Purely Purnell

Agency Jeapordy

2012-01-27T23:40:00.000-08:00

This is an easy-peasy sharing time. (got the idea from sugardoodle last January and it's been a sr. primary favorite since.)

Basically there can be between 2-4 teams. Unlike regular jeopardy there is no betting, just points earned. Each team has a chance to pick a question. If they can't answer it goes out to everyone.
1. true or false
2. Fill in the blank
3. Guess the song from the clue
4. identify the picture
(you can find all but the council in heaven in the gospel art book at lds.org)

These questions reflect some of the discussions we've had in our primary. (anyone else get asked really hard questions by their primary?!?!) I put each question on the back of cardstock and then the points earned on the front and stick them up on the board with glue dots. (FYI, those little suckers stick to everything! the last time we played this I went home with about 10 of them stuck in my hair. My kids were totally grossed out.)

Yes or no…maybe?

100 – In the pre-existence I choose to follow god’s plan (T)

200 – Good Choices lead to Freedom and misery (F)

300 – Heavenly father wants all of his children to return home to him (T)

400 – Our Choices here on earth determine our choices in the eternities (F)

500 – to be foreordained means we have to do something (F)

To __ or not to __

100 – Agency is the ____ to choose for ourselves (Gift, right)

200 – Every choice has a _______ (consequence)

300 – ___ of the hosts of heaven followed Lucifer (1/3)

400 – ___ lead to captivity (Bad choices, decisions)

500 – _____ Determine Destiny (Decisions)

Do you know what I hear?

100 – teach me all that I must do ( I AM A CHILD OF GOD #2)

200- I’VE LEARNED THIS TRUTH, A FAMILY IS FOREVER

(I LOVE TO SEE THE TEMPLE # 95)

300 – I WILL ALWAYS WALK IN HIS WAY (I WILL FOLLOW GOD’S PLAN # 164)

400 – I’LL PREPARE MOST CAREFULLY (FAMILIES CAN BE TOGETHER FOREVER # 188)

500 – Let Wisdom Mark the way before (choose the right #239)

Picture this

100 – Lehi’s dream

200 – council in heaven

300 – Joseph Resists Potiphar's Wife

400 – Enos Praying

500 – Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego

Adventure at Boy Scouts

2011-07-02T21:01:00.000-07:00

Though, according to Bryant, there really was no adventure. Wednesday evening my sister got a call from her husband. Wait - let me backtrack a bit. This past week my son, nephew and bro-in-law all went to scout camp. They left Monday morning, at 4-freakin-am. (in our house 4 am is a bedtime) The call on Wednesday was to let us know that their scout troop was trapped on the wrong side of a flooded river. Apparently everything, merit badges, mess hall, and the road home, were on the opposite side. According to the local news (it actually made it into the paper) it was a precarious situation with food being passed to the trapped boy scouts by a rope and pulley system. Needless to say I was anticipating an exciting story when Bryant finally made it home. We weren't sure - because of the terribly precarious situation -when the boys would actually make it home. To my surprise Bryant walked in the door today around noon. When I asked about his ordeal he rolled his eyes, scoffed, and said it was 'no big deal'. I was a little grumpy this morning, er...afternoon, and did not appreciate the teenage attitude, especially when I was expecting something exciting, something worthwhile to blog about. Alas, thanks to my almost fifteen year old boy, I have nothing.

The week before Lauren was at girls camp. This past week Bryant was at scout camp. Of course, as a good mother, I missed them both terribly and could not wait for them to get home. However, as a bad mother.....and I believe I'll stop right there.

Sniff....

2011-06-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

We had to get a new car. It's shiny, and sleek and doesn't smell like fifteen years of use. I don't like it. I mean, as a car it's fine, but I miss the old one, the one that was completely paid for, the first car Carl and I bought together, I miss our little red corolla. So what if the paint was chipping off, it shook when you drove it, and we had to jimmy rig the handle with wire to get it to open...hold on I'm having a hard time remembering my point. New car vs. old car...new car not as good as old...why is new car not as good as old? Did I mention that the corolla was totally and 100% paid for? Let's be honest, that's a big bonus point in the corolla's favor. That and the fact that after fifteen years, 338,000 miles, and at least a dozen spilled smoothies, we didn't have any problems or issues with the corolla (besides the funky smell of dried smoothie sitting in the sun. Yowza! That'll clear the sinus's.) not one! The day Carl traded-in the corolla I texted him and told him to take a picture. He texted back, "I already did." Sigh...what sentimental old fools we've become.

A very blurry picture of the corolla. Sadly it doesn't show my attempts to 'repaint' and 'recover' the fading and chipping paint. I won't say anything more on that subject except Carl still shudders when he sees me with paint in my hand.

I thought we would simply get another corolla but apparently I was wrong. Carl wanted something sportier. (the whole 'accelerating on it's own' thing with the newer corolla's didn't help either) Carl might have said sportier, but I heard smaller. How in the world was my six foot six macho man going to fit into something smaller? He already drove the corolla with his head touching the ceiling. And it's not like corolla's are known for their vast and roomy interior. A friend suggested we get a Lexus. Why I don't know. So far we haven't hit that independently wealthy part of our marriage. Plus, a Lexus isn't Purnell friendly. My mom had a Lexus and our experience with it wasn't exactly Lexus ownership encouraging. Carl was just too tall. If he wanted to ride in it, or drive it, he had to open the sun roof so his head would have someplace to go. I would have made fun, but I had my own issues. Whenever I drove I had to sit so close that, every time I checked my blind spot, my chest would honk the horn. Needless to say we did not get a Lexus. We got a Honda Civic Coupe - two door. And Carl actually fits better in it than he did in the corolla. The seat sits back and low so his height is an advantage. As for my height, there's no way I'll be driving the new car. Not unless I can figure out a way to see over the dashboard and get my feet to touch the pedals at the same time. But, on the bright side, at least there will be no chest honking.

