Carrie sports her new gift from...Santa?

Just as we were photographing our kids tearing into presents and snapping photos of our boys and girls with bedhead that will make us smile for years to come, we heard the news that Carrie Underwood was trying on her new engagement rock from beau Mike Fisher.

She proudly showed off the yellow diamond last week while cheering on her hockey-player fiance at an Ottawa Senators game.

Not bad, huh?

13 people + 1 house = countless memories

Christmas is over.

With the blink of an eye, it came and went. Santa managed to get a drumset with cymbals and an electric guitar down our chimney, but forgot the earplugs for Mom and Dad. That's ok, though. The smiles on the boys faces, not to mention the glass-shattering screams that were caught on video sure makes it worth it, Santa.

It was a week of memories, including the vision of my husband in a towel and oven mitts, tending to the turkey in our oven, one I'm sure is permanently etched in my brain. A week of listening to my sister, or Aunt Shel to the kids, desperately reminding them that food is not allowed upstairs in the playroom. Somehow, my now 5-year-old convinced himself any food that he sneaks to Aunt Shel's second floor is okay for the taking. Same goes for his partner-in-crime, my 6-year-old niece, who had a firm grip on 4 peanut butter cups in her sleeping bag, only to find them melting in her hand when she got busted. 'They're just the wrappers, Aunt Deb,' she would say, but Aunt Deb knew better. I'm guessing she'll pick something a little less messy next time, like tortilla chips or grapes.

Stupid rules.

We made a family trip to a local frozen yogurt shop, where my sister had promised my youngest he could get ten toppings, since they charge by the ounce, something that lost its spark when Hayden found only six toppings he cared for. That's ok, too, since his big brother made up the slack by selecting fifteen toppings that kept him up well past 2 am.

Aunt Shel will get paid back one day.

A big thanks to Shel for hosting our family for two nights, as we all discovered who snores, (I shall remain silent), who gets up early (my nephew, Jackson!), who wears long underwear under their clothes, (85-year-old Grams,) who always has a comeback, (Greg), who forgot to bring enough diapers (Kristen,) who constantly snapped photos, (Kristen, again), who brought the flubug (Mom and Justin), who was vaccuming before we even left the house, (Michelle), and who met the trash man at the curb with an offer to help load the 60+ bags, with a handsome tip. (Brother-in-law, Tom.) The holidays aren't the same without my Dad, nor is life, though I felt his presence, from the mini Coke bottle ornament my sister left in our rooms, to the egg casserole he loved for breakfast, or the Johnny Mathis song that came on the stereo.

Dad lived for days like these.

The holidays ended in time for us to wrap more gifts in birthday paper, for my youngest who turned the big five two days later. The sports fanatic had one simple request...a football field, but settled for a collection of sports equipment that he's been wearing since Sunday, while mesmerized by the lifesized Derek Jeter 'Fathead' in his bedroom. More later, for now I've gotta make lunch and try to get past this flubug that I brought home. And prepare for 2010. As if that's possible.

Happy New Year.

all he needs are pom-poms

We don't take ourselves too seriously around here.

I made the mistake of telling my husband yesterday that he didn't seem too excited about a decision I had recently made. Soon, a 37-year-old man who used to play football in college was doing a cartwheel and two toetouches in my bathroom, followed by several enthusiastic yells of 'Woo-hoo...I am EXCITED!' Sure was a sight to see.

I guess you get what you ask for.

where's the rest of it?

I love me some Starbucks, no secret there.

And I always go for the largest size, the Venti, to get me through the day on little sleep. The Venti and I go way back. And I always drink the last drop, whether hot, lukewarm, or even icy cold, I'm drinking it. It's the best $4.26 I've ever spent, though my husband would certainly argue that statement. I'm sure he'd rather use the money I spend in an entire year on Starbucks to buy some new vaccuum attachment.

So, I was more than a little disappointed yesterday when one of my favorite baristas handed me the beloved Venti cup and it felt unusually lighter.

Odd.

I popped off the lid, only to find the cup slightly more than half full, by the time the whipped cream had melted. Where was the rest? I had been shortened at least two hours of caffeine that I would need to get me through Bunko later that night and this was most definitely a crisis. Though I won't complain about the calories I saved. (The photo above is before drinking.)

I'm not giving up on Mr. Venti, but I'm hoping I get the entire cup today.

Happy Friday.

we've been good...really

Santa stopped by the studio for a visit this morning.

Santa has been a staple of the morning show during the holidays for the last 19 years. It's always fun listening to the kids call in to tell Santa what's on their list, and I'm sure parents are glad to not be standing in a two-hour line at the mall while feeding their children Goldfish and Teddy Grahams to prevent a hunger meltdown. We've all been there.

