LAFF On Saturday: Lulabelle Reviews Kool-Aid Jammers (Pretty much because we needed one for a photo shoot and accidentally bought 10.)……

Last week was the first time I had one of those Kool-Aid pouchy drink thingy’s that are marketed for kids.

And I felt like a kid. Which is strange because when I was a kid, we didn’t have fun drinks. I mean, it’s not like they didn’t exist, but my parents didn’t buy them. Something about artificial coloring and too much sugar blah, blah, blah. We did have Kool-Aid in the you-make-it-yourself form, but we could not put any additional sugar into it.

Sounds fun, right? πŸ˜‰

So for my birthday we indulged. And it was glorious. And each pouch didn’t last nearly as long as it should have. Ah, to be a child and think that pouchy thing was the coolest (when you got it at Grandma’s or a friends) even though in reality it only took 4 sips to empty the entire pouch.

So onto the review….This one will be short and sweet.

To sum up, this tropical punch flavored drink tasted exactly like Hawaiian Punch, albeit not as sweet. Like if you were to dilute Hawaiian Punch with water, this would most likely be what you’d have left.

It also reminded me of a childhood experience at the dentist. I was maybe 10 or so and was about to get flouride for the first time. This is the thing where they glop this pink pudding/jello-y stuff into teeth shaped trays that are blue and have a bill on the center so when they stick it in your mouth, you look like a duck.

The first time I was to have this done the dental tech told me what was gonna happen as she filled the trays. Then she mentioned that you had to hold the trays in your mouth with your mouth closed for 2 minutes and not swallow the entire time.

Up until this point in life I had never gone longer than a few seconds without swallowing, so I began to panic. And suddenly I decided I really needed to go to the bathroom. The tech bought my excuse so I ran into the bathroom (What? I wasn’t going to completely lie and run out of the building or something. πŸ˜› Besides, I couldn’t. My mom was sitting in the lobby by the front door) and stood there until I figured there would not be enough time for me to get flouride.

It worked. My flouride treatment was rescheduled for my next visit and I went home happy that I had dodged that goopy tropical punch flavored bullet. (Oh and by the way, I forgot to tell you the dental tech told me that the flavor of the goop was tropical punch which is why I’m telling you this story. I guess you could also see this as some sort of confession involving lying about the state of my bladder. Told here of course to relieve my conscience. Or something.)

So dear reader, if you never had fun drinks in pouches growing up, or anxiety at the dentist where you ended up lying about the state of your bladder, you are not alone….. and I don’t blame you one iota! πŸ˜‰

Cheers!

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PS: Prayers and positive vibes go out to my favorite baseball team, the Cubs, as they play game 1 in the NLCS against The Dodgers tonight. You got this, boys! #IAintAfraidOfNoGoat

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When You Need an Umbrella And an Ark…….#Bloggertunities

**Blogger’s Note: Because of the busyness of life at the moment, this post took about a week to put together. Please note that the cab AC is now working and my teeth don’t hurt as bad.


Have you ever hear the expression, “When it rains, it pours”? The basic meaning behind this is that when something bad happens in your life, there is more behind it that rains down on you before the clouds finally break and a glorious rainbow emerges.

We are in the middle of the pouring stage and I kinda want to give whomever thought of this catchphrase a piece of my mind….or a well planted kick in the teeth (or an attempted kick. I just turned 37 and my legs don’t have as much range of motion as they did in my 20s πŸ˜› ).

Let me rewind a few years. Yes, years. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the short version πŸ˜‰ . So a couple years ago our water heater seemed to be close to death. It was leaking and Chad and I began trying to figure out how we were going to pay for another one. Then a few days later, the leaking mysteriously stopped. Feeling like we just got a little bit of relief, we put replacing the water heater on the back burner and focused on other things that needed to be replaced.

This is also something you do quite often as an adult. Delegating crisis severity.

Anyway, our hands-off approach seemed to work for our water heater until the other weekend when water began to leak more freely into the basement. We knew something had to be done. Like that day.