I hate Blogger

2011-06-11T00:17:00.000-07:00

I guess I really can't blame them for my own technical handicap....though it's much nicer than blaming myself. I had purchased a domain for my other blog, planet tiff. (I know, super creative name right) I guess it required an annual payment, which I did not pay. Now my blog is gone and I can't figure out how to get it back! You'd think the people at blogger would make it easy for me to give them money. Apparently no...you have to be some sort of computer genius - like build your own dvr and stuff. (have I ever mentioned that my baby sister brought such a person into our family? My bro-in-law literally built himself a dvr. I can't even operate one and he built one!) Sigh...you'd think after a semester of some sort of computer class - taken in 1992 - would give me the knowledge I would need in a situation like this. It hasn't helped at all and I don't think my less than stellar grade in the class has any bearing on the situation either. Maybe the fact that computers in 92 were the same size as a kitchen table but definitely not my grade.

One of my family members - I won't say who - made the comment that blogs disappear after six months of inactivity and that's why my other one has faded into oblivion. Hahaha. To think I gave this non-mentionable person life. Not to mention that I allowed him to watch a six hour 'The Nanny marathon with me.' Hmmm, wait....maybe there's a connection there.

I'm actually supposed to be writing a talk for Sunday. (at our church people from the congregation speak, not a paid clergy) As you can see I'm working really hard on it. I figure I'll just get up there and wing it. What's the worst that can happen? Oh yeah. Me. Speaking. In front of people. Bad, bad and more bad. I'm sure at some point something inappropriate will come out of my mouth. Not intentionally mind you...it just kinda happens on it's own. Considering I'm a lousy secret keeper, that's a lethal combination. Oh well, wish me luck! (and that you've never told me anything embarrassing, illegal or otherwise incriminating.)

I leave you with my current favorite picture. My baby girl is growing up so fast!

Almost resolution time!

2010-11-19T00:07:00.000-08:00

Are you ready?

Being in the fitness industry I hear, a lot, about people's different resolutions. 99.9% of them have to do with weight loss. Since my job depends on just that I am incredibly supportive and encouraging of their efforts. Here is where it gets real. Most of these people will not make it to the end of January. Why? Because Hershey's, Cadbury, and the makers of M&M's somehow make their chocolaty goodness addicting. I can think of no other rational explanation. Why else would someone, not me of course, but someone, eat an entire bag of M&M's in one night? Why I ask you?

Through hard earned experience, I have learned some very valuable keys for effective and lasting weight loss. The first is very simple, don't eat an entire bag of M&M's yourself. Second, the use of a pedometer can be a great asset. A very great asset indeed.....if you remember to put it on. Sitting on the couch waving it up and down, while a great idea in theory, does not work. I don't know why, it just doesn't. Third, and the last for tonight, use a scale. Mine is an excellent prop for some unstable shelving. It is just the right height and very sturdy.

Following these steps will help you achieve your resolution of lasting and effective weight loss. Now where did I put that bag of m&m's?

My book

2010-11-17T22:31:00.000-08:00

I have decided to post the first chapter of my book. I'm hoping that some of you will actually read it and let me know what you think. Carl says I'm procrastinating the whole publishing thing...and he's right. So, I figure that if I get some feedback first I might get the guts to actually do something with it.

The link is on the right side of my page, and it's entitled 'The Chronicles of Sheila.' Good luck and happy reading!

Is it pathetic to make yourself laugh?

2010-11-17T17:27:00.000-08:00

Or find your own post funny? I sincerely hope so. I'd like to be pathetic for something other than being in my pajamas's all day. I was reading through all my previous posts (all five of them) and came across this one. What I find funny is the fact that I am in the same place (bookwise) now that I was then. Sigh....

I, Tiffany P., have written a book. Not surprising to anyone who had the sad privilege of growing up with me. As a kid I could spend hours creating different stories and fantasy worlds for my brother and I to act out. (No matter what we played my brother always insisted on being called Steve. For the life of me I don't know why, especially since his name is Reed. I tried explaining to him that vampires, monsters, and fairy princess's, even the manly ones, don't go by the name Steve. Somehow during this explanation Reed would end up crying, or mad, and I would get into trouble. I don't remember why I was always the one in trouble, but I'm pretty sure it was Steve's fault.) One of the problems with an overactive imagination is that the lines between fantasy and reality become blurred. If that line is not kept strictly in check, you chance the possibility of ending up with one incredible, albeit talented, liar. As we all know lie's, like boomerangs and acne, always have a way of coming back to you. Before you know it you'll find yourself in a crowded room, as the 'expert' football commentator, even if you've never actually watched a football game before in your life. Not that I ever did that or anything.

Getting back to my point, I have written myself a novel...or is it a book? I'm not quite sure what differentiates a novel from a book. Is it the heaving bosoms? Which brings me to another point. What does a bosom look like when it heaves? To me the word heaves is associated with tummy trauma. I may be wrong here but that seems like somewhat of a passion killer. Although, the only reference I have in that department is when someone, (I'm not saying who since I promised Carl I wouldn't use his name), accidentally burped in my mouth. I did not feel passion.

This book I have written has done nothing but sit and collect dust for the past year. I've toyed with the idea of trying to get it published, but have never really done anything about it. Well, this week, I decided that I was going to do it! I went on-line and got submission guidelines from a few different publishing companies. One of these companies requires you to fill out an author questionnaire. I was happily filling it out when I came to a really weird question. They wanted to know: 'what is your pens name?' I'll admit, for the thirty or so years I've been around, I've never been asked that. Never. Since I'm not a publisher, nor ever been one, I figured they could ask whatever they like. So I wrote down Bic (my pens name). Apparently there was no S at the end of pen. It's amazing the power that one tiny consonant has. So if you ever see a book written by the author Bic, you'll know who it is. I don't know how, but something tells me Steve was involved.

