Top Ten Tuesday: The Sherlock Edition


Top Ten Tuesday: Top Ten Reasons to Own the

Sherlock Holmes Movie, Which Goes On Sale Today


10. The bad guy. Lord Voldemort Blackwood. He’s so over the top bad. And by bad I mean good. Or good at being bad. Or something.


9. The humor. I mean, there are some parts that are fuuuuuunnny.


8. I’m not normally a fan of megaexplosions, but this one was truly magnificent.


7. You knew it was coming…wait for it…


6. So I’m a girl, okay? But even I got into this.


5. We’ve established that I’m a girl. So this one might make more sense…


4. But then there’s this…


3. And to balance it out…


2. Remember the difference between hawt and cute?


1. BUT the NUMBER ONE reason to OWN Sherlock Holmes, the best movie of 2009, is this:

I’m giving away a copy.

If you would like a chance to win this new, unwrapped, pristine copy, just leave me a comment.

I never make you jump through hoops, you know.

I hope you appreciate that.

 Giveaway ends at the stroke of midnight (Oklahoma time) on Friday night.

Kitchen Sink Saturday

It is very likely that posting will be sporadic here at ye olde blogge until the first trimester is over. Honestly, between all the sleeping and napping and spontaneous keeling over in fatigue and resting my eyes just for a minute, I haven’t had much time for anything else.

Except cry. At everything. I’ve managed to squeeze that in between the dozing bits.

So to keep you entertained until I emerge from this weepy haze of exhaustion, here are a few items.

The most amazing Rube Goldberg machine ever invented outside of Wallace and Gromit:

THIS SITE was so, so very amusing to me. Maybe it won’t be so much for you. But there it is.

Also, Sherlock Holmes comes out on video, DVD, and Blue-ray this Tuesday, March 30th. That’s the Tuesday that comes the soonest after the weekend we are currently in. This Tuesday. The 30th. Of this month. Three (3) more sleeps. You know what that means, folks. Yes. All the badass moves you can handle. As many times as you want them. Even in slow motion. The parts that weren’t already in slow motion, that is. And don’t forget the corduroy coat.

Yes. I still had to look up how to spell it. I think I got it right this time.

Also, there is a guy who plays Sherlock’s weenie sidekick that I hear some women like, nay, even prefer, to the badass detective. You know, the guy in the NON-bitchin’ corduroy coat. So really, something for everyone.

But just so you know where I, personally, stand:




Not that I’m judging. It takes all kinds to make a world, after all.

Speaking of all kinds (notice the smooth segue into the next topic)…

Some of you might have noticed a couple of extremely hateful comments that I received in my last couple of posts. I eventually deleted them, and it made me realize just how blessed I have been in that I have had this blog up for 4 years now and this was the first real vitriole-spewing that I received. Maybe I should be more controversial. One of them claimed that all (thousand) of my children displayed obviously deficient DNA.

This confused me for a minute because I could not think of any pictures I had ever posted that showed my children looking anything less than brilliant. This is a blog, after all, and one wouldn’t want to show anything resembling reality!

And then I remembered.

Must have been this one:

Xmas pic2


Good night!

Life Makes Me Sick

Now that the big announcement is out of the way, I just want to say that one of the most hopeful symptoms I have had this time around was the fact that I have been feeling like Epic Crapola. The last four pregnancies were of the (hatefully named) “blighted ovum” type, with the baby inexplicably ceasing to develop past 6 weeks.  Since six weeks is right around the time that I usually start to feel bad, I knew the gig was up when I felt more or less normal.

Of course, I tried to rationalize with “well, I’m getting older, things are bound to change” and “maybe it’s because I eat healthier now” and “every pregnancy is different” but in my heart of hearts, I knew, even before the sonograms revealed the truth in glaring black and white.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that everything smelled horrible. Things that normally would not have bothered me at all  (soup. pancakes. scented soap. the closet. lotion. deodorant. the couch. the kitchen. the dining room. pretty much my whole house. my own upper lip.) turned me green. My children giggled one morning when I took the peelings from one of their clementines and shoved them up my nose during their spelling lesson. They thought I was just being silly.

And don’t even get me started on the things that usually smell bad to me anyway (the dog. my son’s room. diapers. heavily perfumed ladies. brocolli.). My only recourse was minty gum, and lots of it. Stepping through the doors of Wal Mart was like taking my life into my own hands, and not for all the usual reasons. The orgy of cacophanous smells that assault my nostrils every time I go in that cursed place is enough to make me resort to this:


or, at the very least, this:


A couple of weeks ago I gave up my beloved coffee because I’m pretty sure it was killing me softly with its song. At first, I thought chai tea would be my go-to hot beverage substitute. I liked it a lot. It tasted great.

