is that cornbread I smell? I think I smell cornbread...

I don't even know. You don't even know. 

I have this thing I do, and it’s called “Naming My Autobiography In Everyday Conversation.” I also like to make everything into the title of any sort of book. It’s a pretty annoying habit, but it can be entertaining when the timing is right. For example, just now my roommate had a boy over (not unusual biznat). So I reintroduced myself to this boy, who in this story we will call Dave. You see, Dave and I had met before, but he didn't remember.

I’ve discovered that since being on the yearbook staff in high school, I have been cursed with a sore cursing. I remember everyone and nobody remembers me. If you do remember who I am, it’s only because I did something embarrassing or said something embarrassing to you which made you feel embarrassed for me, and now that feeling of humiliation has been stamped on your brain forever. “Oh look at that poor blogger who once bled all over her pants and then her tween-crush saw her in that awful state, oh the poor, poor blogger lady.” See what I mean?

So the point is, I said to Dave, “Hi Dave. We’ve met before.”

Dave: “We have?”

Me: “Yes.” (isn’t this riveting)

Dave: “Are you the couch girl?”

Me: ‘I’m sorry?”

Dave: “You’re the girl that was on the couch that one time.”

Me: ????????????? (pretending like I don’t remember but if anybody deserves the title “Couch Girl” it’s probably me, and I guarantee you I wasn’t wearing a bra that time either)

Dave: “I’m pretty sure it was you.”

Oh great, I’m thinking. He only remembers me as couch girl. The girl who is constantly invalid and probably has to have her fruits and veggies blended up to the consistency of Gerber baby paste and fed through a tube while she watches Office reruns through her thick bifocals because her sight has gotten terrible because she never looks at anything besides a computer screen because she is COUCH GIRL. 

So I said the only thing I could think of in that moment which was, “Yeah. It’s me, ‘The Girl Who Was On The Couch That One Time: An Autobiography.” He looked perplexed. I finished tying my shoes and walked away. 

I have been naming my autobiography for the past year. And now you can too. Simply chime in with “An Autobiography: By Me” anytime someone says a phrase that you feel personifies your life. 

To help get you started, I’ve compiled a short(?) list of my current ideas. The list keeps growing. help. I’M ONLY 24. When I’m 80 it’ll probably say stuff like “I Went On Thunder Mountain and Peed A Little” but it will still be true.  Just different, is all.

p.s. all of these are straight-up excerpts from my journal circa 2014. I just capitalized the words and made them into book titles. SHA-BOOM.

• I Used My Roomate's Razor Because I Left Mine in My Room & Now My Legs Are Itchy Do You Think This is Karma Rash?
• On A Scale from One to Making a Mixed Tape How Serious Is This Relationship?
• I'm Pretty Interested In Eating A Lot of Bread
• I Should Probably Do It But I Really Don't Want To
• I Burned My Mouth On A Hot Roll Because I Was So Hungry, Not Because I'm Hardcore
• Work, Cry, Bike, Food, Cry Some Mo' (the entire journal entry was this sentence. NO CHISME)
• I Took A Nap at 10:30pm #WishIWasJoking
• The Ratio of Dark Chocolate Covered Pretzels I Have Eaten to Number of Tears I Have Cried is DIRECTLY Related. What A Dumb Sentence.
• Life Would Be So Much Easier If I Was a Raccoon Who Dropped Smooth Jazz Albums For A Living <-- this is gonna become a doodle. mark my wordzz

I'm on a horse. ...or is that a donkey..??? gUYS WHAT are AnimaLS EVen

maybe if you're a guy maybe you shouldn't read this (but maybe you should)

here is a picture of me being uncomfortable and wearing a jacket around my waist (this will be important later in the story)

I was taught from a young age that we must keep journals. We absolutely must keep a charming (but not too wordy) record of our lives for our posterity! To 8 year old me, that advice apparently translated to “You must write every single day of your life about the upcoming talent show.” I, for one, can’t imagine my future children wanting to read anything else about my childhood besides the Minuet in D. Reading those entries now is a big joke, because my childhood was just about the most hilarious mini-series that nobody ever knew they needed on their local cable network. This essay is simply me doing my future self a solid, since it’s likely I’ll get Alzheimer’s and may not remember the day in 1996 when Danny Woodruff jumped from the third tier of our treehouse and landed on his feet like some kind of feral cat (and then ten years later he was the star quarterback and it just felt like poetic justice). 