When the microphones were off, conversation turned to wrapping gifts for others. Had to smile, because of the countless years my father asked me to wrap the presents he bought for mom. How many Dads count on their kids to wrap for them? Keep in mind, this was long before the days of giftbags and tissue paper. I can remember hiding out in a back bedroom, neatly folding mom's robe in a giftbox, and taping it up neatly, knowing she wouldn't think for a second that Dad managed to line up the Christmas trees on the paper.

Just as I would finish up, Dad would bring me one more. A last-minute purchase, earrings, her favorite perfume, or Isotoner slippers. Those were staples for him, despite the fact that he often bought them on Christmas Eve.

I was still helping Dad wrap during my college years, but it's been awhile since those days when he requested help from me or my sisters. I had long forgotten those times of wrapping late in the night, until today. I miss those phone calls.

And my father.

a conversation with my 4-year-old

Him: Mom, how does Santa actually fit down the chimney?

Me: He is magical. He squeezes through there pretty quickly.

Him: But, how does he put our presents under the tree without waking me up?

Me: Very quietly. Santa sneaks into the living room, tip-toeing.

Him: Sneaks?

Me: Yep.

Him: You mean, like I sneak into brother's room to steal his toys?

Me: Uh, yes. Just like that.

a sad day around here

Years ago, as a young mother with a toddler son and two labrador retrievers, one yellow, one black, I found it difficult to have two large pets while mastering diaper changes and warming bottles.

Stroller walks certainly became interesting, me pushing the baby with two labs pulling me on leashes. We considered finding a new home for Drake, the yellow lab, who had more energy than a 3-year-old. Somehow, we never did. Maybe it was guilt, the knowledge that we would miss him, or the hope that one day I would find a balance, but we kept him. He was a good dog. As friendly as they come, with just enough spunk to keep you laughing.

One day, my co-host, Kevin, mentioned that they were in the market for a new dog, a family pet. I couldn't have imagined a better fit. Kevin had three daughters who would shower Drake with attention, and a backyard that would allow Drake to run off that energy. Not to mention Kevin's truck that had a passenger seat with Drake's name on it, as they would one day enjoy running errands together.

Who else gets to hear heartwarming stories of their beloved dog after he's found a new home? I've had the chance to hear about Drake snatching entire loaves of bread, his favorite, and snoozing at the foot of Kevin's youngest daughter's bed. I can't think of a better family for Drake, which was a present from Greg twelve years ago.

But, today is bittersweet.

Kevin was unusually quiet this morning, and confirmed what we knew would be a likely outcome. Drake is being put under, due to an illness that has affected his quality of life. So, here's to Drake, a dog who met Kevin at the door with his shoe. A dog who tried to hide the slice of pizza he snatched from the counter, though you could clearly see the triangular outline in his cheeks. Drake was one-of-a-kind.

We'll miss you, buddy.

better sound-proof the house

It's getting closer to Christmas, which means the boys have revised their lists a gazillion times. There is always another commercial reminding them of some useless gadget that they must have and is sure to drive their parents crazy.

Aren't we already?

And so it goes in my house, the lists get longer, the reminders that other kids have lists, too, become more frequent, and I find myself wondering what happened to the days when kids received toys that didn't make noise. You know, ones that didn't need batteries or require a box-cutter to remove those gray twistie ties that connect it to the package. What happened to kids letters to Santa that asked for Connect Four, Uno and Candyland? Lists that didn't keep parents wondering if they could handle Santa bringing items like an electric guitar or a drumset with symbols?

Those two items are the must-haves for two little blonde boys this year, along with other wishes that cost more than I'd prefer, like an X-Box, Nintendo DSi's, because the DS's are SOOOOOOOOOOO last year, and a microphone with an amp.

Gulp.

Still, my oldest will often say, if only to soften the blow, 'Really, I'd be happy with anything,' but would he? Would he really be smiling if Santa replaced that electric guitar with a Slinky? I think not.

But, I would be.

I wasn't expecting this one

When our boys hit a certain age, I made sure I covered up when getting undressed.

Just my thing, and it certainly improved those times when I was getting ready and the boys would barge in without knocking. Makes for an embarrassing moment or two. At least my oldest son now gets that you ask if Mom is dressed first. I've never overly stressed it, just told him a time or two that boys should respect the privacy of others, and it's not our thing to walk around the house in our skivvies.

So, Thanksgiving weekend, I threw on a gray Victoria's Secret sweatshirt and leggings to do laundry and was caught off guard a bit when my 8-year-old son began this conversation:

Him: Hey, Mom...

Me: Yeah?

Him: What are we doing today?

Me: Not sure, really. Laundry, finishing the holiday decorations, that kind of stuff. Why?

Him: Just wondered. Plus, I'm thinking that shirt you have on is inappropriate.

Me: Inappropriate? It's a sweatshirt.

Him: Yeah...and it says underwear. (He then read my shirt out loud.) Vic-tor-ia's Se-cret Un-der-wear. Not good.

And with that, he went back to shooting hoops in the basement.

Ooookay.

who's the guy living in my house?

19 plaid shirts.