Christmas Spirit

2010-11-16T15:18:00.000-08:00

Carl says, even though it's a little over a week away, that I'm not allowed to have Christmas Spirit until after Thanksgiving. I say BAH HUMBUG to him! If it were up to me the Christmas decorating would start the day after Halloween. Forget all this orange and brown. Give me green, red, and silver. The more sparkles and glitter the better.

I started my Christmas protest by decking out my blog in yuletide happiness. Next come the outside lights. This weekend the Purnell house will be blinging it Christmas style. I'll probably wait until Thanksgiving day to start the rest of my decorations, but only because I'll be too tired putting up the outside lights (it's the only time of year the bushes and shrubs are pruned. Gotta look good for the lights, even if it does take me an entire day, two ladders, and a pack of energy drinks to get it all done).

My big decorating project is my Christmas Village. Way back in the olden days, the 90's, my mom started collecting the Dept. 56 North Pole Village. Eventually she had over fifty houses! I guess that was too much because she split her village between the five kids, only keeping a few houses for herself. That was the start of my own North Pole craziness. Thankfully Bry loves the village as well. Every time I add something new to my collection I tell Carl it's really for Bry. I know he doesn't buy it for a second but it makes me feel more justified (although Bry heard me say that and now he calls it OUR Village. It doesn't bother me at all).

Below is MY village the first year I displayed it. We'll pretend, for Carl's sake, that this is still the extent of my village. Although this year I have the train depot and train set, as well as the Polar Bear palace. I especially love the palace because, well, it's a palace.

I will never-ever-never put it behind the couch like that again. First of all, how is anyone to feel like they are actually in the North Pole if there is a big green couch in the way? No, that just won't due. Secondly, anyone who sat on the couch came away with fake snow and glitter stuck to them. Every few days or so I'd have to add more! Geesh, what a pain.

I'm really excited to put it up this year, but am dealing with a space crisis. It's gotten so big I might have to use all of the living room furniture to pull it off. Nobody actually uses the living room....right?

Exercise...why?

2010-11-15T12:37:00.000-08:00

I have this crazy idea in my head that I am going to lose five pounds and get in better shape, at least that's what my brain has decided. My body on the other hand enjoys sitting on the couch eating a variety of chocolate products. I've been running three times a week. Actually, I don't know if I would call it running. Fast walking while wheezing and dry heaving would be more realistic. Anyway, I haven't noticed much of a difference on the scale. (could be that when I'm not 'running' I'm on the couch partaking of the chocolate goodness.)

One of my running hindrances is an injury. A couple of months ago I tore my hamstring and it just won't get better, even when I try to placate it with chocolate. I hurt it doing yoga, something that is supposed to prevent an injury like that. I was in the middle of class, teaching of course, and tried to go into a really challenging pose, that I knew I couldn't do. Apparently I thought the audience would somehow enable me to do said pose, they didn't. "POP" went the hamstring. I'm pretty proud of myself for not bawling hysterically (I saved it for the stall in the woman's bathroom) and finishing out the class (we laid on our mats in corpse pose for fifteen minutes). Anyone else ever dealt with something like this? How did you let it heal and work out at the same time?

Needless to say, my motivation is somewhat lacking, even if I am watching Regis and Kelly while stomping away on the treadmill (have you seen that woman's arms?!? Double dog dang!) So I thought I'd get my kids involved to help out. Sounds like a good idea right? We decided that we'd go hiking up at Round Valley, a beautiful regional park a few miles from our house.

Here we are in the car, at the start of our first co-workout together. Notice the enthusiasm, the happy faces, everyone looks ready to roll. (and I am rethinking the teeth-together grin, maybe even a wax or two before my next close-up) The park is less than ten miles from our house. It took us almost an hour to actually get there. If you ask the kids they'll say it's because I got lost. I contend that I was merely taking the scenic route.

After touring the back roads of Brentwood, we finally made it to Round Valley. The kids insisted we have another photo op. Wisely I chose to stay out of this one. If you look closely you'll see the strap across Laurie's chest. Bry and I tried to convince Lauren to carry a camelpack, but she insisted on carrying her Indiana Jones bag. I told her that it was, in actuality, a purse and not a real Indiana Jones bag. For those of you who know my Laurie-girl you can imagine how well THAT went.
Things were going well, we were having fun,...until our first hill. The second hill was even more miserable than the first. Lauren spent the rest of our uphill ascents telling me, bry, the coyotes, and anyone within a mile radius, just how miserable she was and how much she hated hiking. Bry didn't complain. No, he had us stopping every five minutes to take a 'break.'

This is one of our many, many pit stops (and there were a lot of them). Bry, as smurf-like as ever, is still smiling away, (probably because he knew we were only five minutes from another break.) Lauren on the other hand paused her complaining long enough for me to take this picture. That's her 'I'm in hell' smile. Do you see the notebook in her hand? (just one of the many unusual things she pulled out of her 'bag'.) She was composing a hard copy list of her complaints. So, just in case I wasn't listening to her, I could read about it later. Great.

In spite of the complaints, plethora of stops, and general slow pace, we finished our hike in just under two hours. Good times. We haven't had a group workout since.

Let's give it another try

2010-11-10T23:28:00.000-08:00

I've decided that my blogs don't have to be unbelievably amazing, and/or earth-shattering to be read. In fact, this can be the most boring blog in the world and people will read it! Why? Because eventually people get bored enough and will read anything.

So I've been thinking of a way to summarize, in three sentences, the last year of my families life. So here it goes:
Carl and I both had surgery, less than two months apart, and find that when unsupervised our kids can and will eat a week's worth of groceries in a day. Pain killers make Carl hallucinate, when Carl hallucinates he wakes me up at all hours of the night, which in turn makes me grumpy. (make that grumpier, having no food to eat makes me grumpy) Bryant started High school, Lauren's in Jr. High, and they still eat like a varsity football team.

