Say A Little Prayer

We started potty training the Tomester today. 'Nuf said

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes and digressions

Then....

and now....

The cemetary trees have grown. The family has grown. The number of pixels has grown. The amount of chub in my cheeks (both pairs) has grown. The distances between have grown. The appreciation for sharing and making new memories has grown. Does that mean this goofy bunch of Stratton Brats are growing up? Probably a little, but hopefully not too much.


You might well wonder why we take our family photo at the cemetery. It could be in memory of Craig's childhood tendency to projectile vomit whenever we drove by the cemetery. Perhaps it's to showcase Craig's Eagle Scout benches of cementness. It might even be for the lovely views of Pine Valley and Toquerville Hill (or whatever it's called... I always thought of it as the man-in-the-mountain's torso or the hill with the comet shaped black rocks. anywho...) Maybe it's the oddness of the location that allows us to be our naturally odd selves and thus take a decent picture. It might be any or all of these reasons, but the most influential reason is because Mom said so. Who needs more of a reason than that?

Just for the record, Levi's third date theory constitutes him coming over to my house on my birthday on the open invitation for friends and family to come celebrate. Furthermore, when it is considered that I spent time talking with a cute lawyer guy in whom I was also interested, it becomes obvious that it was in no way a date. It was a visit. He even gave me a paperback copy of Artemis Fowl because he wasn't sure enough of our new relationship to merit giving me a hardback gift. Of course, that was the evening of our first kiss, but that is entirely beside the point - though it does say something about Levi's wisdom in choosing a paperback. If a paperback got him some lip action, where would a hardback have gotten us? Scandalous! Speaking of birthdays, mine is next Tuesday, just in case you all were planning a wonderful birthday surprise and wasn't sure which day to free up. ;)

J.A. Rich Commemorative Memorial Trophy

Technically this is my second post on our blog, although my wife will disagree. She also disagrees as to whether or not our third date actually was one.
Anywho, getting to the gist of the post I have officially been eliminated from contention for the most coveted of trophies in fantasy football fandom, The prestigious J.A. Rich Commemorative Memorial Trophy. It's been a bitter pill to swallow, but there's always next year to hone my fantasy football coaching skills and inspire my players to greater heights.
This was the first year of existence for the Bump And Run league, with six teams in contention for the J.A. Rich Commemorative Memorial Trophy, although none of us knew it at the initial draft afternoon. Draft day found me in high spirits as I put together one of the better teams, on paper anyway, of anyone. 13 weeks into the season saw injuries, infighting, jealousies and poor clock management decisions relegate my team to a record inconsistent with their abilities and desires. However I held out hope, we (Moridin) as a team barely pulled it together to squeak out just enough victories to claim the final playoff spot. As I told my team that week, anything can happen in the playoffs. It was a valiant effort but all in vain as d-enz caught all the breaks and bouncing footballs. We left the field with our heads held in shame. Next year, next year.
Now some other lucky coach is going to hold aloft the J.A. Rich Commemorative Memorial Trophy in triumph much to my chagrin.
Here for your viewing pleasure are a few pictures of the J.A. Rich Commemorative Memorial Trophy. Who is J.A. Rich? you may ask.Well that is another post in and of itself.

OK, I'll tell it now seeing as I may never get back on again or at least not for another two years.

It all began on a cold fall day in the beautiful college town of Logan, Utah. My cousin and I went to Deseret Industries and there spied a fantastic black shirt, with cool anchor buttons, and the name of one J.A. Rich boldly placed above the left breast. I desired to own that shirt, but had no money. So my cousin promptly snapped it up and bought it for himself, dang you Jared. He proudly wore it and everyone would ask him who J.A. Rich was. As we didn't know it made it all the better. And so to commemorate that individual who anonymously donated to the DI, he will live on forever in ceramic that incidentally was purchased at the DI.

The J.A. Rich Commemorative Memorial Trophy!

Crying Her Pants Off

No, really... she actually cried her pants off... thrice. And, silly me, I always thought it was just a figure of speech.

Is it wrong to want her to do it again? I'd really like to catch her in the act, just to find out how she manages to lose her drawers in despair.


Ah well, it's a good thing she's such a likable little stinker, who BTW enjoys partaking in pink pomegranate plunder. Indeed it was a highlight of the warm fall weather to watch her roam the yard with her piece of pomegranate, picking out arils and imagining to her hearts delight.

a real woman

Today's random thought is this: it takes a real woman (even if she's fictional) to pull off pink shoes with a red jacket. Chalk up another reason why I want to be Mary Poppins when I grow up.

Princess :o)

Last night Tomy decided that he'd rather not fall asleep. *Argh!* So after hours of suffering through the whinging monotony, I decided to let him help reorganize the foto files on our computer hoping that the tedious task would wisk him away to dreamland. Well, he still didn't fall asleep, but any aggravation I had been feeling evaporated when, as we came upon this wedding picture, my son shouted with joyful recognition, "Jesus Christ! Mommy Princess!"

How could I stay upset with a little boy who is excited to see Jesus and thinks his mommy looks like a princess? Not possible. And so it was with a much sweeter kiss and tender tuck-in, that I and my son soon drifted to sleep.

Oh - well, that would have been a nice ending to the story. Unfortunately, the evening ended with Tomy crying as he was returned to his bed and then getting a spanking for waking the baby who refused to be comforted because she was left crying in her detested crib while I cleared the pile of unfolded laundry off my bed so we could both get some sleep. *Waaahhhhh!* Perhaps this is a case in which a good memory is unpardonable.