If you are a girl and have been to a sleepover (I mean…if you are a girl you have most certainly been to a sleepover), then you undoubtedly have played the “Truth or Dare” game (or some sick derivative like “Truth or Truth,” which should just be called “A Confession Session,” and should be saved for church). You have probably also been exposed to the painfully loaded question, “What’s your most embarrassing moment?” As if simply being 14 years old wasn’t embarrassing enough, now you have to pin down just one singular moment? Well, I had one that I have since filed under “Things I Hope Never Happen to Even My Worst Enemies, And That Includes the Guy in the Library Who Tripped Over My Power Cord, Almost Destroying My Computer, and Then Winked At Me.” Of course, this particular moment could not possibly happen to that guy or any guy for that matter because yes, it had to do with the omnipresent sloughing of my uterus, or as one friend has crudely named it, my “per-per.” I know.

Now, before we delve into this, you should know that I had already had a few really awful moments surrounding my period. But the last one took the cake. Took the cake and shoved it in its mouth (cuz that's what a period would do if a period was a person). 

Exhibit A: The day I started, I was at my grandmother’s house and my two friends were with me. We were having a sleepover (what else). I woke up in the middle of the night thinking I had been murdered. My grandma stumbled bleary-eyed from her bed and handed me what looked and felt like a small diaper. I’m sure the look of confusion on my face resembled that of a possum before it gets hit by an oncoming car. “I’m supposed to put this where?!?!?” (I’m ignoring my excess punctuation rule for this story because you would use that many question marks and exclamation points too, if your grandma was telling you, a 12 year old girl, to put on a mini-diaper). I later threw up in a bucket from the garage, screamed at the sight of my own blood, and my father gingerly patted me on the back while simply saying “It’s all a part of growing up.”

Exhibit B: The first day I had to go to school while I was on my period (the horror!), I begged my mom to let me stay at home. She looked at me like I had just asked her if I could give up my pubescent lifestyle and start dealing cocaine on the streets with a band of dwarves. In other words, she said no. When I got to class I was still trying to calculate when I would need to use the bathroom next. Panic-stricken, I decided to go during the 6-minute lapse between English and Social Studies. Mrs. Baum, my mustachioed teacher, wouldn’t notice if I was late, right? Mrs. Baum was most often horizontal, on her couch, because she had back problems. It was a special treat being taught Egyptian history from the throes of a La-Z-Boy. Did I mention she had a mustache? Okay. 

When I got into the bathroom, I was the only one. Until about 5 minutes later, when an 8th grader barged in. She sounded like she had a nose piercing. I know she was wearing Adidas Superstars because that’s what every single popular kid wore back in 2002. And also you can get a pretty good view of someone’s feet when you’re in a bathroom stall. She, however, did not get into the stall next to me, like most people in public bathrooms do even though there are plenty of empty ones far from yours (ask me how I feel about this…go ahead.). She stood outside the stall and actually looked through the gap. The “I have no more privacy” gap. She gave me the hairy eyeball and asked me, no demanded, “How old are you?!” I was in the middle of my feminine hygiene routine and obviously should have said “younger than you are…now go away before I salmon-slap your face.” But I didn’t. I was terrified of her nose piercing and her Adidas Superstars, and I stuttered, “S-s-sixth grade…?” She snickered, turned around, turned off the lights, and walked out. At which point I buried myself in a hole in the ground. Just kidding. I went back to class, having forgotten all about Egyptian history, Mrs. Baum’s mustache, and Superstar Adidas. Spoiler alert: I did get some Superstars in 8th grade. I know, I know. Sellout. 

Now, for the piece de resistance! The scene was thus: Mr. Tiemann’s 7th grade math class was in session. The hour before, I had discovered that I was leaking. Quite literally, like a fire hydrant. This is no hyperbole. My jeans were going to have to become acid wash, which is sad, really, because acid wash hadn’t come back in style yet and would not for another 15 years. But I digress. I put my hoodie around my waist and figured I could weather the storm until math class was over. Plus, Jacob Young was in math class. I have since looked Jacob up on Facebook. He’s bald now and fixes dirt bikes for a living while simultaneously bathing in Red Bull. I’m kidding about that last part (he showers in it. Who even takes baths anymore?). However, Jacob was the apple of every girls eye all throughout middle school, and I was no exception. Something about his….well….I’m not really sure what his allure was now, but it will come to me later maybe. The point is, I endured further discomfort and potential humiliation/public shunning for a boy. An Autobiography, By Me.