My husband once had such a collection in his closet, though I would have loved for them to go to Goodwill years earlier. He finally relented, and began wearing more trendier things several years back, but certainly hasn't left his comfort zone.

That's what I call his preference for the colors that he wears.

The guy rarely wears black, practically runs from pink, and never buys red, white, or yellow. Instead, it's almost a guarantee he will go directly to the brown, blue, or green sweaters in a store. That's his thing. His comfort zone.

Greg asked me to pick him up a sweater on Black Friday during my usual shopping. I did, and decided to get something 'different,' something he wouldn't normally choose, something daring.

Argyle.

I'm not really a fan of it myself, but something about the sweater seemed appealing. Still, I held tightly to the receipt, figuring it would be returned in less than 24 hours.

I was wrong.

Greg initially said he didn't care for it, then tried it on and loved it, wore it, and shockingly went shopping for another the following week in a different color. So, here's to the argyle sweater. It may have sparked the inner fashion sense in my husband. Shaken things up a bit. Buried that comfort zone. But no argyle socks, please.

Let's not get crazy.

we need a new photographer

Jim is out today, having a procedure.

THE procedure, if you get what I'm saying. The one guys need to have by the time they turn 50. In the meantime, Kevin and I held down the fort and decided to tweet a photo to start off our Monday morning.

But, this was the result.

So, we attempted to get it right a couple of more times, and found ourselves laughing at the outcome. Not sure if it's pure laziness or the fact that it is indeed a Monday, but we didn't bother with a fourth retake.

Happy Monday.

jimmy wayne's admission got me thinking

Ok, so Jimmy Wayne has never owned a tv. In 37 years. NEVER.

I'm amazed by that.

How is that possible? How has he missed all sorts of educational programming over the years, like Dog the Bounty Hunter, I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here, and the recently-renewed (shocking!) Jonas? But, he has. Jimmy has not been swayed by the gossipy tabloid shows or Carrie Underwood's successful American Idol episodes. Instead, he says he keeps himself busy with his laptop and the 18 guitars he has in his home. (He had one on his lap as we chatted.)

There's something to be said for a slower pace of life, without all the distractions.

Over the summer, I had lunch with my Grandmother, who is the feistiest 85-year-old in town, and discovered that she has never logged on to the internet. Never used a computer. Never sent an email, set up a password, or checked what's on sale at Kohls. Never. Yet, she owns a laptop. Just never cared to learn how to use it.

I kind of like that.

Sometimes the text messages, voicemails, emails, tv shows, etc can be enough to make my head spin. Even with all of the high-tech gadgets these days, it makes a person long for the earlier years. You know, the days when we weren't honking at someone at the stoplight the millisecond they didn't press the gas pedal when the light turns green, or when you didn't get lectured for not answering your cellphone, because...by all means, if you have a cellphone, your payment plan translates to instant accessibility. Fun, fun, fun.

So today, I arrived home from work on my son's day off from school, turned the tv off and asked if he wanted to flip through some old photo books. We flipped through countless memories of Disney, the days the boys were born, and birthday parties with frosted cakes, all without the noise of Nickelodean in the background. After several photos, my 8-year-old caught a glimpse of his baby brother's chubby toddler cheeks, and said...

'Look at how little he was, Mom. I sure miss the good ole days.'

Me, too.

I prefer Cool Whip, myself

Remember that purse I mentioned?

It belongs to my sister, and in her excitement to arrive at Grandma's house for Thanksgiving, she placed her fancy purse on a pumpkin pie cooling on a desk.

And didn't realize it until after dinner.

Of course, I wouldn't let her remove it until I snapped a photo. The good news is the pie survived.

Love it.

Ok, so I'm a little behind

Black Friday just about did me in.

It's been a week since I've blogged, which needs to never happen again, since writing is cheaper than therapy. I've been short on time, but not on topics, like my husband's new love for argyle, my sister putting her purse on the pumpkin pie, and the sweaters in my closet that are now missing the ties which wrap around the waist. I'll tell you what they're being used for later.

Turkey Day and those that followed have been crazy, and other tasks like showering, picking up my dry-cleaning that I dropped off three weeks ago, (was that ME that asked for next-day service?), and plucking a few more gray hairs that seem to sprout at the worst times have taken priority.

More tonight.

jimmy, billy ray...and doris?

Jimmy Wayne stops by for a chat next week.

You know, the guy who told us he made his underwear resemble a thong to prank Brad Paisley in the weight room. Brad responded, 'You're a sick man.' Looking forward to chatting with Jimmy, who also says he is often told he smells good, which he attributes to Brut. (I smell an endorsement coming his way.)

Billy Ray Cyrus takes a break from being Hanna Montana's dad long enough to film a new tv movie, and he'll talk with us about it. He still recalls the day, years ago, that he was snapped wearing a WFMS t-shirt and it made all the tabloids. And remember when I mentioned Doris Roberts, from Everybody Loves Raymond? She'll stop by, too. It's all next week.