Shortly thereafter, I bought a chai tea latte from Starbucks one morning and with one sip a loud and persistent bell began going off in my head: ALARM! ALARM! STEP AWAY FROM THE CHAI! IMMINENT REVERSAL OF DIGESTIVE GRAVITY LIKELY!!!

So that was disappointing.

I drank hot chocolate this morning, which was okay, but now my heart is beating like a tiny bird trapped in a net and I think I won’t be doing that anymore either.

I miss my darling evil little coffee friend. It’s the one thing that still smells good to me.

Y’all know I’m not complaining. I mean, yes, I’m complaining, but it doesn’t negate my abundant delight at the reason behind the world smelling like one humongous waste processing plant.

I best be off now. I have to make a shopping list. My family insists on still getting hungry at regular intervals, which means I must brave the wilds of the grocery megalopolis and its deli-burnt-fried-chicken-shoe-leather-bleach-floor-cleaner smell.

Pray for me.


I went to the doctor the other day. The OB. Is there any other kind?

I didn’t want to go to the doctor. He’s a nice Christian guy but I can never decipher whether he’s looking at me with pity, disapproval, or affection. I have tried many times to make him laugh and only succeeded a few times over the years. I think I’m a pretty funny person, but he makes me doubt myself. It would be nice if he’d just flat-out proclaim how he feels instead of keeping his professional opinion under wraps. I could handle that better.

If he disapproves, I could tell him to shut his pie-hole and thank me for the repeat business.

If he thinks I’m awesome, he could scream “W00t!” and go for a high five.

The mental image makes me giggle.

He doesn’t congratulate me this time. We’ve done this dance often enough to know that would be premature. Instead we chat and he nods and shuffles the papers on my chart and says “well, let’s just go down the hallway here and see what’s going on!”

In the sonogram room, I get the distinct impression that he’s not looking forward to this anymore than I am. We’ve been through this more than a few times, and the gentle delivery of bad news is wearing on him…of that much I’m almost certain. He doesn’t turn on the big projector that is turned my way, but keeps his eyes on the small screen for his eyes only. The seconds feel like hours.

“Welllll….” he begins. “We actually have good news today!”

A smile. He turns the big screen on. There is an island of life within, a little strobe light of happiness dancing in the depths. A heartbeat.

Dates are perfect. Growth is perfect. And the heartbeat, of course, could be nothing less.

There are no guarantees in life, ever. My children are gifts, the ones who fill my house with chaos and the ones whose faces I have not yet seen. I have had 8 pregnancies evaporate into mist, go straight from hope to heartbreak. Yet this one, I feel strongly, is destined for terrestrial things.

I’ll be 42 this year. I’ve never felt so acutely that these baking years are coming to an end. I’m okay with that.

But I’m happy for one more chance to fire up the oven.

Just a Quicky

Hi folks! This has to be short and sweet on account of me going away for three days and leaving my family to wail and rend their garments. I have a lot of garment mending to do.

No, not really. They did great. Didn’t even NEED me to come back. Didn’t even WANT me to come back!

Okay, so maybe they wanted me a little bit. I tell myself so, anyway.

Mostly this concerns the raffles (posts below). Apparently we were breaking some sort of rule with Paypal by raising money to bring orphans home, since apparently Paypal is against such shenanigans, or against home, or maybe just against orphans in general, or maybe it’s run by a community of busybodies who want to make sure your money is spent on purely self-indulgent things like perfumed body powder and bonbons, or perhaps they are a group of humorless automaton droids who don’t understand the concepts of philanthropy and general magnaminosity and the idea that someone might actually honestly be raising money for a great cause, because their hearts are nothing more than gears and cogs and bits of moldy string.

I’m a little het up, if you couldn’t tell.


You’re the cream, is what you are. The creamiest cream. Please be sure to check over at Kate’s adoption blog regularly to see what sort of progress they are making towards bringing the girls home. Right now she has a really cool thang involving a jigsaw puzzle. You’ll have to pop over there to find out more.

Without further ado (are you paying attention, Paypal droids? Affix your glassy robotic eyeballs this way!), I will pick winners for the jewelry and the HOME letters. Ready?

Okay, the way I went about this was to print out the names of all the folks who donated as per what the receipts showed. So someone who donated $25, say, got their name put in the hat (a literal hat, might I add) 5 times. And so forth. I would have taken a movie of the falderall but that would have required me locating my Flip camera, wresting it away from my 9 year old, discovering that there was no room left on it, deleting 50 movies of stuffed animals shrieking and flying through the air, running out of battery juice, and then finding that I have no more batteries and all my rechargeables are dead.

Honestly. I can do without that sort of stress in my life at this point.

SO. The winner of the jewelry is a sweetheart named AMY WERNER. Amy, congratulations!

The winner of the HOME letters is a generous soul called ROBIN BEEM. Congratulations, Robin!

We already know where you live (pretend like that doesn’t sound as creepy as it does), so no worries about sending addresses and all that. Just sit tight and expect your goodies any day!