Speaking of a varsity football team...I think tomorrow is Veteran's day. What I do know is that my kids don't have school. So here it is 12: 45 in the morning and I'm thinking I get to sleep in. Wrong! I totally forgot that I have to teach cycle in the morning. Drats, I hate having to act perky when I'm so tired. (it's bad enough when I'm not) I wonder what my class would do if I brought in a lounge chair and cue cards. Instead of yelling motivational things at them I could just hold up a card and wave it around a bit. Better yet, I could get someone else to hold up the card for me! Wait a minute, my kids don't have school tomorrow. And they thought they weren't going to do anything fun.

How pathetic

2010-03-10T23:48:00.000-08:00

I am reduced to 'borrowing' from my other blog. I keep saying I'll blog more on here, but obviously I don't. Sigh...

One of my sisters recently asked why I don't post more pictures. After I got done laughing, and realized she was serious, I tried explaining that it would be cruel to do that to my readers (all three of them). The writings of my brain are scary enough as it is. Adding pictures would be nothing short of traumatizing. Why you ask? Because I've seen the selection and it is not pretty.

First of all, my nostrils never cooperate with me. Without fail, just when a flash is about to go off, my nostrils flare to the size of a couple of quarters. Well, maybe not a quarter. I tried sticking a quarter up my nose once, just to see if it would fit, and thankfully it did not! (I mean no disrespect to those few who have super pliable, or unusually large quarter fitting, nostrils). Once I realized the quarter wouldn't fit I tried a nickel, which totally fit. I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet. How do you determine appropriate nostril size? I imagine the size of one's nose, or bridge of the nose, would be important. As would the length. Do the rest of the face ingredients matter also? I mean, if you have small eyes would it make large nostrils even larger? What about someone with super puffy lips? How about small eyes, puffy lips, and no chin? (again I mean no disrespect to the small eyed, puffy lip, chinless, pliable nostril people out there. Although, if you do fit that description I would love a picture to help with my nostril sizing quest). Yes, these are just one of the many things I wonder about. That and spiders.

I should probably mention that shoving a nickel up your nose isn't exactly pleasant. First of all, you're putting a nickel up your nose. Nickel's do not smell good. In fact, they smell like a nickel. Secondly, if you push the nickel up to far you risk the chance of it getting stuck. If you are an adult who just 'happened' to stick a nickel up your nose, and it gets lodged, no one is going to help you get it out. They will laugh...hard, and most likely take a picture or two, but you will be left to dig that nickel our on your own. (FYI; do NOT use a toothpick. Unless your looking to give yourself another nostril). It's not like you can go to a doctor either. I mean, I guess you could go to a doctor...and forever be known as gold-digger girl. (apparently nickel-digger girl doesn't sound quite as good). ~by Planettiff.com~

Another blog attempt

2009-12-27T21:27:00.000-08:00

I swear this is my last attempt. Okay, so it may not be my last attempt, but I'm sure it's pretty close to being my last. Yes, I have started another, just for me, blog. This year my New Year's resolution, (my running record for resolutions is three days) is to post on both blogs at least twice a week. So, for the readers of my blog, which consists of me and my mom, I will do my best not to disappoint. Without further adieu I give you Planet Tiff!

www.planettiff.com

So what now?

2009-12-27T17:46:00.000-08:00

Christmas is really over. I am dealing with the after Christmas melancholy. It feels like this Holiday season just started and now it's over. (and I don't think it's because I procrastinated pretty much everything.) I'm thinking of starting a petition to merge Thanksgiving and Halloween. Which is a pretty wonderful idea if I say so myself. First of all, there would be no required baking for the Thanksgiving dinner. This is a good thing for those of us not gifted with the baking gene. Everyone eats the Turkey feast and for dessert we trick-or-treat. Not only do you get a little post-dinner walk, you also have the costume option. Think about just how convienent that would be! A large, roomy costume with lots of give is just perfect for such a day of feasting. No more tight pants or loosening of the belt.

As for Christmas, everyone knows we like to party Purnell style. Purnell style almost always includes mishaps and/or injuries of varying sorts. This year we almost made it without any injuries...almost. Our safety record was broken by a kid wielding a vegetable peeler. How is it possible that such a tiny cut can bleed so much? As for the mishaps...how was I to know that you should put Ham in the oven for at least an hour? You'd think after all the raw and undercooked meals I've accidentally served my family they would be smart enough to give someone else Pork duty. I tried to convince them that a little salmonella poisoning would guarantee a memorable Christmas but did they listen? No. Apparently now that my kids and nieces and nephews can read lying isn't as easy as it once was. I could just stop lying, but where would the fun be in that?

The truth

2009-11-30T11:52:00.000-08:00

So here it is, nothing held back, the honest to goodness truth...I like to write. In fact, I've written a novel. For some reason admitting that is very difficult for me. I don't know why. I've searched my brain for answers, wrote down some of my weirder dreams, (Freud would have a field day!) and tried hypnotism. Quick note; it is very hard to hypnotize yourself. For a second I thought I might have succeeded, but then realized I had dozed off. Even with all of this extensive research, I am no closer to discovering why. Although, I believe that is why my Christmas cards get sent out in July and my blogs aren't very regular.

The only reason I am actually blogging today is to get out of cleaning. We started our Christmas decorating on Saturday. (when I say we I really mean me. I am married to Carl the scrooge.) I forgot that decorating is WORK. Cleaning up after all that decorating is even more WORK. Urgh. It was so much easier when I was a kid. The only thing required of me was to put ornaments on the tree. Later, when she thought we were sleeping, my mom would take all the ornaments off the tree so she could redecorate it. It sounds tedious, and you may wonder why she went through the effort. Actually it wasn't much of an effort for her since we had a tendency to put all the ornaments on the same branch. Not only was our mode of decorating efficient, it also made sneaking the candy canes that much easier.