Stay tuned.

so much for that warm fuzzy

Today was one of those 'Come-dine-with-your-child' Thanksgiving lunches at school.

I marked my calendar two weeks ago as a reminder to go eat a Thankgiving feast with my soon-to-be-five year old. Waking up this morning, I was excited for turkey and pumpkin pie a couple of days early, as it's been kind of tiring sneaking candy from the boys Halloween stash.

Arriving a few minutes before it began, Hayden beamed from ear to ear and looked up at me with a grin the size of Texas as I walked and he galloped to the cafeteria. He passed on the buttery rolls, but said yes to a giant helping of turkey and green beans. Other staples? Stuffing...but none for Hayden. Mashed potatoes? No. That pumpkin pie I mentioned earlier? Nooooooooooo. However, he ate the whipped cream. Does that count as a dessert?

It was a fun time, and I even seemed to forget about the moment Hayden put a forkful of turkey in his mouth to pose for a photo as one of the employees made her rounds saying 'cheese.'

Driving home with my little guy, I turned down the radio and told him how much I enjoyed our Thanksgiving lunch, and thanked him for inviting me. His response?

'But, I DIDN'T invite you. You just sort of...showed up.'

just some of the things I wonder about

Just back from taking my son to have some minor surgery this morning.

He's resting for the day, but not before asking on the way home in a sleepy voice if he could possibly get a double-scoop of ice cream as a reward for his bravery. The kid knows how to negotiate, and I'm sure he had some help from his Aunt Shel, who text me to 'buy that boy some ice cream and goodies.'

My husband and I both realized while sitting in the waiting room this morning that it's an interesting place to people watch. We found ourselves wondering what others were there for, what procedure they may be having done. Another couple, and their young child who was sleeping on Dad's lap, was already there by the time we arrived at 6:55 am. Tonsils removed? Tubes in his ears? Something more serious? Then there was the couple who waited alone, reading the newspaper and watching Matt Lauer on the Today show deliver the day's headlines. A nurse approached them, confirming that the woman would be spending the night, and surgery would take 3 1/2 hours. For what, I wondered? Or the man who sat alone in the corner of the sterile waiting room, with his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. Was he waiting on his wife? Was he the one being admitted? Would there be anyone there to greet him once he awoke in recovery?

Our 8-year-old surprised me with his composure, despite having said he was a little nervous during the car ride over. His biggest concern, once inside, was telling his father and I to 'turn around...give a boy some privacy,' when it was time to undress and put on that trendy, and drafty, hospital gown. And when it was time to leave, they wheeled Griff to the car, but not before passing another gentleman being transported post-surgery, still asleep and hooked up to many tubes and an IV. And I wondered, will he be ok? Is this just a routine something-or-other, or was it the first stop on his journey of the unknown? Those thoughts were quickly interrupted by a hungry child, who asked as soon as the cardoor shut...

'Can we get McDonalds?'

you might need it later

I'm a keeper.

No, I don't mean worthy of being kept around, although hopefully my family would think so, but more in terms of not throwing things away.

I tend to think I will use the item again, that or I can't stand the thought of spending more money to replace whatever I've kept. I suppose I get this trait from my grandmother, who is 85, resuses aluminum foil and has a freezer full of leftovers dated back to the T-Rex days. I'm not that extreme, but I do tend to keep things my husband would rather me toss in the trash. Like my eyeshadow that crumbled when I dropped it on the floor, and what's left of it has been scooped into a ziplock bag. That certainly resulted in some odd looks from Greg.

I'm guilty of putting back the three sips of milk left in the gallon container, 'just in case.'

Extra packets of ketchup from fast-food takeouts are inside my fridge, should we run out of the stuff in the bottle.

I still have my Bally's membership card, though the plastic little rectangle expired a good ten years ago. I don't even mind parting with it, just haven't gotten around to actually throwing it away.

And so on and so on.

Like the gold teardrop earring that sits in my jewelry armoire without it's match because I lost it two years ago. Yet, the minute I throw it away, the other will turn up.

Or the sliver of barsoap left on the tub, which could be replaced but still provides some use.

These are the things I keep.

What about you?

just some random observations

In my usual day-to-day tasks, something will strike me as blog-worthy of a post.

I've been known to text myself a reminder, or jot it down on a napkin at Steak N' Shake, and then toss them in my purse.

Well, tonight I cleaned out that purse, a rather risky task in itself, because who knew one could have an individual packet of peanut butter (taken from a hotel buffet during CMA week), a juice box (apple...for those times when one of the boys declares they're thirsty...and just can't wait the 3 stoplights from home to get a drink,) or a business card from a girl I don't remember meeting. Hey, do I know how to network, or what?

This purse that I speak of is much lighter tonight after tossing the peanut butter and business card, (she'll call eventually, right?), and discovering many of those 'reminders' to eventually write about here. And they are:

Arriving home from Nashville, my oldest son wrapped his arms around my waist, squeezed tight and said, 'I LOVE this moment.'