I sat in my chair and reasoned that all would be well, as long as I didn’t have to get up at any time during class. Mr. Tiemann never called me up to the front to do problems anyhow (everyone knows I don’t do math—math does me). I patiently sat and waited for the bell to ring, distracting myself with my split ends. Suddenly my name was being called. I was…being summoned? I stood up from that chair feeling exactly like Mulan felt when she faced the general of the Chinese army and volunteered for her feeble, crippled father! But I didn’t have to chop my hairs off at any point. I then felt my hoodie fall from my hips, almost in slow motion. As it fell, taking my pride and dignity with it, I looked over at Jacob Young. He was, of course, staring at me. Cue the sad violin music. 

A couple of years later, Jacob started to pursue me. At one point, he even asked me to “bear his children.” I thought it was a pretty awful way to propose, especially to a fellow 14 year old, but then I remembered the Incident. He probably remembered too, and was taking advantage of the fact that I was fertile. 

honestly I didn't know how to end the post except with this picture

Merry Christmas...??

Where I Went, And What Happened To Me When I Got There (in other words, every blog post ever written by anybody)

somebody recently told me I look Asian and asked me if I had Asian ancestry..???

I went to a concerto (are you guys bored of hearing about all the shows I go to because I'm not bored). It was in a sketchmeister part of town, like most good concerts are. We drove past a group of hobos, which made me mega-depressed and a little bit scared because I used to live in Mexico so I trained myself to cross the street whenever I saw vagabundos because they were almost always drunk and in a following-mood. SO I said that and Trent goes, "If I was a bum, I would have the most pimpin' shopping cart. Totally hipster." And then all was well in Zion Trent's truck.

yay concerts. we stood in the front row and I photobombed some 15 year olds. Man I wish I had a copy of that snapchat. :''(

Trent (I honestly can't think of a caption but if you know him I think his name will suffice)

I went to a wedding reception. Upon arriving, I was immediately set up with a boy who showed up a few minutes later. Judging by the amount of stares he threw in my direction, I deduced he had also been informed about me. OOF. So then I left my phone on the other side of the table for 10 measly minutes, and some other guy who shall not be named (mostly because I don't know his name) stole my phone and took selfies with it. I call them "The Subtle Sandwich Selfies" now. He was apparently trying to get a picture of the boy behind him, who was my almost-husband. This almost-husband saw these weird pics of himself on a Strange Girl's Phone (that's me). 

Almost-husbands are kind of rare these days. I dunno what I'd blog about without them, though. He gave me a very strange look like, "Yo, why didn't you just talk to my face instead of employing this boy to get some not-so-subtle pictures of me?" Spoiler alert: I did not leave this reception with anybody's phone number except the Self-Help Hotline's (which also happens to be the number for Taco Time).

There's 5 pictures like this on my phone. Should I frame them? 

I went to the new Bruges Waffle place on Center Street. And now we interrupt this broadcast to ruminate briefly on the hell-hole that is Center Street.

• Center Street has no left turn lanes. But what do people do when they have to turn left? They awkwardly get in the middle of the road past the median, where pedestrians sometimes decide to use nonexistent crosswalks. #bless
• The speed limit is 15 MPH, which is the same speed limit in residential areas AROUND SUPER CURVY CURVES IN THE ROAD. Ok?
• Center Street is flanked with parking, and also parking right down the middle, so good luck maneuvering your large vehicle down that road. Ha. Haha! And you thought it was for driving!
• Center Street contains almost all the good restaurants in Provo, hence why I go there. Also, Pioneer Book. But I prefer to bike there so I can maintain my Hipster title. You know?

So I'm sitting on Center Street right in front of Gloria's Italian Restaurant (apparently it is very tasty). Gloria's is muy popular and so there were lots of witnesses to this awful crime. The crime that shall be known as #JERRYWAYNE forevermore.