A star is born

2009-11-25T13:39:00.000-08:00

Last week Bryant was in his Jr. High's production of 'The King and I'. He played the Prince with the hard to pronounce name. Not only was he the cutest actor on stage, but he was also the best! I claim no motherly prejudice or impartiality when I say this. He really was the best. (and if you don't believe me just ask his dad)

Last year we were privileged to sit through all three performances of the "The Music Man.' While it was enjoyable, I have to say one night of watching a Jr. High musical is very preferable to sitting through three nights of a Jr. High musical. (esp. if your cute actor kid is the one adjusting his 'costume' onstage. As a mother, how do you mention to your teen son that everyone, including said mother, saw him do this? Simple answer...you don't.) Rumor has it they are doing 'Oliver' this spring. Pray for me.

I've got an excuse and, believe me, it's a good one...

2009-11-13T23:19:00.000-08:00

and once I figure out just what it is, I'll let you know. Hmmm.....what's a good excuse for a blogging hiatus? (besides laziness)

Okay, okay, I know it has been a LONG time since I've updated. Good heavens, Halloween has already come and gone, leaving me with nothing but tight jeans and inferior candy. Why, I ask, do I buy the good candy knowing my kids will bring nothing in return but a bag full of bubble yum and smarties? (Our Canadian family should know that American smarties taste like little disks of chalk sprinkled with pixie sticks. Together this mix makes some killer teeth fuzz. Orange juice and Doritos are also good at this.) I think there should be a sliding scale for trick-or-treaters. We'll ask what their parents are giving out, and if it's not one of the big chocolate five, raisins it is.

As for my arch nemesis, 'The cat who Poops in my yard,' his evil genius status is confirmed. Long story short, Mr. Kitty made the mistake of doing his evil business in my sister's yard. (she lives three houses away from me) This infuriated her husband, Adam, into action. It took him three days, and a variety of food, but finally Adam caught the cat! (as well as a skunk-but that's another story) He took 'The cat who Poops in my yard' for a little drive. (no black bag or shovel included) A blissful week followed in which there was no cat fragrance to fill my nostrils. All of Mr. Kitty's poo bombs were disabled leaving us free to frolic at will. Yes, peace was restored to our land. Then, frightfully, little signs began to appear. Things like the occasional whiff of something nasty, or a suspicious looking pile on the lawn. Also, there was a decidedly evil presence in the air. Oh, I tried to deny the signs. I looked for any possible or plausible explanation, (my family vehemently denied any culpability) but deep down I feared the worst. Alas, my fears were confirmed. 'The cat who Poops in my yard' had undeniably returned. It was a black day for the Purnell house. A black day indeed. I fear the future may involve a paint-gun and Bryant's commando p.j.'s.

Too early

2009-10-07T08:18:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep. No matter how hard I've tried, my body has decided that it is time for me to get up. How did this happen?!? My body NEVER wants to get up before ten. (and that's on a good day) I'd say hell has finally frozen over but my arch nemesis, 'The cat who poops in my yard,' is still going strong. (and apparently eating quite well)

I have to give 'the cat who poops' some kudos. He has so far been able to elude not only me, but animal control as well. A friend suggested that I try sprinkling my yard with cayenne pepper. Since I'm a 'more is better' person, I bought a dozen or so bottles of the stuff. First of all, Mr. Kitty did not mind the cayenne. Seems he fancies a little spice in his life. (bad pun intended) It did, however, bother me......as well as my husband, the neighbors, the mailman, Fed Ex guy, newspaper delivery boy, and anyone who was unfortunate to have walked by. And that was BEFORE the sprinklers hit.

Since I wasn't having much success on my own, I brought in the big guns. Thankfully my 11 year old nephew agreed to help. He brought over his cat trap, (I've learned not to ask questions anymore) and rigged it using tuna fish as bait. Mr. Kitty, it seems, has a refined palette. He prefers things such as my newspaper to a can of tuna. As if it wasn't bad enough to find him still free,'the cat who poops in my yard,' did just that....right in front of the trap. I can't decide if Mr. Kitty is an evil genius, or just really, really dumb. For the sake of my pride, let's go with the first.

Bored kids are obnoxious kids

2009-10-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

Our school schedule is a little different from most. It's like a modified-modified version of year round. The kids start school the last week of July and end the first week of June. During the school year there are three major two week breaks. We are currently in the middle of two week break #1 and I have realized something very important...bored kids are obnoxious kids. (and they know all my hiding places)

I've tried giving them things to do, but everything I suggest they think is lame. According to them no kid wants to spend their break cleaning or making sock monkeys. I tried using Julio, my personal sock monkey, to persuade them otherwise but they just gave me that 'my mom is SUCH a dork' look. (I told them to be nice, dorkiness is a genetic abnormality and it they get it from both sides) If the last week is any indication, my children have decided that fighting is a TERRIFIC way to spend their break. I haven't decided which is worse, bored and obnoxious or bored and snippy.

These children have been threatened repeatedly with beatings. I think that's why they've stopped bathing regularly. I tried forcing Lauren into the shower, but she's got me by 3 inches and 10 pounds. (and, according to her, a whole lotta rage) You turn the shower cold on your kids a couple of times and suddenly they don't want to bathe. I just don't get it.

New Site

2009-10-01T23:54:00.000-07:00

Originally this blog was meant to be a family blog. Somehow, not sure how, but somehow this blog hasn't turned out as intended. SO, starting RIGHT now, Purely Purnell will truly be about the entire Purnell family. HOWEVER, I know I cannot quite writing about my own personal escapades, so I have developed another site. Give a big hand for.....

TIFF's TANGENTS!!!

I am currently looking for a better name so if you have any suggestions please......suggest them..

If silence is golden, then duct tape is silver

2009-10-01T22:53:00.000-07:00

I can't take credit for that brilliantly, brilliant insight. That was straight from the lips of my thirteen year old. (he's a genius...takes after his mom. You know, the parent who's not allowed to touch power tools) My little man just returned home from Pismo beach in which he; rode a dune-buggy, enjoyed a sand storm, and survived a tsunami. What more could a scout ask for?