Driving home from dinner this week, my father's favorite Christmas tune came on the radio. I told my youngest that Papaw loved this song, so he started dancing, looked up to the sky and said, 'Papaw, dance with me! C'mon!'

My youngest asking me why the guy who bagged our groceries called me 'Maam.' 'Because he was using his manners,' I said. Hayden needed more of an answer than that, asking...'But why Maam? Why not Mom? Or Deb? Or...Hey Lady?'

Shaving my legs recently, I wondered why I could still feel stubble. I was using a brand new razor and figured there was a reason the darn things were on sale. Then I noticed the plastic guard was still on the blade.

And Santa should have no trouble knowing what to get our 4-year-old. The boy loves gum. He asks for it when he wakes up, doesn't like being told he 'has to eat breakfast first,' wants it when he is picked up from school, and I've even found him digging in my purse for the sugar-free stuff.

But, all he came up with was peanut butter.

CMA pics...finally

Jim, me and Kevin...just before the CMA's.

Inside the Sommet Center, in Nashville. Just picked up our tickets at the CMA office. One of the signs I passed backstage. Taylor Swift opening the show. Carrie Underwood & Brad Paisley welcome the crowd! Rodney Atkins & wife posed for a picture...they sat behind us. Lady Antebellum got to the show early and sat two rows away! Jim goofs off during our moment on stage. Clay Walker sat behind Jim and was happy to pose for a pic! The morning show with producer Gator, Vicki Murphy & Cumulus' Jan Jeffries. Say cheese...and we're looking the same direction! The morning show with the other personality winners. Did Kev need to pee? Above...waiting for the show to start, and below...Kev says I'm in his 'space.'

Camera fun during the commercial breaks...we all were texting back home!

say cheese...and spit out your gum

Greg and I took the boys to a photo shoot yesterday.

Our goal was to get a good shot to use for our Christmas card, not to mention updating the framed photos in our home, which still show one son in glasses and the other with babyfat in his cheeks. In other words, the photos were well overdue.

A big, huge thanks to Tara, the photographer, who is a true talent and exercised lots of patience with our 4-year-old, who asked if he could have a piece of gum after each and every pose, followed by 'Are we done now?'

An hour later, their faces stiff from smiling, we piled in the car, Hayden got his gum, and we headed home feeling satisfied. The boys may not have completed baby books, despite my efforts to save their first Happy Meal toys and first ties they ever wore, but they do have current pictures to be proud of.

Those Happy Meal toys don't fit in the scrapbook anyway.

we love us some roadtrips

let's hear it for Mom and UPS

Thanks to my Mom, I'm not wearing sweats to the CMA's.

After fretting over the fact that I waited until the last minute to find something to wear, Mom came through and told me about a dress that she could have overnighted to her bridal and prom studio at Something Old Something New.

I loved it, especially the color, and just as Mom held my hand at the age of 13 when I got the worst haircut of my life, she again saved me.

Sure beats a track suit.

Thanks, Mom!

too bad brad can't wear THIS tonight

Chances are high that Brad Paisley will look a little differently for his duties as co-host of tonight's CMA Awards. That's Brad and Carrie at rehearsals for tonight's ABC event, where we managed to score 4th row seats. Meanwhile, here is a list of observations since arriving in Nashville:

Kellie Pickler's red hair seems to be getting a thumbs up from the public. Kellie showed off her new look during a private party at the Hall of Fame last night, where she rocked some major stilletos.

Jack Ingram's hair looks good, even at 7 in the morning. He says he only hit snooze once, and never complains about getting up early. 'I get to play music for living, I won't bi**h.' Sure hope Jack doesn't catch a cold, he left his shirt unbuttoned rather low.

The bathtub in my hotel room wouldn't hold water, despite my many efforts to fill it. However, the coffee maker was just short of amazing and I enjoyed the poof of steam as a finale' at 4:00 am today. Hey, it doesn't take much to entertain me that early in the morning.

Gator, our producer, brought some wine to celebrate our CMA, but Jim had the corkscrew in his room on a different floor. Sort of a problem.

The same shoe shine guy who was working in the lobby of our hotel is here again this year. Actually, he's always been here, but WE are the ones here again. And he remembered us. However, Jim's the only one who gets a shoe buff.

Our hotel clerk told us it's not uncommon to see Taylor Swift and her momma in their Hummer at Wal-Mart. Taylor shops at Wal-Mart, just like the rest of us.

Jimmy Wayne likes his Starbucks, and had it with him this morning. But no fancy stuff, so hold the whip, he drinks it black.

And that's only some of what we're seeing. Gotta love Nashville.

the only time I'll wear a shower cap

I got a spray tan.

And I have to admit that the process is slightly abnormal. I mean, where else can you undress, other than the shower, and PUT ON a shower cap?