So we enlisted the help of a few amazing friends and set about replacing the water heater. Realizing this was going to be a big purchase, Chad drove our car and our friend drove his truck to pick up our new water heater with the goal of putting the water heater into the truck to bring it back to our house.

And what happened next can only be blamed on Murphy’s Law, and the fact that it’s us.

On the way out from the parking lot in our car, the serpentine belt FELL OUT from underneath our car.

Like, fell out onto the parking lot.

I don’t know much about cars, but apparently the serpentine belt is pretty critical piece of equipment for the operation of the car.

So if you are keeping track, our water heater bit the dust on the SAME DAY our car’s guts literally spilled out onto the parking lot.

*KERSPLAT!!*

Thankfully we were able to replace the water heater without going into debt and have it installed on the same day. Also, having a car die wasn’t a huge deal because we have a back up company car that Chad is allowed to use when he’s not at work.

Can you tell where this is going? Yep.

I’m not exactly sure why the cab stopped running a few days after crisis #’s 1 and 2. According to Chad, something overheated and apparently that’s a bad thing.

So without a car we had to scramble to get a few needed errands done this week. And part of that scramble included walking home from an appointment. I gotta admit this wasn’t too too bad because it was only a couple of blocks and it was a beautiful day.

Pretty romantic jaunt if I do say so myself. A much needed reprieve from the stress of our recent crisis’.

Then as I write this Chad is home from work because the company car’s AC is out. And I’m sitting here typing this while my back right wisdom tooth is just throbbin’ away.

Yeah, it’s been a long couple weeks!Β  πŸ˜€

Since blogging almost 2 years, I’ve begun to see life differently. Now when crisis hit or weird things in my life happen, I ask myself,”Would this make a good blog??” For example:

1. Did your water heater die and car bite the dust on the SAME DAY? Blog it!

2. Did you leave a cup of coffee in the dead car for three days? Drink it and blog the results! (After googling the effects of three day old coffee on the body πŸ˜‰ )

3. Has your stubborn cat refused to take her pill and you are about to pull your hair out? Send her to her aunt’s house with pill instructions and go on vacation! (OK, some situations don’t merit a good blog πŸ˜› )

It’s like I’ve begun to say recently, “It’s not a crisis, it’s a bloggertunity!”

Chad recently ran with this concept and on my birthday presented me with new internet domains with “bloggertunity” in the address. I don’t know what we’ll do with these, but I’m kicking around a couple of ideas I’ll share later.

So dear reader, if you are having trials in your life, don’t think of them as crisis….they are just bloggertunities!! So just start writing and keep watch for the rainbow to burst through the clouds.

I’m rooting for you. Remember you are never alone. πŸ˜‰

Cheers!

 

 

The One Where Lulabelle “Practices” Restraint…..

Chad and I just went to the store to get stuff for my Gourmet Smore’s birthday party that will be held on Saturday.

I kind of wish we had waited to buy stuff till the day of because now I have to NOT eat any of it for 3 days.

I don’t think I thought this through! πŸ˜›

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Here we have a few packages of Hershey’s snack size mini’s, graham crackers, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups (most likely the first to go if I have a craving πŸ˜› ), strawberry marshmallows (We wanted Peeps, but we were told they were out of season. Something tells me this is a lie πŸ˜› ), Pumpkin Spice Oreos (Doy!) and Star Bursts.

Check back on Monday for some photos and recap of the event. πŸ™‚

Cheers!

The Art of Acting Your Age…….

This weekend began a month long celebration of the day of my birth. And I have to be honest, I’m not so sure I was ready to turn…..37.

I turned 37 this weekend despite my apprehension.

For some reason odd numbers annoy me. Like if I can’t divide you evenly by 4, I don’t want anything to do with you. But Chad did mention that 37 is a prime number, so I guess that’s good.

Although I don’t look 37. Which is a genetic miracle in and of itself because I take after my mom in most ways, so it was almost certain I’d go gray in my early 30’s. Which, if I’d do this now, it really wouldn’t be a big deal because one of the emerging trends of 2016 is, no joke, to dye your hair GRAY! (Apparently there are advantages to growing older in the 2000’s πŸ˜› )

And most days I don’t feel 37. Until the moment I sneeze and pull a muscle. Seriously, this happened last week. It was quite disorienting.

