MOVING DAY!!

I am very excited to announce MY SITE HAS MOVED!!! Please update your information and come visit me over at the new place.

You may click HERE or go to www.angslaughter.com

I hope to see you very soon!

Duck Hurling at Nap Time

The Jeb Man got into a little trouble at school recently. The boy hates nap time. He refuses to nap anywhere other than at home in his own bed. I knew he wasn't napping at school, but his teachers assured me he was staying quietly on his nap mat.

That all changed yesterday.

His teacher met me at the door and told me he had some "issues" at nap time. Apparently, not only did he refuse to stay on his nap mat, but he also hurled his duck at other sleeping children, trying to wake them up so they could play. (I mean, it was a good plan...)

I. Was. Mortified.

I videoed part of his confessional to send to his daddy. It's pretty cute, but ends awkwardly. I guess that's how we roll.



I should have known this duck was going to be nothing but trouble.

Me in a swanky spa equals awkward

I apologize for my elusiveness over the last few days. As I mentioned, we were on a mini, no-child, no-snow vacay in Dallas over the weekend with friends. And it was amazingly fun. We went lots of places and did lots of things, but the one I want to share here, of course, makes fun of me.

On our last day, our husbands suggested Kate and I get a manicure at the Nordstrom spa. Now to many of you who regularly get manicures, that might not sound like a big deal. But I never. get. manicures. Ever. Plus, I'm a little weird about strangers touching me. (Don't try to psychoanalyze. Just roll with it.) Even so, Matt gave me no choice, and off we went to Nordstrom.

When we arrived, they immediately separated Kate and me and placed us into tiny, private, spa rooms, complete with dim lighting and Celtic, chanty, spa music. The separation threw me. I wanted to panic, but kept silently chanting, "Play it cool, Ang. Pretend you do this all the time. Just another day at the spa. Just another day at the spa." Then the nice lady had me lay down in a reclining chair (awkward), covered me with white blankets (so awkward), then said, "Ok, just close your eyes and relax," as she placed a warm towel over my face (oh, dear Lord).

Add "loss of vision" to my list of possibly causes for breakdown. Cue full-on panic.

(As a side note, I looked up the definition for panic attack. It is as follows: "an intense attack of anxiety characterized by feelings of impending doom and trembling, sweating, pounding heart, and other physical symptoms." Check. Check. Check. Check, and check.)

After a few minutes of the woman massaging my hands with seventeen different lotions, then putting them in the hot wax gloves, I realized some of my anxiety had dwindled, and I was actually sort of enjoying the experience. And then a few brief moments later, I was overcome with the question.... "Who in the heck do I think I am?" I mean there I was, lying in a chair, covered in lightly scented spa towels, while a perfectly nice woman with extremely strong hands was massaging me as though I were Cleopatra or English royalty. At that point, I was thankful for the towel over my face because I could not help but laugh at myself.

When it was all over and we met up with the boys, I showed Matt my fabulous nails and told him about the whole thing. He, knowing me the way he does, gave me a hug and laughed. Hard. And when I told him how ridiculous I felt about having someone take care of me that way, he said, "That's exactly what you deserve. I wish we could do it more often."

I love that he feels that way, and a part of me wishes I could, too. And I don't think it's just me. I mean, I know lots of women who frequent the spa often, and I think that's great. But I know just as many who never think to treat themselves and who, most likely, just like me, believe the $45 spent on them alone just isn't worth the money. But you know what? It was worth it. Even though I had to fight through my weird, irrational anxiety stuff, I had 45 minutes that, for the first time in who knows how long, was all about me. It's rare. It's precious. But I think it's ok.

What about you? Do you treat yourself enough?

Look beyond the mirror pose...

Matt and I outran the snow with a couple of dear friends to spend the weekend in Dallas. I am reduced to blogging from my iPhone, but I had to share my deal of the century.

I had one shopping goal in mind--I needed a new camel colored coat and found this little number at Macy's. Original price: $380.00. (Yikes!) Sale price: less than $100.00 (Yay!)

What do you think? I know. I know. I need to work on my mirror posing.

Life according to the iPhone

The following documents life this past week according to my iPhone.

The girls picked out some super cute shoes at Target. (I would totally wear them if they were my size.)

A few nights ago, the girls walked into the living room before bed and announced (ever so proudly), "Same panties. Same jammies. Same snuggies!"

This. Never. Happens. Estella Dru fell asleep while watching tv on the couch. Miracle of miracles. Must have been the comfort of the snuggie that lulled her to sleep.

This happens every single morning. Faulkner the cat has bed-making radar, and the moment I begin, he jumps onto the bed and doesn't move until I drag him off. Hence, the lump. Some days I just make it over the top of him.

This is a video capturing part of Jeb's nightly routine. He sits on the counter top, drinks a little chocolate milk, then stands up, counts to ten, and jumps to me. Recently, he's been counting in Spanish and can usually get to five without a problem. This night, though... not so much.

Do you tweet?

Do you Twitter? Or is it, do you tweet? Either way... do you?

I'll be honest. I love Twitter. When Matt first told me about it (years ago), I laughed and told him it sounded ridiculous to me. Who needed Twitter when we lived in a Facebook world? I have officially eaten my words.

Here are some of my recent tweets....

Kids playing hide-n-go-seek. Dru hid under blanket. When Belle found her she tried meowing to throw her off--the old pretend-to-be-a-cat trick.

Wldnt let girls watch Wiz of Oz. Snuck arnd & did it anyway. Now begging to sleep with us. Belle: I shoulda believed u abt the monkeys, Mom.

Instead of hitting Dru again, a tactic that wasn't working, Jeb reached down and calmly unbuckled her seatbelt. Pure genius.

Wonder how long before Jeb realizes he really isn't controlling the Wii, but Daddy is doing it all behind him. Twill be a sad, sad day.

Spell check always wants to change "Ang" to "Nag." My husband finds this funny.

Jeb just pointed to a bottle of Tums and yelled, "Candy!" Thanks, Grandpa.

When exiting ladies room in Fville Jason's Deli, hang a right. Straight will take you into men's room. & you will feel stupid. I'm guessing.

Guy just got on treadmill nxt to me wearing orange prison clothes. Trying to play it cool. Pretend to text. Just pretend to text.

So do you Twitter? Why or why not? Are you a loyal Facebooker? I'd love to hear.

A hero of mine

I grew up in an area where not much respect was afforded to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Maybe none at all.

In college, one of my favorite courses was on the American civil rights movement. I think it was then that my admiration of the man began and now runs deep.

To anyone who is dreaming or has ever dreamed a dream much bigger than themselves--a dream that will undoubtedly place them in the path of detractors and enemies but fearlessly chases after it anyway.... Martin Luther King, Jr. led your way.

This is Dr. King's Alabama police mugshot on February 22, 1956. I love the look on his face. There he sat, arrested, humiliated, no doubt being treated shamelessly by the Alabama authorities... but the look on his face is one of determination. Resolve. As though he's thinking, "The work I'm doing is so far above you and your inability to understand it. Do and say what you will. It will not slow me."

To the man who understood his calling and ran headlong to embrace it, no matter the cost, you are a hero of mine.

(You can go here and see some pictures from our 2009 Spring Break when we visited the Lorriane Hotel where Dr. King was assassinated.)