I'm fairly sure other tanners could hear me giggling as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror just before stepping inside the giant booth that sprays bronzing mist from head to toe. I read the instructions at least three times before hitting the huge green button which resembled a stoplight, knowing once I activate the thing, there would be no going back. I tried to anticipate when the spray would begin by holding my breath, only to have to start over three different times. And no one prepared me for just how cold the solution would be, because there's nothing better than being misted with bits of ice-cold something or other.

My favorite part? Standing in the 'stopsign' position, which means an unnatural turn to the side, with one hand up as if you're directing traffic, and the other hand dropped to the other side, doing something I've never seen before.

Two minutes and a blast of warm air later, I was done, and dried off with a tiny towel the size of a piece of Chicklet gum. The shower cap was tempting, but I figured even my grandmother wouldn't be caught wearing it out in public, so I tossed it in the trash.

All in all, the silly process gives good results, even if my youngest son took one look at me upon arriving home and said, 'Mommy, you don't look the same.' The things we do just to wear a fancy dress.

Thank goodness the CMA Awards come only once a year.

it's one way to save money, I guess

I stopped to fill up my gas tank today, and noticed the guy at the pump next to me.

He was cleaning his windshield with the complimentary solution and sponge provided, something I always think appears to be a good idea but never do. I finished up, and walked inside to get my husband the fountain drink that he loves more than the swimshirt our 4-year-old loves, and still wears, even though the pools have closed for the season. When I returned to my car, I spotted the guy next to me still cleaning his car.

The whole car.

He sponged down the entire exterior of his vehicle, the trunk, the doors the hood, even the roof. Sure wish I had that kinda time. Yet, I suppose it's cheaper than a carwash. His kids and wife waited patiently inside, so calm that I'm fairly sure they wouldn't have cared if I'd asked the guy to sponge down my car as well.

Something to think about.

it's easier to spell, that's for sure

Apparently, I screwed up.

No, I didn't forget to put money in my son's lunch account. Instead, one of my boys came home today and told me he no longer liked his name and wanted to change it. Said it 'wasn't even a name,' and I apparently made it up. I'll admit, neither of our kids are a John or a Christopher, but it's not like I named the boys after my favorite Starbucks beverage.

Latte Honeycutt?

Really, that would never happen. Unless, by some small chance I would be given a discount in exchange for naming rights. Hey, some things are worth negotiating.

Anyway, my son told me he would have preferred something a little more common, like 'Joe.'

So, Joe it is. But, I told him kids named Joe or Joseph usually love to help clean the house, especially on Friday nights, so I'm fairly sure this phase will soon pass.

G'night.

there are picky eaters...and REALLY picky

My oldest wasn't a fan of tonight's dinner...pork loin.

Ok, so every meal won't be a homerun. Let's face it, I had to have a separate pot of chili as a child because the idea of beans was enough to make me more nervous than the time I thought the paperboy was the boogey man.

My son's Plan B for dinner? An Uncrustable. Except as I tore it open, he asked me to tear off the 'crust.' You know, that zigzaggy edge that looks similar to a pie crust? Hey, whatever it takes...but I got to thinking...

Does that make it an Un-uncrustable?

a little Carrie 101

Carrie Underwood called the show this week, the morning of the release of her new album Play On. And we always learn something new about the girl whose father calls 'Abdul.' So, here you go:

The release of her album is sort of like the first day of school butterflies.

The leather pants Carrie wears in the album's promo shot, featuring slashed pants, were hard to put on. Carrie joked that she got into a weed-whacking accident while taking out the dog.

Carrie says she has a stylist, and they try to stay off the worst-dressed lists. Still, she admits to being irritated by critical comments from the fashion police. I told her I never hear the negative, and Carrie responded, 'Listen harder.'

Carrie promised to dish about what she plans to wear when she first steps onstage at next week's CMA Awards. More on that when she visits our broadcast next week, in Nashville.

And there you have it.

this is pathetic

Ok...so still no dress.

I'm pretty spontaneous, so waiting till the last minute to figure out what I'm wearing to the CMA Awards is par of the course when it comes to me, however, I'm starting to panic. I fell in love with the dress I tried on today, and by the way this shopping stuff is cutting in to my naptime, until I caught a glimpse of the price tag.

$398.00

Uhhhhhhh...no. After all, I will likely wear the threads one night, not to mention the countless cups of coffee I could buy at Starbucks with that cash. So, I returned home with nothing, and now I'm feeling antsy. Kinda like the feeling you get when it's your child's turn at bat with a full count, and you're praying he doesn't return to the bench. That kind of antsy.

But, it's just a dress.

Speaking of dresses, Carrie Underwood has promised to share with us a little inside scoop regarding her opening attire when she co-hosts the show next Wednesday. The CMA Female Vocalist nominee will visit with us in Nashville that morning, and I promise to ask if she voted for herself. Don't all the stars?

Stay tuned.

shopping...family style

Remember that shopping trip I told you about?