So now my question is, how do I act 37?

I mean I already pay bills, take fish oil and I’ve started doing a stationary bike on a regular-ish basis. That’s hard on these 37-year old knees though. Oops!

So because I don’t look 37 (seriously I was still carded when I went out to dinner last night), is there an exactly correct way to act 37? I mean, could I in theory put on a tutu and a hello kitty necklace and drink a juice box while sitting at my desk? I tested this out last night:

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I don’t know about you, but this seems like a completely normal 37-year old activity.

I think this mind set that acting your age is a relative activity runs in my family. My own grandpa taught us all that. And October is the anniversary of his promotion to heaven.

Grandpa was the next to youngest of 12. All of which–with the exception of two or three–lived into their 90’s, never entered a nursing home, and worked till the day they died. My grandpa was no exception.

A farmer by trade, this man was still working on the farm and climbing 100 ft. barn roofs well into his 90’s. As he was also blind in one eye, this of course made his children a bit nervous. “Dad!” my aunt would say, “You can’t do that anymore! What if you fell??” Grandpa would nonchalantly reply, “Oh don’t worry about that. I have a system.”

A system.

He never explained what that actually meant. But that was all of an explanation he felt was needed. My grandpa embodied the concept of not acting your age.

The last week of his life was pretty epic. It started out pretty normal. My grandpa did yard work around his house and then grabbed a chainsaw to prune one of his trees. While standing on the 20 ft. ladder with the chainsaw (it was on), he lost his footing and fell off the ladder. He survived the fall but broke both of his legs. After being airlifted to the hospital at the larger city next door, he went into surgery where they reconstructed BOTH legs with pins.

Oh, I forgot to tell how old he was when this all went down.

97.

Yeah, I told you this was epic. πŸ˜‰

Guys, he SURVIVED surgery and was put back in his room to wait for a space on the rehab floor to open up. When he awoke, he inquired of the nurses when they thought he’d be able to get back on his three-wheeler again.

He wasn’t reverting back to childhood. He legit had a three-wheeler that he rode around the neighborhood.

My grandpa perfected the art of acting his age, by shattering the stereotype that a man in his 90’s should just sit around waiting for death, while maybe reading a book and playing an occasional game of canasta. He embraced life to the fullest and “younger” activities with zeal.Β 

So if you, like me, are feeling a bit apprehensive about turning another year old, take heart. You are not alone. So strap on a tutu, drink a juice box and ride around the neighborhood in a three-wheeler.

Carpe Diem, y’all! β™₯

LAFF on Saturday: The Reality of Marriage…..

Chad called me last night and told me he was on his way home. I looked and felt a bit gross, but dang it, he was coming home and I wasn’t expecting him till much later.

Feeling giddy as a teenager, I quickly roller-balled myself in my favorite perfume (that I keep conveniently in my purse for just such an occasion), ran a comb through my hair and swiped on a little lip gloss.

Yes, this seems like overkill, but I have a history of doing things big. For example, in college I’d typically wear my finest clothes and make sure to wear my string of lucky pearls on exam days because I read an article somewhere that said dressing up for exams gives you a better score.

I still graduated in the middle of my class.

At least I tried? πŸ˜›

Anyway, back to the present. After I swiped on my lip gloss, I began to realize I may have roller-balled too much because while I did smell my perfume, I also began to get a headache and suddenly all I could smell is Clinique Happy. It’s like this tiny roller-ball of scent had suddenly morphed into that one guy at the gym who tries to compensate for his sweat by dousing himself in a bottle and a half of Canoe before his workout. Oh, it definitely takes care of the smell of sweat, but you now need a gas mask to use the elliptical. And you can’t get away from the smell even though you are half way across the gym from him.

At least it didn’t matter any more that I forgot to put on deodorant. πŸ˜€

Happy weekend, y’all!

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Β Here is my literal bottle of Happy. She is small but beware…..put too much on you may find people moving away from you at the gym. πŸ˜‰