Golf, golf and more golf

2009-09-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

I write this as I am sitting in a golf cart. Why am I in a golf cart? It’s not because I am currently involved in a golf game. No, I am sitting in a golf cart as a show of support to my Carl. You see, my parents have been out visiting for the last week or so, (we are on the ‘or so’ part) and one of my parents favorite things to do is golf. My dad plays while my mom sits in the cart and does her counted cross stitch. Carl decided that we too should do this. (Golf, not counted cross stitch) We are now on the eleventh hole. I was done after the third. Turns out driving a cart isn't as fun as it seems. (FYI, they do not allow or condone the harassment of the golf course geese.)

The current golf game aside, having my parents visit has been very nice. It seems that my children’s behavior improves dramatically when they are around. I believe it has to do with the amount of sugar and junk my dad buys them. They know the better behaved they are (meaning then quieter they are. Let’s be honest, my parents don’t really care if my kids are being naughty or not, as long as they are being quiet.) the more candy and junk they get. In less than a week my children have turned into saints. Not even Super-Nanny could perform a miracle like that.

Other than golf we haven't done too much of anything.

Yeah, Lois is going to kill me for that. I've already done worse, so I figure what the hey. You see, a few nights ago she went out for her nightly walk. I did not know that my mom went outside for a nightly walk. Since it was night, and I do live in California, (another reason one would not expect to find their mother outside at 11 pm) I locked my doors. By the time my mom returned I was brushing my teeth, completely unaware of her predicament. Thankfully Bry heard and let her in. According to Lois, she knocked and rang the bell for almost five minutes. BUT, according to the timer in my toothbrush, it couldn't have been more than two. Since the time discrepancy really wasn't all that pertinent, I apologized and told her Carl's 'snake story.*

As for Wayne . . . .Lois and I have decided he needs more sleep and less sugar. We made this decision after he spent a solid fifteen minutes using an English accent. (no toothbrush timer required) I have to admit, however, his English accent was rather impressive. Besides the accent and golf, Wayne has also been doing water aerobics. It started out as merely lap swimming. Half-way through his laps he noticed the pool filling with bathing suit clad seniors. Somehow the instructor bribed Wayne into trying the class out. I had the privilege of peeking in . . . he was so cute! By far the class member with the most energy. (and who can blame him? They were grooving away to some wicked Neil Diamond remix. And as anyone who has ever tried water aerobics knows, that class is not easy...especially if your swimming method of choice includes the words 'doggy' or 'paddle.' Which Wayne's does not.) I know he's my dad, but in my expert opinion (as a certified aqua instructor who has never actually taught an aqua class), Wayne is a natural aqua student. (as well as a fine Englishman)

*One of the things that Carl and Lois have bonded over is their mutual fear of snakes. A few months back Carl came home from the gym and found a 'visitor' hanging out by the front door. What followed is commonly referred to as Carl's snake story. (he freaked, ran over and got me at my neighbor Holly's house, Holly tried to corner the snake, Carl stood across the street yelling, "You're so brave Holly! So brave!", I laughed and laughed and laughed and then told everyone)

And he's going. . . . .

2009-09-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

To TEXAS!

Congrats Ry on your mission call.

How we Purnell's like to party

2009-09-10T21:47:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how frank our society has become. I am constantly shocked at some of the questions I get asked. Like yesterday, somebody asked me if I was still happy after 14 years of marriage. I tried to think of some witty way to say, "none of your bee's-wax," but the person asking was a bit too quick. (probably because I've been married to him for 14 years) Seriously though, I do get asked that question a lot and not always by my hubby. I guess it's hard for some people to believe that Carl and I would still find each other interesting after so many years, and what is our secret? I simply tell them that is the beauty of mental illness. Crazy people are interesting people. They laugh, realize I'm serious, and never ask me anything again. That could explain why we're not invited to more social gatherings, but I digress. Honestly, I find that life is interesting enough no matter what your mental state and Carl and I have had enough interesting experiences to last a lifetime. Heck, most of our anniversaries would fit under the 'interesting' category.

Our first anniversary was spent with a 3 week old baby in Richmond Utah, at a Carlson reunion, with my dad. Wayne graciously agreed to watch Bryant so Carl and I could go out to dinner. I believe we hit the Wendy's drive through and continued on to the only private place we could think of...the Richmond cemetery. At the time hanging out in the cemetery seemed perfectly logical. Looking back, however, I can see that spending your first anniversary in a cemetery can be considered...well...weird. (just another example of a mental illness bonus-everything is weird, therefore nothing is weird...which, in a way, is weird)

Another memorable anniversary is the one where we 'camped.' As a kid I loved camping. Maybe because all my camping experiences involved my grandparent's fifth wheel, meaning we always had running water and flushable toilets. Thinking myself to be some great outdoors-man, who just loved roughing it, I eagerly suggested camping for our 3rd anniversary. (doesnt' that just sound like such fun?) Carl, who claims memory loss at any of these events, agreed and so we pawned Bry off on our friends, packed up our meager camping gear, and headed up Logan canyon. Four hours later we headed down Logan Canyon, stopped at a store so I could use the bathroom, and home we went. In my defense, it was my very FIRST experience with an outhouse. I discovered that you take a certain number of risks when using an outhouse. The most memorable being, bug bites itch no matter where they are.

After so much fun Carl decided I was no longer allowed to plan our anniversaries. For our tenth he wanted to go all out and party Purnell style. I found out that Purnell style is almost as much fun as Tiffany style. Our destination: the beautiful white sand beaches of Cancun, Mexico. Unfortunately, that was also the destination of one hurricane Emily. Looking back, our spidey senses should have tingled a bit when we noticed how many people weren't on the plane with us or the line of people waiting to LEAVE Cancun. But no. We were blissfully clueless and ready to party 'Purnell' style. I don't want to put all the blame on the category 5 hurricane. We probably could have still made it the romantic week of our dreams even with a hurricane roaring all around us. No,it wasn't Emily that killed the romance, it was the 30 other people bunking in with us. That's not to say that our time spent with these 30 people wasn't entertaining. It was. Somehow Carl and I ended up with the east coast crowd. New Yorkers to be exact. Take a roomful of New Yorkers, add in an open bar (for those that drink), and you have the formula for hours upon hours of endless entertainment. Good times. (here's a question: why do drunk people particularly enjoy conversing with sober people? Carl in particular.)