Well, I went. And it was unsuccessful. So, I'll be the one in the 3rd or 4th row at the CMA Awards wearing sweats. Should blend in well, don't ya think?

On the other hand, it was nice meeting my mother and younger sis out. That's always a giggle or two. Too bad my older sister was working...she makes it fun as well.

No dress, but we did learn some new things about each other. They came to the agreement that I'm waaaaaaaaaay too picky. After about an hour, Kristen eventually told me that part of shopping involves 'trying things on.' I suppose that's the way it works. I learned that Kristen walks waaaaaaay too fast, and Mom moves waaaaaaaay too slow. We shopped together, but had trouble walking the same stride.

I left empty-handed, and realized half-way home that I never got that pretzel.

Good times.

no one looks at the back, right?

Ok, so I've got my dress for the CMA Awards.

Now I need another one. I tried that very dress on for the first time yesterday since it arrived last week in the mail. I remember the day clearly. I found a cardboard box from Nordstroms on my porch, and I excitedly opened it to find a jeweled green strapless dress inside. Trying it on proved to be a little difficult. No one was home at the time, and no matter how far I reached, I couldn't get it zipped. It would only go so far, then nothin'. Not too concerned, I put it aside.

Yesterday, we traveled to visit my mom, grandma and sisters for a family dinner and I brought the dress along. I got them up to speed, and told them one of two things would happen: Either the dress doesn't fit, or I simply needed assistance.

And it's never a good sign when your 85-year-old grandmother offers to help and you hear, 'Honey, I'm afraid I might break your zipper.' Super. And note to self: Don't ask Grams if my jeans make me look fat.

We eventually got it, though sitting down for the show might be as comfortable as a trip to that doctor each year. My sisters voted yes, saying it looked great, but they have to say that...they're related. My complaint is how the dress fit in the back. And it's not exactly a good time to come up with something else. After all, we only leave in 8 days.

So, it's back to square one, and the best part? I hate to shop, as patience is not my forte. Usually, shopping for me involves needing something, going to get it, and leaving...immediately. Browsing, getting a dressing room, trying on, getting dressed again, and repeating the process over and over at multiple stores as frustration builds isn't my thing.

The truth is, I could wear the darn thing. I love the color, love the style, love it all...just not the zipper or the permanent feeling of needing to exhale. Comfort and being able to have an occasional snack the night of the show would be nice. So, I'm heading to the mall shortly.

I'll be the one having a meltdown in the women's department. Nothing a pretzel with salt can't fix.

who's the redhead?

Watch for Kellie Pickler today on Ellen.

She has recently dyed her hair red. Or auburn. Or whatever shade you wanna call it.

She told us a couple of years ago that she cut her hair short to be different from the other Nashville ladies, and she continues to keep us guessing.

What do you think?

the text message I received today

I'm often accused of not keeping my gas tank full...or at least not full enough. I'll admit it, it's one of my bad habits. As a result, I've run out of gas a time or two.

Or three.

And so this morning, as I was preparing to leave for work, I remembered I didn't have much in the fuel tank. And yes, the fuel gauge light would probably be illuminated. So, I decided to swap cars with Greg, knowing he would have time to fill up in the morning, and figured it was safer than me stopping at a gas station in the middle of the night. Keep in mind, Greg is much neater than I, and never keeps even a straw wrapper on the floor of his vehicle. Yay for me, not a good deal for Greg, who ended up driving my car, which still had yesterday's Starbucks cup and about a week's worth of receipts in the passenger seat.

Oops.

That explains the text I got from him as I left work today. Just five simple words. It read...

'Your car is a pit.'

the stress of aisle five

Grocery shopping.

My co-host, Kevin, hates it...I love it. Something fun about it, that or I'm just really in need of more excitement in my life. I took my youngest son along for a trip to get the basics, and shopping with him brought back memories of when I went to the grocery as a freckle-faced girl.

Hayden struggled with choosing a cereal in aisle 5, surrounded by Frosted Flakes, Cookie Crisp and Fruity Pebbles. I watched as others push their carts past us, quickly grabbing a box of Oats N' Honey or Grape Nuts and crossing cereal off their list.

And there we stood.

I asked Hayden to make a decision, and he explained that he couldn't. 'It's just too hard.' Other moms would smile knowingly, probably having been there at one time or another, including one who agreed with my 4-year-old, 'It is tough, isn't it?' I eventually realized we had a better chance of winning the lottery than selecting a cereal, so I suggested we move on to our list and come back. The idea seemed to bring some relief to my overwhelmed child, dazed by the shelves of colorful boxes filled with stuff dentists' hate.

So we mosied over to select some ground chuck. After several minutes looking to find the kind I wanted, Hayden announced, 'Look Mom, I can stick my finger in the plastic.' Not good, of course, though I remember doing the same thing when I was little. There was something mesmerizing about the plastic wrapped tightly around a hunk of beef that creates a bubble-effect, begging children to poke their fingers through.