He was in a huge truck, he backed right into Falcor, Caitlyn banged on her window cuz she was about to get crushed, I honked my horn that I found out doesn't work in that moment (I mean), his truck was actually lifted up by the force of my car because my car is really a tank, and I think I started laughing hysterically as soon as he realized he was crushing the bones of my car and almost our bodies, and did not stop laughing hysterically until my waffle sandwich had been consumed 30 minutes later.

P.S. the waffle sandwich was mediocre and not worth the 8 dollars. But I bet the dessert waffles are rockballs awesome.

I rode my bike to campus, which was beauteous of course because when is campus not? Hint: when it is covered in ice, that's when. As I rode my bike there, I crossed the street 1,356 times and almost got run over 1,356 times. One guy even flipped me off. It was glorious. I gave him my very best muppet face and rode away. I think he and Regina George will be very happy together.

Oh yeah! And I went camping.

 ...And turned my Tinder back on for a couple days. It was worth it.

I get why raisins are made in California now

On Saturday I was at the beach. It was incredibly hawt. I spell it like that because 1, I have a college degree and therefore I'm allowed to sound like I don't, and 2, there was a surfing competition going on and, well....it was hawt. Ya dig?

I was foolish and didn't wear a swimsuit because I wasn't planning on swimming. Look. I grew up going to the Oregon coast every summer, and nobody swims in that water unless they're wearing a full body wetsuit. But in California, people lay out on the sand and get skin cancer??? With swimsuits on. They never actually get in the water. This is a thing! Well, I got a nice sprinkle of freckles on my face and legs, and saw some dolphins, which reminded me to shave my legs later, and saw some cool surfing tricks all while getting shriveled up by the sun. Conclusion: California is an excellent place to turn grapes into raisins (it's not a metaphor).

Here is what it's like to road trip with my younger siblings. The scene is thus: we're trapped in an enclosed space for 10 hours. Ellie has to empty her bladder every hour or so. They need snacks every 20 minutes. I bring all my library books and a box of Dramamine. We play the license plate game for a measly 10 minutes until one of them cheats and the whole game goes down the tubes.

I started to write this in my phone somewhere between Nevada and California, and welp. That's all I have to say. WELP.

Bad Ideas I Have Executed & Then Immediately Regretted Thereafter

1. Eating no less than four (that's right, FOUR) whole wheat muffins on a road trip to California [this very road trip, as it turns out], far from any rest stop.
2. Jumping off of my best friend's trampoline onto a "tower" of silky pillows because I thought it would be like a waterless slip-n-slide. That was the 14th sprained ankle of my childhood and also the worst. My mother made me take crutches to church, which was just about the most humiliating thing for a 12-year-old girl. Don't forget the orthopedic socks. Er...sock. It was all wrapped up in a nice Single 5ever Package. Although nowadays if I had crutches, I'd milk it. As I mentioned in my last post, I don't get embarrassed easily.
3. Creating a Spanglish email address for myself in 10th grade which would follow me into oblivion, or at least the age of 25. My dad likes to pronounce it incredibly poorly, just so I know how foolish I look to universities and banks. "Pelly-Ree-Jo-Jo-Runner." To be clear, I'm not a male redhead and I can hardly call myself a runner. /end
4. Stalking a friend of a friend of a friend (bless the internet for giving me this capability) and then accidentally liking one of his pictures which was 58 weeks old. The fear I have of repeating this mistake is only equal to the fear I have when I'm locked out of my apartment, my bladder is full, and my keys are buried at the bottom of my purse. These fears are real and are not to be challenged.
5. Listening to the song "Taxi Driver" at least 50 times in a row so I could memorize the lyrics and impress my friends at a birthday party I was going to (you don't have to listen to it, guyz, but really, the entire song is made up of band names, so that's cool). I actually walked around the block where the party was being held like 5 times, the song on heavy rotation, until I'd burned all the words into my brain. I mean, I know the lyrics now and that's great but I can't add that to my resume. And the only memorable thing about that birthday party was the cake made of doughnuts. Bless it. 

Things we said to each other while on this trippity-trip ("we" mostly meaning Ellie):

Ellie spilled a bunch of pencil shavings all over her seat, and said to my bro: "Don't talk to me now, I'm in crisis!"

My dad was channel surfing in our motel the first night and kept landing on novelas (Spanish soap operas). He paused on an especially flamboyant one and my mom said "I can feel a swear coming on..."