Hurricane Emily comes rolling
in

Carl looking quite
dapper

Our nifty hallway haven--
until they made us move
(something about safety,
windows, and flying broken glass)

This is a few days after the sixth Harry Potter book came out (you can see it lying
between Carl and I) Desperate people, who didn't have the same brilliant foresight
as myself, were offering me ridiculous amounts of money for it. In my brilliance---I said no.
Sadly, that is one of the smartest things I did on this trip.

The girl next to me was one of our 'open bar' buddies. Carl and I didn't have the heart to tell her
she didn't have any cell service.

Urgh!

2009-09-03T22:22:00.000-07:00

For some reason I can't make comments on anyone's page. (including my own) I don't think it's user error (which is the most likely explanation) but whatever the cause, I am reading everyone's posts. (and loving them!)

Enunciate please

2009-09-03T20:35:00.000-07:00

Enunciation is a very important part of speech. All sorts of problems can arise if one does not enunciate properly. One occasion in particular comes to mind. It happened at the end of a cycle class as we were in the process of stretching. I told everyone to 'open through the chest.' What they heard was, 'everyone, hold your breath.' The room became eerily quiet until one guy finally asked if they could breath again.

Enunciation problems are not new to our family. Thanks to Lauren we have all had to deal with the challenges of understanding someone who is hard to understand. Although, I have to admit, her speech problems have come in handy from time to time. As a small fry Lauren tended to be extremely honest . . . with everyone. That included the random stranger who might have had a noticeable 'issue' or two.

Still, trying to understand her was difficult. One of our more frustrating conversations happened when she tried explaining to me how she said the word 'willy' like 'willy.' (the word 'really' like 'willy') For the life of me I had no idea what she was talking about, and it took her almost ten minutes to find a way to explain it. Having your six year old look at you like your mentally handicapped can really do a number on the ole' self esteem.

Today we had another mishap. It didn't necessarily have anything to do with enunciation, but it is just so good I have to tell it. I don't want to get into all the gory details, so I'll just give the gist. Bryant told us he enjoyed being a thespian. Lauren told Bryant that she would always love him, even if he was a thespian. I, after realizing what Lauren thought a thespian was, almost drove us onto the sidewalk.

My little man

2009-09-01T20:59:00.000-07:00

My little boy is growing up. It's something I always knew would happen. In fact, for the first three years of his life I looked forward to it. (flour in the carpet, covering his sister with shaving cream, kitchen floor as a chocolate milk skating rink. All fun experiences with toddler Bry) Now? I can't believe how fast it's happening.

The fact that he's not my little boy really hit home Sunday morning. We were all supposed to be getting ready for church, crunched for time as always, when Carl and I heard Bry shouting. Normally, if Bry's shouting, something bad has happened or is in the process of happening. 90% of the time it has to do with Lauren and someone usually ends up crying. (poor Bry) Since Carl was at a critical point in his hair styling process, (according to Carl there is no stopping once the gel is in) I was the privileged investigator.

I stomped down the stairs, with wet hair, fully prepared for some serious refereeing. Instead, I found Bry standing in his bathroom -wearing nothing but his boxers. He was in front of the mirror with one arm overhead, while his opposite hand lovingly caressed his armpit. So many thoughts went through my mind at that point. Before I could ask what he was doing and why was he doing it, Bry exclaimed, "I have armpit hair!" My automatic reply was, "Well, so do I." Thankfully Bry was over the moon to have discovered hair in his armpit and wasn’t actually listening to me; he was too eager for the rest of us to share in his joy. I inspected his pit from a safe distance and couldn't see anything. Since, I wasn't about to feel an unshowered, thirteen year old's armpit, I took him upstairs. (but not before I had him put on some clothing and gave him the 'what a mother doesn't want to see' lecture. As any mother knows this varies depending on the circumstances. Just the day before, my list included boogers and anything resembling a booger. My children then spent the rest of the day finding things that resembled boogers. Good times.)

Anyway, upstairs we went. Carl was still in the bathroom so he became an active participant in the search for the elusive pit hair. After some various light angles, and some serious squinting, we finally saw the fragile wisps of our son's impending manhood. Lauren, who by then had joined us in the bathroom, scoffed and informed Bry that his show of puberty was weak. She yanked up the sleeve of her t-shirt and proudly showed off an impressive patch of dark armpit hair. After a moment of stunned silence, in which I cursed whatever gene made Carlson girls excessively hairy, I politely informed her that girls don't brag about how hairy their armpits are. Then she and I had a little talk where I introduced her to a novelty item, the razor. Church was especially spiritual after such an exciting morning.

*Please excuse my excessive use of the word armpit. I tried to find something a little less crude, but came up emtpy. Upon extensive research and study I discovered that there IS no other word for armpit. It seems that, due to the location and the fact that it is, in fact, a pit, there is no replacement. I will, as always, continue my search.)