We continued shopping, which included a curious pit-stop inside the freezer to see the waffle fries, don't ask, made a visit to the restroom and eventually made it home with groceries in hand, only to have my husband say...

'You forgot the cereal.' And we did.

Carrie stops by again

Carrie will visit us on the morning show Monday.

The girl has a busy November. Her new album Play On hits stores next week, not to mention the CMA Awards she will co-host with Brad Paisley November 11th in Nashville. Last year, she told us just before hosting the show that she was a bit nervous, and asked us to 'say a little prayer' that she wouldn't trip and she would remember to 'check the barn door.' Love it.

Check back for more on our chat with Carrie!

life lessons on the road

That road trip I mentioned?

I learned some things. Which tends to happen when you spend 15 hours in a car with three other people. So, I compiled them into one big, long run-on sentence since that was, frankly, easier. And here it is:

When you are leaving for Florida, and plan to drive, be prepared to return home at least once after exiting your neighborhood because you will forget something, like I forgot my cell phone charger and the thought without my cell phone was more devastating than finding that hair in my baked potato last week, and by all means, be prepared to have your 8-year-old read the walls inside a gas station bathroom at two in the morning when you stop for a 'break,' only to be shocked when you read them yourself, and all I can repeat here from that wall are the words, 'I like to...,' and you can imagine the rest but probably still wouldn't come close, and be fully aware that when your husband asks you to drive because he's tired, then asks you to get back in the passenger seat after you've only been behind the wheel ten minutes, he isn't being kind, he simply doesn't like your driving, and always consider shouts of 'When are we gonna be there,' before you've even hopped on 465 as you're leaving as major red flag indicators of how the trip will go, and who decided that I needed to be reminded of boiled pecans on giant billboards, not to mention the Adult Bookstores, every tenth of a mile while driving through Georgia, and why can you order breakfast for dinner at Cracker Barrel but not dinner for breakfast?, and of course you'll find it adorable when your youngest son, who took his costume to trick-or-treat at his Nana's house in Florida turns to you on the porch and says, 'Alright, let's go to the next house,' but you can't because it's not quite Halloween, and you wonder how the trip back somehow doubles in hours or so it seems, though you know it's all worthwhile when you pick your 4-year-old up at preschool the day after returning home and he says...

'I miss our vacation.'

another road trip to talk about

Sorry for the absence.

We went on Fall break, and for a husband who plans everything out in advance, we literally decided to go the night prior to departing. And who uses the word departing with the exception of airline employees?

Anyway, the day we left, we didn't pack until one hour before. It was fun being spontaneous, and we road tripped as we love to do, complete with kids pumping their fists in the air, yelling 'Road trip, road trip,' about twenty times before even leaving our neighborhood, and me telling Greg that I forgot something, only to return home. One of my many observations while winding through the mountains miles and miles from home? There are waaaaaay too many 'ADULT Bookstore' billboards. I think I lost count around thirteen.

But more later, including why it's not a good idea to use a gas station restroom. Gotta make something quick for dinner, and and I realized we're out of milk.

So it's off to the grocery...

laughing in the checkout line

Stopped by the grocery today to buy a few things for Griff's Fall party.

In front of me at the checkout was an older lady, with gray hair, reddish cracked lips and a purse slung over her wrist. She was hunched over and moved her frail body with careful steps and I noticed she struggled to lift the two gallons of milk back into her cart. She reminded me of someone's grandmother, not exactly mine, but someone's, and she seemed so sweet and timid.

Offering to help, I lifted the containers for her and placed them in her basket. She smiled back, as the clerk handed her a receipt with a coupon, stating she could use it the next time she buys a Hallmark card.

Not that she'd be redeeming the coupon anytime soon.

The lady shot back, 'I'm not buying a Hallmark. They want too damn much money!'

And with that, she gave her cart a shove and walked away. Ok, so I was wrong about the timid thing.

Valerie Bertinelli and other stuff

Valerie Bertinelli joins us on the show tomorrow.

Call me crazy, but I'm fairly certain she won't be wearing that bikini...though the guys are still giddy. My co-host, Jim, made a comment that he might be the one to wear such a thing, but let's hope he's kidding.

Meanwhile, it's Crazytown around the house, where one child is recovering from the flu, and since Saturday has asked repeatedly, 'Mom, will I be sick tomorrow?' As if the little flu fairy slaps an end date on the virus, similar to the date stamped on the bag of deli turkey in our fridge. I tell him no, yet he found himself still feeling ill the following morning and told me I lied.

Ok then. So much for being optimistic.

On a different note, we've been having trouble keeping my little one in bed, long before the flu bug hit, which results in several getups after we tuck him in, though I believe I solved the problem. I told our 4-year-old that for every time he gets out of bed to come pet the dog, say goodnight a fourth time, or rub antibiotic cream on a scar that doesn't exist, Santa takes a gift out of his bag and puts in it Joey's bag down the street.

His response? 'Who's Joey?'

Who knows, but I'll bet he's sleeping.