We drove through a wicked rainstorm between St. George and Arizona. Most people were pulled over with their hazard lights on, but my dad kept plowing through. The lightning and thunder were so intense that at one point Ellie said "Can we please turn on a movie?! When I'm doing something other than lightning I'm like 'YAYY!'" Lightning is a verb now, you animals.

My parents were discussing where the nearest Costco was so they could get gas. Ellie chimed in from the backseat: "Hey! Hey guys we should go to Costco and get smoothies. I mean since you guys are talking about Costco."

Caleb started to spit for no reason. Well, I guess he's a 12-year-old boy, so that's reason enough. Mom said "Cal why are you spitting?" {silence} "NO SPITTING!" Familiezzzz.

Ellie, to my mother: "Mom, just put some chips in this cap." {As she extends her upside down baseball hat to my mom} 

"No. I'm not going to put food in something you'll put on your head later."

But everyone knows Ellie rarely wears hats. She basically uses them for storage purposes, the same way she's used anything with a concave opening since the age of two. 

Ellie, on the way home (we were all on our last legs, mentally, if you know what I mean): "Can we just throw Caleb out the window?" 

But really. We did have a good time. Lest you think the entire trip was like that. Just don't put us in a car for very long or we'll start muttering death threats and throwing Cheez-Its (the second thing actually did happen).

it took way too much effort to make this 6 minute video and I'm not even doing a makeup tutorial

I made this for you, Liz. And all 5 of my followers. Bless. The "effort" part I am referring to is the "getting the video from my phone to my computer." Granted, I did get distracted by another cat video, so that tacked some time onto it. ANYhow.

Couldn't figure out how to make it huge on here so just click the "YouTube" icon and you can watch it FULL-SCREEN! Yaaaa technology!

this is coming from a girl who just ate two cookies and is about to go for a run

I was walking to my car this morning, wearing my hoodie like I always do, but this time I really did need that blue hooded sweatshirt. And I realized that, quite suddenly, fall is here. I blinked and summer was gone. Oh, summer. You were kind of a (insert swear word here). 

Yesterday in the temple, I felt overwhelmed--really, that is not hyperbole--with Heavenly Father's love for me. It's not loud and it doesn't ever really surprise me. It's this comforting feeling, ever-present (if I'm looking for it), and it doesn't ever change. So, listen to me, all of you girls or boys who think nobody loves you.

You're wrong.

The same person who created the Swiss Alps and the vast oceans and the Redwood trees and the endless galaxies--He made you, too. And He loves you the most. Got it? I can't reach through this computer screen and shake all of your respective shoulders, but pretend like I am....just humor me for one second please.

I am now going to demonstrate how to get through hellacious weeks like this last one was. Because we all suffer through those days every once in awhile...maybe more than once in awhile. Maybe every day is hard for you. P.S. It's not a sin to be sad. More on that later. Or here, if you want. But sometimes the sad gets to be too much for one human heart to hold. We weren't created to be sorrowful all the time....but if Satan can, he will make you feel like that's just the way it is for you. Your life sucks. So deal with it. 

I'm sorry, but Satan is a real jerk. And we all (errybody currently living on this planet, and other planets too, if I'm being technical) have the power to "crush his head," metaphorically speaking, since he doesn't have a head. Ha. 

One of the ways I "crush his head" (gosh, it's really fulfilling to use that phrase in relation to Public Enemy Numero Uno) is to run. I talked about this a little bit when I ran my race earlier in the summer, but yeah....using those bodies of ours for good is a really awesome (and healthy, two birds with one stone, heck yes) way to stick it to Lucifer. Running is my favorite because it clears my head, and challenges me, and reminds me that I am tough, and I can do hard things, even when I sometimes really don't think I can, or want to. Hellooooo run-on sentence. 

So I started to run again, because I'm running another half (don't wanna talk about it right now), and also because sometimes the insanity of my day-to-day life is too much for my idle body to take. I have to, quite literally, run away from my demons. Good news is: my demons aren't long distance runners. They can't keep up with me. *insert thumbs up emoji here*

The second thing I have started to do is move towards those really freaky, really uncomfortable goals of mine, which have long been in the back of my mind but I have yet to do anything about them, simply because I'm skeered out of my britches. Another great word: britches. Anyhow, I just thought,
"Hey. Why don't I just see what happens if I try this out?" And you know what happened? Immediate peace and joy. Serious. It was immediate. Rumi said "When you feel a peaceful joy, that's when you are near truth.” We all know that to be straight-up, because Rumi said it, and if someone named Rumi hit you with his car you'd probably still forgive him. His license plate would probably say 'OMMMM" and that's all. You think?