A clean house is a boring house

2009-08-26T11:12:00.000-07:00

I think I may have an obsessive compulsive disorder. I know, shocking. Why, you ask, do I think this about myself? Well, there are many reasons. Today I decided to clean and organize a bit. Okay, I lied. I had no plans to organize anything. In fact, my only plan was to hold the couch down with my rapidly enlarging heiny. (I blame the makers of cinnamon Chex) But, due to a minor sewing injury, (it's really hard, almost impossible, to sew something if you are currently wearing it) I was looking for some anti-bacterial ointment. To my horror I discovered that my first-aid kit was a mess! Alright, I lied again. I don't have a first aid kit. I mean, I'm almost positive there are some in our 72-hour emergency kits, but those are for EMERGENCIES. Real emergencies, not dumb ones like accidentally sewing yourself to your pants. (which, in case you're wondering or contemplating your own sewing adventure, does NOT feel good. At all.) Anyway, about that time I decided I really wanted a first aid kit. In order to have a first aid kit I needed to go through the house and locate all of my first aid supplies. I started with the medicine cupboard (a.k.a. the Purnell family pharmacy) and found a pile of instruction manuals. Since I don't normally keep instruction manuals in my cupboard they had to be moved. I went to the closet under the stairs to find the manuals a home . . . .and found some books that I felt should belong in the bookshelves upstairs. Upstairs the books and I went only to find a hammer and some nails occupying the bookshelves. Down the stairs I went and ended up in front of the junk drawer. Well, the hammer didn't quite fit into the drawer and someone had put non-junk drawer stuff in the junk drawer so it became vital the drawer be organized. Stuff from the junk drawer went to my bedroom, stuff in my bedroom to the family room, family room clutter to the garage, the garage to the bathroom, the bathroom to the kitchen, and so on and so on and you get the idea. After all that work I ended up with an impressive pile of 'stuff' in my hallway. (including the hammer) Having just spent the better part of the day 'organizing' I shoved it all under the stairs and called it a day. As for the first aid kit . . . nobody would use it anyway.

2009-08-23T20:23:00.000-07:00

Alright, now that I've got a little more time I can elaborate on our pioneer trek. First of all, that is how we decided to spend our 14th anniversary . . . . with 13 strange children. (not that the children were strange, although I guess some of them were a bit odd. In fact, one kid spent the weekend in a sombrero while another wore his mother's gardening hat) We arrived at Briones regional park (a.k.a. the place of many hills) in just enough time to act like we had been there for hours patiently waiting for the kids. Our subterfuge would have gone better if we had checked out our family list and name first. The trek leader was calling out all the families and having them meet together. It took about five "Martin Family ma and pa?" before we realized that was us. We started our family meeting by asking the kids which one of them was willing to be eaten first.

Our first family agenda was to make the "Martin family" flag. You know how there is always that one group that's a little 'special?' Let's just say our flag was incredibly. . . . unique. (we hid it in one of the handcarts) Speaking of the handcarts. . . . if you are ever privileged enough to pull a handcart let me impart some of my hard earned wisdom. Before I do that I should explain the sleeping arrangements. In their wisdom, the leaders of the trek separated the sexes by a couple of miles and put the stake presidency in between. Each sex was given a handcart to put their stuff into. We then pulled the cart to our respective campsites. Pulling a loaded handcart with five teenage girls would be where I gained my handcart knowledge. For instance, if only one girl pulls, the handcart will not move. If, however, you have two girls pulling, the cart will move, but only in a circle. If, due to the fact that there are no brakes, you ever find yourself being dragged behind a handcart let go immediately. The last one is especially important if your handcart trail is being shared by cows.

Part of the 'experience' was to sleep outside. We were asked to only bring a sleeping bag and possibly a tarp. (to put under the bag) The girls settled in (after being told not to frighten the skunks…for obvious reasons) and did the best we could to sleep. The ground was hard, in my mind every rustle was a skunk, and I had a girl who liked to talk. It was a long night. So to answer my mother, yes I still like to camp, but I require more than a sleeping bag and tarp. After such a long night we had to get up at 6 am. My girls were the last ones to get going. (probably because they were the ones talking ALL night) This made us the last handcart to leave the camp site. There is a lot of dirt and dust when you are the last in a line of handcarts. (Think black teeth, black snot, black eye boogers.) We showed up to breakfast but weren't all that hungry having already eaten our fill of dirt.

To many things happened on the trek which makes it hard to write about. There are a few things that stand out however. Halfway through the trek, and at the steepest point, the boys were 'called away' to war leaving the girls to pull the carts. Most families had a least 5 girls to each cart, we had three. The hill was incredibly steep, and I have to admit I was very worried. My girls were awesome! Not only did they pull those carts up the hill, but they did it without complaining and only stopped once. (because I was on the verge of vomiting and made them) I was so proud of them and didn't hesitate to rub it into the boys. I must have threatened their male ego's or something, because two of the boys insisted on pulling the carts the last 1/2 mile or so. This caused many questions among the girls. Like, why do boys do such dumb things? Sadly, I could not answer since I am still trying to figure that out myself.

2009-08-23T20:18:00.001-07:00

MA MARTIN still smiling

2009-08-23T20:15:00.000-07:00

THE MARTIN FAMILY

2009-08-23T20:14:00.000-07:00

Ready to roll

2009-08-10T18:19:00.001-07:00

So...obviously I'm as good as blogging as I am at answering phones and facebook stuff. What can I say??? (No really, I'm asking a legit question here.) Alright, a quick update on the Purnell's. Kids are still alive and kicking. We can thank the Brentwood School district for that. One more week together and this may have been a very different blog. (from a very different place. I don't think I'd do well in prison, especially since hand sanatizer is bad for certain area's of the human body.) Carl and I are preparing for an authentic pioneer trek with the youth of our stake. We've been asked to be a Ma and Pa to some unfortunate 12-18 year olds. I've spent the last week sewing my authentic pioneer skirt...and then picking out the stitches. (repeat that process about a00 times and you can see why I don't sew. Ever.) My family has survived my journey into domestication and their wounds are healing quite nicely. (Amazing how hard it is to see a tiny needle in plush carpeting, but how easy it is to step on them. Geesh) Long story short, I'm not allowed to sew anymore. Let's add that to a growing list right under 'no power tools'.

Holy Toledo we have a blog

2009-07-23T11:48:00.000-07:00

Who says peer pressure ends after High School? This blog is proof that you're never to old to succumb. (I already knew this. Just ask Nikki about my disasterous - and I imagine quite funny-belly flop in Bear Lake....all three of them) So to all who are bored enough to actually read a blog about my family, I say hello and enter at your own risk.