What Happens in Ironwood...

Here is a random sampling of what we have been up to the past few weeks:

Line dancing. I LOVE line dancing. This falls under the category of "Things That I Enjoy That Require Little or No Skill, Like Tubing". My neighborhood had a bring-your-own-food-and-come-eat-it-in-the-street-and-then-line-dance block party last night. It was fun. Macey raided the dessert buffet, DJ talked to other guys about work, and I line danced with the other moms. You know how in movies the people get drunk and then they wake up the next morning and they're all, "WHY did I DO THAT last night?!" That was my morning this morning, sans the hangover. Did I seriously line dance in front of my neighbors last night? Holy CRAP, I line danced in front of my neighbors last night. (burying head in hands) Let us hope that Ironwood Subdivision has a "what happens in Ironwood, stays in Ironwood" policy, like Las Vegas.


Writing a novel. It was Sunday afternoon and DJ and I were very, very bored. So I said, "hey DJ, let's write a book. You talk, I'll type." And thus it began. Macey threw in her two cents periodically. Actually, the epilogue is 100% Macey's. If you would like me to e-mail a copy of the manuscript to you, I will for a small fee (a donut). However, please do not circulate my novel around the internet like Midnight Sun. Honor system here, folks. One valuable thing I learned from this exercise is that if you start out writing a love story with your husband he will turn it into a fishing story within two or three paragraphs. Here's an excerpt:

"It was a dark night. Stormy outside. The air hung heavily. The pungent aroma of creosote from the desert blew in from the west. Penelope Peree sat--she hated her name. She loathed it. All of her friends called her Pen. She had spent one too many nights like this, alone. Hopelessly alone.
Hearing rustling noises outside, Pen was scared that there might be a pervert. She wished that her boyfriend was there so that he could scratch her back and tell her everything was going to be okay. Every night was the same ever since Johnny left her to find answers to unanswered questions. Both of Johnny's parents had died and he didn't have answers. He liked answers. Pen decided to turn on her favorite track on repeat to keep her company.
"Here's a little song I wrote," Bobby McFerrin sang, "might wanna sing it note for note..."
Penelope nearly jumps out of her skin as somebody knocks on the door..."

Aren't you just dying for more? I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Maybe you had to be there. I love how she's scared that there might be a pervert. (Admit it, when you're home alone you're scared that there might be a pervert.)


Driving home from Logan. My sister Carrie and I drove to Logan, Utah to visit my new nephew Gabriel last weekend. We left St. George at 3:00 Saturday morning and left Logan to return home at 1:30 Sunday afternoon. Because my car was possessed by Satan it took us almost nine hours to get home from Logan. The whole weekend is a big blur, like one of those dreams where you wake up and only remember random details. Here are the random details of our weekend in Logan:
-Eating. A LOT. Chilean food, pumpkin pie, pot roast, donuts, Happy Cola, these little truffles that might have been doggie treats (I'm still not sure). You name it, we ate it.
-Cruising the streets of Logan at 11:30 at night trying to get Tess to fall asleep, or at least stop screaming her guts out.
-Seeing baby Gabriel, shown here. Isn't he a cutie?