Another thing you can do is stop worrying. This is easier said than done, Chancho. I am a Professional Grade A Worrywart. I have Melatonin spray by my bed, if that helps support my claim. I mean. (BT-Dubz, melatnonin spray produces the most awful and crazy dreams, so unless you're Desperado like me don't use it PLZ). But the way you do this is to let go of what you have no control over. Just let it go! Release those ashes into the wind. Tie an anchor to them and drop them into the ocean. You aren't a coat rack. Don't let other people hang their problems onto you. Don't hang useless problems onto yourself. It's just not worth it. Now I say unto you, let it go.

How about a happy list to take us out? (This happy list is ONLY pictures, for all of you whose eyeballs are currently falling out because of all the text written above, SORRYIMNOTSORRY).

from le other blog (cept for the last two pics yay)

It's Friiiiiiiiday. Go watch Mother's Nature's light show tonight and make your future grandbabies proud (but only if you're in the northern USA, sry)

shtuff my little siblings say

Many moons ago, when I was a wee 17 year old, I had a section of my journal that I dedicated solely to the things my little broski and sister said. Because somebody had to be the Keeper of the Blackmail in our family, and I figured it might as well be me.

Some excerpts are taken from my mama's old blog, and told in her voice. Rrreeady and letzgo.

Caleb's Greatest Hits
A couple weeks ago, I picked him up from Aaronic Priesthood meetings, and he said to me, very matter-of-fact, "Kenzie, you're like the only hipster in our family. You like...have swag." I don't think he even knows what swag means, but. Okay. 

Caleb, texting me: "So are you dating Tinder now?"
Me: "Huh? Oh, Tinder isn't a person."
Caleb: "But your Instagram said something about Tinder."
Me: "Tinder is just an app that tells you what single people are in your area."
Caleb: "Oh yeah. I'm getting to that age."
Me: "You're way too young for Tinder, bucko."

Caleb, during scripture study: So God knows everything?
Dad: Yes, everything.
Caleb: So then He must've memorized the Gettysburg Address!

Caleb: So we could inherit everything God has?
Dad: Yes, everything.
Cal: So even God's fancy cars??!

In 2009
Mom: Cal, what college do you want to go to?
Caleb: The same college McKenzie is going to.
Dad: What if you could go to Harvard or Columbia in NYC on a scholarship?
Cal (thinking about it): Yeah! Then I'd live close to Pennsylvania so I could get some of those big soft pretzels!

(The following story is told from my mom's point of view, after my parents let the kids watch a particularly terrifying episode of Planet Earth. A.K.A. animals eating other animals. Wolves, to be exact)

"Caleb has been fixated on the topic of wolves ever since. When Caleb gets focused it is near impossible to pry his little mind off of a topic.

Every day since then Scott and I have entertained not a few conversations on the subject.
Here are a few of my favorites to date.

Upon hitting his head on a bench at school last week he declared to his father. "The back of my head feels funny. Like a wolf bite."

And yet another....
"Mom, what if wolves came into our house?" To which I replied,"Cal there are no wolves in this area."
"They live in Utah mom!"
"They live further north of here."
"But what if they did?"
"The only reason a wolf would get all the way down to our neighborhood would be if he was hungry and couldn't find any food between here and were he lives hundreds of miles away."
"What if he was hungry?"
Me (getting a little exasperated): "Cal the only way a wolf could come in our door is if we let him in. If I can manage to keep our dog out of the house I think I can keep a wolf out."
"But wolves are stronger than our dog."
Sigh. "Honey, that is just so unlikely. I am 42 years old and I have never known anyone who had a wolf come into their house."
"I bet grandpa knows someone who did."

And tonight's was a highlight as well. Caleb had a soda he had picked up at the school carnival on Friday which he was saving. After opening it up and taking a sip he exclaimed, "This Sprite is very spritey! I don't like it!" 

I replied, "Yeah, soda has carbonation in it and that's what makes it so fizzy. I don't like it much either."

