us just has a dirtier mind than the other. One of us is just a better, more decent human being than the other. One of us suggested that the other maybe not put the word pimp in her blog. One of us didn't listen. You get the picture. In any case, here is your chance to tell us both if you have The Pure Pastor's mind or if you share in the often questionable thought processes of The Theatre Major.

I can't figure out how to embed the poll directly into this blog entry, but if you'd frolick on over to my sidebar, you can take part in the poll. It's located directly under the life altering quote by Erma Bombeck and just above the picture of me with my super trouper of a husband. (Now, if that doesn't remind you of a song by Abba or, consequently, a number from the musical Mamma Mia then I don't know what.)

A Beret?

First, it needs to be emphatically stated that I am so unattractive in all of these Red Thing pictures the world, if it revolved around me, would come to a crashing end. It also needs to be explained, however, that I said I would post a picture a day and in order to do that sometimes I have to photograph myself and sometimes I maybe just got out of the shower and other times there is really no excuse except that I'm not wearing a lick of make up and Garrett is climbing my legs and wiping boogers on my feet and the fact that I post one at all is almost miraculous. I would also like to point out that instead of focusing on my makeupless face and squinty Renee Zellwegeresque eyes, you should get a load of my collar bone. Doesn't it so look like it's popped out of place or it's going to come and stab you to death in the night? Yah. Beware of the clavicle. Okay. So. Here we have The Magic Scarf (a.k.a. The Red Thing) being worn as The Beret. In the photo, I am trying my best to look brooding and French. It was difficult as I am neither particularly brooding nor the descendant of a Frenchmen. But yes, all you ponderers of the many functions of Magic Scarf, it doubles, triples, gazilliples even, as a beret. Can you see me staring out at the waters of the River Seine while I paint my newest masterpiece in my trend setting GIGANTIC FUZZY BERET? You know you want one.

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Has anyone noticed that Hannah Montana, er Miley Cyrus, is absolutely everywhere? We went into WalMart today and she was literally on every corner. And it was SUPER WalMart, mind you. It's hard to be on every corner there. Hannah jackets, Hannah clocks, Hannah wall hangings, Hannah on the front of cereal boxes. Hannah Hannah Hannah! I feel like she's my kid sister and whatever I do I cannot get away from her. And I don't even dislike her. Like I said before, we actually watch the show on occasion because I won't let Garrett watch Ed, Edd & Eddy for obvious brain cell deterioration reasons. I've even got the song that they play during the credits practically memorized--you get the limo out front, hottest styles, every shoe, every color--but dang Miles, maybe you should, like, I don't know, retire? I mean, when you're sixteen and you're plastered all over nightgowns and you have your own doll, is there really anything left to do? Not that I use lyrics from Evita to guide my life or anything but take note:

High flying, adored

What happens now, where do you go from here?

For someone on top of the world

The view is not exactly clear

A shame you did it all at twenty-six (Or, in Miley's case, sixteen)

There are no mysteries now

Nothing can thrill you, no one fulfill you

High flying, adored

I hope you come to terms with boredom

So famous so easily, so soon

It's not the wisest thing to be

You won't care if they love you

It's been done before

You'll despair if they hate you

You'll be drained of all energy

All the young who've made it would agree

And then, on the other hand, "Dang it, Evita, you had all that by the time you were MY AGE? I really need to get with the program."

A Few Different Red Things

Pictured above, The Red Thing can also be worn as a skirt. Simply step through the center of the scarf and pull it up around your waist. You can wear it that way, as an ankle length skirt, but I would not highly recommend it, as it is quite transparent and will certainly show off your unmentionables. If you would not like the world to witness the color of your undergarments, fold the scarf over to create the layered look featured below.
It is my clothing advice--and I have no actual fashion training mind you, but I do have eyes--that you only attempt this particular Red Thing option if you are slight of hip. As you can see from the vertical shot, the second layer stops dramatically just under the hip. Therefore, unless you weigh two pounds or are taking part in an anthropological study regarding the mating habits of a certain region where you are chosen as a spouse simply based on your hip size in relation to your ability to bear children, I would advise against such use of the Magic Scarf.

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In other news, I went to a car show last night. I am well aware that anyone who has known me for ten seconds is rolling on the floor in gales of laughter right now. Those who may not know me are still probably vaguely aware of the fact that I can put gas in my car and turn the ignition key. The rest of how I get from Point A to Point B is really at the mercy of the Lord Almighty. I think that vehicles have things called carburetors and lug nuts and, well, engines but I am not 100 percent sure. But a couple handfuls of people from church were going so we thought we'd accompany them. We saw some amazing cars and motorcycles and if we'd stayed long enough we could have paid $20 to get the autograph of one Arthur Fonzarelli. I'm sure he probably would have signed it as Henry Winkler though, which would have been a little disappointing. Furthermore, Cindy Williams was also going to be giving autographs and if Veronica had come to visit me just one week later we might have had to get in on that action. Being that, you know, we've "Schlemeel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated" with the best of 'em.



