I'm famous! (Please, no autographs)

Well, I knew it would happen someday if I just had faith, and low and behold, my 15 minutes of fame have arrived. Actually, it's more like 53 seconds, but I'll take what I can get with ne'er a complaint. So, I like a couple of books by this lady some of you might have heard of. Her name is Stephenie Meyer. She's a pretty cool person and she has written 4 New York Times bestsellers. So, when her new book (The Host - it's a great read) came out and she was going to have a book signing close by, I decided that I'd like to go see her. Ernesto said he wanted to come too. This was a mixture of co-dependency and making sure I wasn't planning on running away with some fictional character in my head. Little did Ernesto know what I had planned for him. Not only did he get to come with me, but he got to wait in line in the sun starting at 10 a.m. (he was studying all day for the DAT, so it was just outside studying instead of inside... I don't want any 'poor Ernesto' comments, you hear?), and he got to wear a super cool t-shirt that I made for him. He didn't want to at first claiming that it was really lame, but his tune changed quickly when pretty much every woman at the signing (1,000 of them) plus Stephenie Meyer and her publicist told him how awesome he was and what a great husband he is. I think the last time he got this much female attention was when he was born. And he loved every minute of it. And they posted footage of us on YouTube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTIKRNKLL-U Sophia pretty much stole the show though. The TV station that was there covering the extravaganza took footage of her too. It was a really fun night. My friends Kelli and Hilary came too and there was much merriment to be had by all.


So, apparently I need to post things more frequently to be considered a 'real' blogger. Is that like what Pinocchio has to do to become a 'real' boy? If so, I don't mind being the wooden puppet of the blogesphere. But while I'm here sharing my minute (or so) of relative fame (relative because I'm related to the cute baby focused on in the YouTube video), I'll tell you a funny from my kids. A couple of weeks ago, Isabella had Hero Day at her school. She asked me what a hero was so that she could decide how to dress. I told her that a hero is someone that you want to be like. She thought for a bit and then informed me that she wanted to be a mommy for hero day. (Oh the overwhelming joy! She is currently #1 in my will. The other kids have some catching up to do.) She thought some more, and asked what she should wear to look like me. We finally decided that since she didn't own workout clothes (apparently this is what defines my look), that she could wear an apron. Then she said, "But mommy, what am I going to do about the breasts?" Apparently this is the defining feature of a mother. From the mouth of my 6 year old. I tell you, you can't make this stuff up!

Look mom, I'm on the inter-web!!

Okay, so I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. Annette (my younger sister who is far less computer retarded than me) kept pestering me about creating a blog. So in order to get her to cease and desist, I had her served with a restraining order at 8:41 PST. And then I created a blog. It was easier than a lot of things, but certainly not easier than pie since I once bought a frozen one at the store and all I had to do was put it in the oven. It was easier than this.

So, what to say? I guess blogs are for those of us who are too lazy to write in our journals, but still feel guilty around General Conference time when they will inevitably tell us to write in them, but we still can't bring ourselves to even buy one from the clearance section of Deseret Book, and even if we do, we'll only get half of one entry written, get distracted by something else, put the journal away somewhere, and still feel guilty come next General Conference. And so the vicious cycle continues. So this is a good option for me, I guess, since I type infinitely faster than I write longhand (trivia: I once won the county typing competition, but didn't go to the state one because I didn't want to be away from my momma. I'm not kidding. I was in high school, but very clingy still since I hadn't gone to Costa Rica yet. And we have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy about that.) But don't get too excited, I'm not about to spill any deep, dark secrets of the type that are supposed to go in journals so that our posterity can know about how hard our lives were and yada, yada, yada. Those will go with me to my grave. But you can always ask Ernesto after I die... that is unless I take him with me. Muhahaha.

So, if you're still reading, your name is probably Annette and you're wondering why in the world you pestered me to do this. And why the police were banging on your door about 10 minutes ago. That was for the restraining order. Don't panic. I'll put some information here for you so that this isn't a total waste of your time. Isabella and Joshua had dentist appointments today. Let me tell you that it was a bit of personal revelation for me that Ernesto is, indeed, meant to be a dentist. The staff told me that they are the only children EVER to jump for joy when they were called back to the room, and asked if they could get their teeth cleaned and x-rayed twice. It may have had something to do with the balloon, bouncy ball and floss they got at the end. You know, after being to Disneyland so many times, my kids are still relatively easily amused. Thank goodness. Elena's nickname is wee-wee. She is pretty much the cutest thing ever. Besides Sophia who is now TOTALLY bald and has massive marshmallow cheeks that are constantly being smushed by everyone except me since I deem it beneath myself to mess with a genetic abnormality in my child that she inherited from her father.

I don't know what else to say. I had a good chuckle today watching a few Muppet's Swedish Chef clips on YouTube. And talking to my brother David in code. Code for me is speaking completely in movie quotes or saying normal things with an accent. David and I only communicate in code. That way I can keep up my practice on being a spy for when my kids are grown and the State Department comes a' callin' again. I'm really tired. If this is not what a blog is supposed to be, then sue me. I dare you.