"Mom, what if you poured Sprite down a wolves' mouth?"
"I don't know Cal what if?" (Scott has started laughing. I am not laughing. I have had perhaps 50 versions of this conversation and the humor is lost on me)
To which Caleb replied, "If you made a wolf drink Sprite would it kill him? You know the carbonation?"
"I don't know son. I don't think anyone has tried to give a wolf Sprite."

Caleb, whilst riding in the car: What the heck, Ellie! (but he didn't say heck)
Parents: Cal, heck is a swear word. 
Caleb: Oh. Well can I say 'sweet sister Francis' then?

Ellie: "Zack says he's gonna marry me when I grow up."
Mom:" He did ?!"
Ellie: "Yeah, he says when I get big we're getting married."
Caleb:"When I get big I want a yellow Mustang. How much will that cost me?"
Dad: "About $32,000"
Cal:"Can I start working for you and Mom so I can have enough money to buy my car now? I am tired of going in the slow lane."
Dad:" Cal, how old do you have to be to drive a car?' 
Cal: "16. Well, if you guys pay me for doing extra chores I could have enough." 
Mom:"Son we would have to give you over $3,000 a year for you to make enough." 
Cal:"Well, can you please start doing that?" 
Mom: "No." 
Cal:"I want to start a lemonade stand tomorrow. Can you and Dad buy me some lemonade so I can sell it?"

Ellie's Filterless Mind
Ellie, 2 weeks ago (no context...but then again I never get context): "Kenzie, I can't believe you're not butter."

Ellie: "Mom. If you put a rubber band in your mouth what will happen?"
Mom: "You might choke."
Ellie: "Yeah, and then I would go to sleep."
Mom: "No you wouldn't go to sleep, but you might stop breathing and then you could die."
Ellie: "Jesus died"
Me: "Yes, but he didn't choke on a rubber-band."
Ellie: "Yeah, Jesus knows how to eat good food."

(As told by my mom) Once when doing the laundry Ellie asked me what a certain article of clothing was. I explained that it was for women. She concluded that this meant that the article itself was in-fact called "A Woman" and that you wear it on "your Womans." [Writer's Sidenote: my dad only furthered this delusion by also calling them "Womans"]. Sunday I took the kids over to the young-adult ward to hear their dad speak. We sat next to McKenzie. In the middle of his talk Ellie exclaimed "Your womans are HUGE!" I consoled my eldest daughter by telling her that no one else knows what Ellie means. Until now. Sorry.

A few months ago, at the breakfast table:
Cal: Kenzie, did you have a boyfriend once?
Ellie: Yeah, did you?
Me: Umm yes.
Caleb: do you have one now?
Me: no.
Ellie: but you've had one before?! is he your EX boyfriend now?
Me: can we change the subject?
Ellie: have you ever talked to a hippopotamus before?

Ellie: Do you have an imaginary friend?
Me: No...do you?
Ellie: Yeah. She calls herself Rosa Parks.

Ellie, to moi: When you get married I'm totally going to take your bedroom. [pause] So get a date!

Ellie: Could a zero-year-old do karate?
Caleb: With God's power!

Me: The remote is over here if you want it.
Ellie: Thank you for saving my life.

Ellie: Mom's favorite ride at Disneyland is the one with the pirates.
Me: That's my favorite too!
Ellie: Wanna know what my favorite ride is? "The Hug Kenzie Ride."

Ellie, in family prayer while I was away at school: ...And please bless Kenzie not to get drunk. Or be rude to people.
Mom: Um....Ellie?
Ellie, opening one eye: Well, just in case!

Friday, April 10, 2009. 7:40 a.m.

Ellie: Why is it Easter?

Mom: Because Jesus died and then he came out of the tomb

Ellie: Yeah. Because somebody zapped him.

Mom: What? Did you say zapped him?

Ellie: Yeah, zapped him. Bibbity, bobbity, boo!

(When Ellie was 5 years old; as told by my mom): Yesterday morning I walked through the door after an early temple session. Ellie was waiting for me on the other side. She said,"Mom! Where did you go?" I said,"To the temple." She said,"Was Jesus there?" I said,"Yes." and then she she dropped to her knees, gave a trademark scowl of disappointment and said, "OH! I wanted to see Jesus!"

And, for the finale, a story Ellie wrote about Griffey, our dog, when she was a baby (still is...but, you know):