A Blog By Any Other Name

Ok, here's the deal.  I need help.   Erin and Susan and Rachel have been giving me grief about my Blogger Blog.  And they're right.  It's time for me to move my blog to an easier platform.  Which means it will be easier on me to do posts, and easier on you to comment and interact with other readers. 

Win:Win, right?

Right.  Except for one thing.  I think I need to rename my blog.  "Me and My Shortloffs" is hard to explain to someone who's just meeting me.  I end up saying "Er, um, you see, my name is ORTLOFF and my kids are SHORT, so get it? Shortloff? No?  You don't get it?  You can't spell my name? 

And then I shuffle away in humiliation.

Oh look! There's a Shortloff now.

So I think I'd like to start a new blog with a new name (I will import all of this here Me&My Shortloffs content, don't you worry!).  BUT OMG I CAN'T THINK OF A NAME.  Heeeelp me!

Something about my red hair maybe?  Freckles?  Or maybe funny? FUNNYFRECKLESDOTCOM?  Har!  No seriously, I need help!  I've been calling Susan randomly for weeks and saying things like "How about "www.motherhoodismycardio.com'?  And she always says "meh".   And then I call her a name and hang up on her.*

*not really.

So, dear readers, do you have any brilliant ideas?  I swear if you come up with a winner I will drive to your house and kiss you square on the lips.

Cold Water Freezer

Last weekend Dave returned from The Wilderness where he spent 3 nights and 4 days at Boyscout camp with William and a passel of other 7-year-old boys.  As you might imagine, by Saturday my husband was spent.  Both physically and mentally.   Which is why he groaned when I admitted I'd been showering upstairs for the past couple of days while he was gone because we had no hot water downstairs. 

And before I go any further, yes, I DO know how to light a pilot light.  At least I *think* I do.  And I'm certain if Dave were to die tomorrow I would be able to figure out how to light a pilot light.  But c'mon, isn't this one of the perks of marriage?  Lawn car, vehicle maintenance, pilot-lighting. 

Yes they are.  Shut up.

So Dave grumbled at me and then proceeded to fail at lighting the pilot light.  HAR!  See? I wouldnt' have been able to do it if I'd tried!  I was WISE to wait until Dave returned.  WISE I tell you!

Turns out the water heater had "dun busted" (BTW, I call it the "hot water heater" which gets Dave's goat every. single. time "Because it's redundant. It's like saying "the cold water freezer".) So instead of spending his time recuperating from The Wilderness, Dave spent Saturday replacing the hot water heater.  God bless him.

The good news is, the kids got an awesome box to play in!  See how I made a thimble full of lemonade out of a dump truck full of lemons?  I know!  Dang I'm good.

They're both still in their pajamas.  Don't judge.

The kids decided the box was to be a rocket. Behold the "emergenSy" button.  Later William added a green button labeled "go", and a long skinny lever labeled "laser".  What more does a rocket need, really?

Paige just slopped as much paint as she could on the box, herself, her brother, and the sidewalk. 

A good time was had by all. 

Well, except for Dave.  Dave would have preferred a cold beer and a nap. 

Wee Tea

Do you know about the American Girl store?  No? Well then clearly you are ignorant as I was until a few days ago. 

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Allow me to explain.  If you are a little girl who is lucky enough to be born into a family where it is feasible to spend a RIDICULOUS sum on a DOLL, then you can order yourself an American Girl doll.  And your American Girl doll will be specially made to look exactly like you!  Yes!  She will have your exact haircut and eye color and skin tone! 

And then? THEN? You can visit the American Girl store where you can buy accessories.  Like a wee little bed for your doll, or perhaps a tiny bathtub complete with tiny shampoo and tiny soap and fake bubbles.  Or! You can buy tiny braces for your doll with a wee tiny doll-sized toothbrush.

Or perhaps a tiny salon chair!

Doesn't this sound totally ridiculous?  I know!  And yet, if you are anything like me, you will go a little crazy falling in love with all of these expensive dolls and their teeny clothes and matching teeny shoes and WEE TINY PETS for the wee tiny dolls (OMGSQEEEE!)

I found myself being just as excited as Paige in this store.  Running from display to display squealing over the doll-sized reading glasses AND WRISTWATCHES!   Wristwatches!  For dolls!  Have you ever heard of anything so silly in all your life?  But GOSH it's so CUTE! 

And as if that wasn't enough, inside the American Girl store is a bistro and cafe where you may dine WITH YOUR DOLL.  Yes.  You heard me.  Your doll is given a special doll-sized chair.  And her own doll-sized cup and saucer for tea!

Tea, m'lady?

And?  If you don't happen to own a doll, but would like to dine in the cafe, THEY GIVE YOU A LOANER DOLL.  Yes!  You can borrow a doll so you can have tea!

As crazy as these dolls are, I must admit, going to the American Girl store and having tea is maybe the most girly-girl fun I've had in a while.

Oh, and I suppose Paige had fun too. 

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**Special thanks to Gramma Pam for treating us to a day of dollies!

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Six Decades

So, my mother celebrated a birthday this weekend.  She would be delighted (not delighted) for me to tell you that she turned SIXTY years old.

