Mrs. Knipple

2012-01-09T16:41:00.000-08:00

So....2012 is here. I blogged less in 2011. I ate more. I exercised less. I worked more. I saw friends less. I worried more. Seems like now's a good time for a change. Whatdya say? Let's do it together. You know you want to.

Let's give laughing hugs more often....

Lets eat cookies and dance ridiculously with our children.....

Lets eat more green things. I mean it. Really.

Lets not think about money or things or opinions. Lets just enjoy who we are and what we have. Lets.

Lets read more. Let's watch less Jersey Shore and Real Housewives.

Lets write more thank you notes. Lets give people the benefit of the doubt.

Lets.

holy cuteness

2011-03-05T18:14:00.000-08:00

Spring

2011-02-24T07:06:00.000-08:00

I loathe winter. If I ruled the world, Winter would exist solely from Thanksgiving to Christmas and would magically disppear on December 26th. In fact, on my list of things to ask Jesus (along why can't I fly and why gnats exist) is WHY IN THE HECK he invented winter. It ultimately serves no purpose at all....at least in my life. Unless, of course, it is to make me a bitter, cold woman. Curse you winter!

Lucky for me, the hairy rat, or groundhog, or whatever didn't see his shadow and spring is upon us. He needs a big fat sloppy kiss from this gal.

All that to say, the mercury's a risin' and so are my spirits. It's SPRING(insert choirs of hallelujahs here)! Well, three days of spring-like weather, but who cares. I'm in denial. It has to be spring. I will wear flip flops and long flowy dresses. and tank tops. I will ride with the windows down. I actually have to....my air conditioning is broken. But that's beside the point. I love being outside. I love sunshine. I love warmth. I love Florida. I will celebrate spring and you won't stop me. So there.

And then there are the people who do weird things when spring rolls around. Exhibit #1: the people in my neighborhood who are swimming in the pool. Lets be real. I love the pool as much as the next gal. But you people are weird. There are nights when it is still 40 degrees at times. Just because you've packed away the scarves and pulled out your flip flops doesn't mean you lose the ability to feel the frigid waters in our pool. But whatevs. It's okay. But I will stare with my head cocked to the side as if to say, WHAT are you thinking? And I certainly won't be joining you until the water's slightly more inviting.

Exhibit #2: My husband. Love that man, but something has gotten into him this spring. I've been broadening his culinary experiences slightly, and I wonder if some strange shift in his electrolytes and this change in weather have collided and created an explosion of craaaaaazy, but the man somehow got it into his head that a mustache is a good idea. 1980 called, right? I walked into the bedroom to go to bed the other night and I thought I was hallucinating. My husband, God bless him, had shaved his previously full grown beard into a Fu Manchu mustache. But don't worry, he added a little soul patch just for effect. Um. It. Looked. Reeee-diculous. And as I contemplated whether or not I could share a bed with such an atrocious facial adornment, I quickly realized that he intended to keep it....for more than just the night. As in, he intended to go out in public. Not only did he go out in public for TWO DAYS looking like this, he took our kids to school and taught kids like yours and mine at his own school! And shame our name that way? Yes, yes he did. Here, he is, loud and proud:

Now, let's take a step back in history and see how the Fu Manchu has fared atop some more well known faces:
Disaster #1: the Phelps facial hair flop

Disaster #2: Travolta's Terrible Trim
Disaster #3: Don't even have words to describe it. But I will point out to you, and my husband, that this entire getup was supposed to represent ridiculousness. Hence the facial hair
Disaster #4: Just say no.So, when Shane stepped into the bathroom two nights later with clippers and a razor, I was sure I'd seen the end of his psychotic break. I carefully got the kids' bags ready for school and headed to the bedroom. As I settled into bed and looked over, my heart stopped. This is what I saw (sans the sunglasses).

As if facial hair couldn't get more absurd, there was Shane, with a silly little grin on his face, proudly sporting the Burt Reynolds 'stache. I died. Oh. My. Goodness. I can't take it people. Someone help me. Should I bust out my crimper and side ponytail until he concedes? T-shirt ties and acid washed jeans? I need help!

So now, Shane needs a razor and I need a stiff drink. And maybe a warmer pool.

Shane

2011-02-21T18:05:00.000-08:00

A blog devoted to my love this February, a month for lovers....

Shane....

can't sing

loves chocolate chip cookies and eats them for breakfast if they are in the house

was the president of FCA in college

is the most loyal person I know

loves to wear Jerseys even though I hate them

eats his plates in sections....one food at a time

worked at McDonalds for his first job

is an excellent Dad

has never left the country

is a huge baby when he's sick

never says anything negative about people

hates grits

can't see me walk past him on a sidewalk without his glasses

gets carsick reading a map

drinks milk like it's his job

hates my dog
has really long toenails

has never sped...no for real, he doesn't ever

knows Dan Marino's birthday by heart

loves Pearl Jam

needed a serious closet intervention when I met him

has a closet with ONLY clothes I bought him

has horrible grammar

dreams of going to the NFL hall of fame in Canton, Ohio

is a quiet leader

won't eat the last chips at the bottom of a bag

can't sleep without a fan on

does most of our laundry

sings the wrong lyrics to almost every song

IS MY AWESOME HUBBY!!