But, aside from the fact that we wanted to hang out with various members of the church, the real reason we went was because we'd heard a rumor about a certain car and, well, those rumors just happened to be true. And if you think a toddler doesn't know exactly who Lightning McQueen is, you'd be wrong...

He waved at him. He squealed at him. And when it was time to walk away from the Rust-Eze endorser, he sobbed hysterical buckets. I think that in those moments, Garrett honestly believed he had found his one true love.

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Also I have been tagged by Moss. I'm kind of excited because I've never been tagged before. Yay.

Grab the book nearest to you, open it up, and turn it to page 123. Write down the first 5 sentences on that page. Then tag 5 more people.

Well alright then. The book nearest to me just happens to be The Book of Mormon. We were left well enough alone for the first three months of our life in Salt Lake City but then, wham! If you know my husband you know that he's not one to shy away from a good theological debate so, after talking to them for awhile, he told our missionary friends that he would brush up on his Book of Mormon and the next time they came by they could really hash it out. Now, I know my husband and I have to tell you that I kind of want to secretly warn these poor guys about what's about to happen. Troy's version was published in 1948. I wonder what changes have been made in the book they're using. In any case...here are the first five sentences on page 123:

O then, my beloved brethren, repent ye, and enter in at the straight gate, and continue in the way which is narrow, until ye shall obtain eternal life. O be wise; what can I say more? Finally, I bid you farewell, until I shall meet you before the pleasing bar of God, which bar striketh the wicked with awful dread and fear. Amen. And now it came to pass after some years had passed away, there came a man among the people of Nephi, whose name was Sherem.

Alrighty then.

I now tag the following: Bethany, Heidi, Mom, Veronica and Zandra

An Important Announcement Concerning March

When I was in college, my dear friend had, in her wardrobe collection, a very fuzzy, very red, very perplexing...thing. I cannot remember how it was that she had come to own this particular accessory but we were unsure of its actual function. Was it a scarf? Was it a tube top? Was it, perhaps, an Annie wig? We decided to make a short documentary in which we showed several functions of, what we had begun referring to as, The Red Thing. Not too terribly long ago, this friend, the incomparable Kristin, found another Red Thing in New York City and knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it needed to come and live with me. I was overjoyed to have my very own Red Thing, though we still are not entirely sure what to do with them. I suppose if I am ever cast as a very large, very old, Annie, the wig department will have an easier time as I will be supplying my own hairpiece. When I moved to Utah I was shopping and I turned the corner and found a display of Magic Scarves. There were purple ones. There were blue ones. There were even multicolored ones. (Oh the humanity!) They were, indeed, the cousins of Red Thing. These items can really only be explained as a crossbreed of tube scarf and 1970's shag carpet. The result was the birthing of long fuzzy eyeless burqas. I combed the Internet for the official website and, if my research is valid you can buy your very own Magic Scarf (though I truly prefer Red Thing) here. Although, on this particular page, it presents as some sort of shawl--yet another function of the multifaceted thing.




The real reason for this post is because I think that every single one of my six readers should run right out and buy a Red Thing. Or a Multicolored Thing. Or a Purple Thing. I don't care, choose a color that goes well with your eyes. Whatever you do, just buy a thing. Hmmm. That sounded a lot better in my head. Why? You ask. Because the limits of this somewhat hideous scarf/burqa/shawl accessory are endless. I have a sneaking suspicion that you remain unconvinced. That is why, for the next month, this sight will be featuring a daily photo in which you can view another wonderful aspect of the Magic Scarf repertoire. For those of you who enjoy hearing about the all the poop, all the tears, and all the laughter that goes on in my home, do not fear. Blogging will continue as normal, there will just be a happy Red Thing picture accompanying the monotony of the journey.





So without further adieu I present to you (drum roll please) RED THING MARCH


As its given name suggests, The Magic Scarf can be worn as, well, a scarf. Here we have young Garrett modeling my very own Red Thing as an object by which his neck will undoubtedly remain warm. The Magic Scarf is fairly long, however, so I would warn against wearing it on the slopes for fear of getting it caught in the lift and thereby causing an inadvertent hanging. I would also warn against wearing it while in the company of domestic animals as it may be taken as an invitation for a rousing game of tug o' war. Furthermore, if you purchase your scarf in red, I would not suggest wearing it to a bull fight. It bears a striking resemblance to the cape used by the matador, no?