Dude.  Sixty.  That is a lot of birthdays.

And yet, would you LOOK at this woman?  No WAY is she sixty.

Y'all *I* have more wrinkles than she does. 

I'm just going to try to say "sixty" as many times as I can in one post.  Because I just know every time I type it my mother flinches.  So far I've said it 4 times.  Go me!

Sixty sixty sixty sixty sixty.

(I was her problem child.  Can you tell?)

Mother had a big 'ol party at her house this weekend where we ate barbeque and drank frozen bellinis and blew out oodles (sixtysixtysixty!) of candles. 

*Ok, we didn't actually put sixty (SIXTYSIXTYSIXTY) candles on the cake, because we did not have a permit from the fire department. 

We kids were at a loss as to what to get mom for her birthday.  Such pressure to give a memorable gift!  I mean you only turn sixty (SIXTY!) once.  We finally decided on a portrait of the kids and grandkids.  Because nothing says "you are special here is a nice gift" like a picture of YOURSELF.

I totally photoshopped my arm to make it look skinnier.  So much easier than dieting.

But hey, the portrait, coupled with a book of hand-written memories from all of her guests made momma go straight into The Ugly Cry.  I suppose this means she liked it (?). 

It was a great weekend.  How about you?  Do anything fun?

Uncle Stevie's Campout Wisdom

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William returned from his first Boyscout Campout today.  He's slightly sunburned, and he smells like a cross between a billy goat and a sewer rat.  However, he claims he had an awesome time. 

I'm off to dip him in a vat of bleach and set his sleeping bag on fire.  While we're de-lousing, please enjoy this letter, mailed to William at camp from his Uncle Stevie (my husband's big brother).

Hi William!

I really hope you're having a GREAT campout!  Some of my best memories from when I was a kid were from campouts.  Your dad and I went on a lot of them.

Here are a few camping rules that you probably already know:

1. Don't spit into the wind.  (Also, don't pee into the wind!)
2. Toasted marshmallows are very, very sticky.
3. Don't pitch your tent with the door uphill. (The rain water will run right in and you'll be floating in your sleeping bag.  I know from experience.)
4. If the campfire smoke is blowing your direction, you might as well stay there because it will follow you if you move to the other side of the fire.
5. Don't bring an electric blanket to a campout
6. Always bring plenty of AP (all purpose) paper.  It's toilet paper, but it's very important when you need it.
7. Never touch the top of a gas lantern.  Even when it's off, it might still be lava hot.
8. When you wake up in a tent, it's almost always earlier than you think it is.

That's all the wisdom I can share right now.  Have lots of fun and you can tell me all about it when I see you next time.

Love, Uncle Stevie

 

Not a Happy Camper

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My boy has gone off to his first camp.  He is currently sleeping in a tent under the stars with a bunch of other 8 year old boys and some very brave fathers (can you imagine corralling all of those little boys in the wilderness? You couldn't pay me enough to do it.  Srsly).

Meanwhile I am back here at home trying to figure out how to entertain my VERY NEEDY OH MY GOODNESS 4 year old girl.  It seems that I greatly underestimated William's role in occupying his sister.  I had NO IDEA.

The child talks nonstop. All the time. Every minute of the day.  Also? She must MUST MUST be in my company at all times.  She travels with me from room to room.  And if I get lucky enough to get her occupied with a craft, she shuffles in multiple times to ask that I come and "see how pretty" her craft is becoming. 

Folks, I can only be enthusiastic about 4 year old art for so long.

I'm tired, is what I'm trying to tell you.  Physically, yes, but mostly I'm just mentally wiped out from all the crafting and talking.

Gosh I'll be glad when William gets home.

Queen for a Day

Have you ever seen one of those made-for-tv movies where a lowly, common girl gets made over by a team of stylists? And after a flurry of activity the lowly, common girl emerges looking like a princess?  Haven't you always secretly desired to BE that girl?

I know! 

So you can imagine my GLEEEE when my mother-in-law invited me and my sister-in-law to come with her to Nordstrom's where her personal stylist would outfit us in new duds.  Why would my mother-in-law do such a thing?  I HAVE NO IDEA other than SHE IS CRAZY (and extremely generous, obviously).

So I spent two of the most glorious hours of my life on Monday in a HUGE dressing room (like the size of my BEDROOM, y'all!) with my MIL and SIL.  When we arrived the stylist (who had been informed of our sizes and personal tastes) had pulled ZILLIONS of outfits and accessories for us to try.  All of which were displayed along the dressing room walls LIKE A MAGAZINE LAYOUT. 

I tried on clothes until I was sweating.  SWEATING in the name of fashion is the very best KIND of sweating.

I left there with FOUR new dresses (FOUR!).  Which is four more dresses than I've purchased in the last four years.  I left that store 1) inventing places to go so I could wear my new clothes, 2) wanting to diet so I would look even prettier in my new dresses, 3) wanting to get a manicure so my NAILS would be as pretty as my dresses.

I'm telling you, those dresses make me want to be a better girl! I want to cure cancer and feed starving children IN MY NEW DRESSES.

I'm pretty excited, in case you hadn't noticed.

oh, and we took our little girls with us. they were shopping troupers.