Lately.....

2011-02-09T17:11:00.000-08:00

Lately, I've been in a funk. Don't really know how else to explain it, but life has just been on some sort of cruise control and I feel like I've just been along for the ride. But here are some things I've managed to squeeze out along the way....

-I have a patient named Tarantula. Like the spider. Sigh. C'mon people! That's almost as bad as Knipple. Almost, but not really.

-Bathing suit shopping. **Sigh**. I'd rather listen to Lou Holtz read the "S" section of the phone book. Twice. But I did it today. And it was everything I thought it would be. Terrifying. Horrible. Depressing. And....unsuccessful. I left the store with a weight watchers cookbook, a beach cover up, and a diet coke. And a complex. Awesome. Who invented the three way mirror in the dressing rooms anyway? I did, however, discover online swimsuit shopping. This, my friends, is God's gift to women. You graze through beautiful swimsuits on beautiful women and pick one imagining yourself the way you want to look in it...sans cellulite and fluorescent bulbs. And suddenly shopping for bathing suits isn't nearly as scary. I bought two suits.

-Dear iPhone users: I like you. I want to talk to you. I actually like to look at you more than the tops of your eyelids. And guess what? I really do notice that you're looking down at your email while pretending to talk to me. HONESTLY! YOU'RE DRIVING ME BATTY! If I'm ever choking on some food at dinner with you, I'll email you to perform the heimlech. My message will reach you with lightning speed....certainly before you make eye contact long enough to realize my international choking sign. Maybe I'm just jealous. My phone still has a keypad. And yes, it is totally distracting when you text, check espn, and websurf in church. Is being totally connected at all times really that fun? Does that make me old and bitter? For real, I like you. Please be social.

-I'm broadening Shane's culinary experience lately. I may have mentioned that Shane's taste is likened to any kindergartener's lunchroom staples...gummy fruits, mac and cheese, milk, hotdogs, chicken nuggets....the usual culprits. I used to ask before I made meals with anything other than the above noted ingredients. I was met with fake gags and eye rolls followed by an "EWWWW....no way!" But now I just make them. So far, he has (albeit unknowingly) eaten Sushi, Kale linguine, chicken, artichoke, and sundried tomato pasta, and spinach and tomato penne, orange glazed Mahi and kale chips. And, to my knowledge, he didn't think they were half bad. He's buying into my mantra that everything is better when surrounded by carbs....so who knows what ingredient will make it into the pasta next.

-February 20th is National Hockey Day. I don't care. My husband is stoked.

-Confession. I'm good at science. I didn't make a B in college. Ever. I'm a doctor for goodness sakes. But I'm really, REALLY bad at history and geography. Embarrassingly bad. So bad, in point of fact, that when my daughter came home singing this, I was reminded that I didn't know that there were 7 continents, let alone what they were.
I'm NOT smarter than a three year old. Shane's embarrassed

-Riley would, however, fail in bible songs....

-I don't care who you are, Gwenyth Paltrow rocked on the Grammys. Dare you to listen to that song once and not get it stuck in your head. And while we're on music, I am totally digging Zac Brown Band right now. These guys are the JAM! I think I'm the only one left on earth who likes country music, but this stuff takes me back to riding in my Dad's truck and listening to GREAT country music as a little girl. Even Shane sings along to a few songs(a small triumph for this anti-country boy).

The Life of Riley....Because I couldn't make this stuff up.

2010-12-22T18:19:00.000-08:00

1. According to Riley, beside Jesus at his birth were Mary, Joe-Feff, and the Three Bears.

2. Riley: "I'm going to throw two balls to the doggies!"
Mommy: "I'm going to throw two too!"
Riley: "All Aboard!"

3. "Row Row Row your boat, Gently down the stream! Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary life's a butter dream."

4. "Uno, Dos, Tres, Quakwo, Cinco, Seis...

5. "Mommy who threw that trash on the ground?"
Mommy: "Litterbugs"
Riley: "We don't like litter bugs mommy, right? They sting and bite people."

ADHD

2010-10-28T18:12:00.001-07:00

Lately, I've had a little bit of blogger ADHD. That is to say, I have had a difficult time focusing on one particular topic for this blog. It seems as if my life is a series of mismatched events, some hilarious, some frustrating, and some utterly confusing. And as a result, my blogs have been the same. So in true life fashion, here's a little sprinkling of the events in the Knipple household as of late.

1. This kid. is. a-freakin-dorable. Now let me tell you, I'll be the first to admit that mothers are often blinded by love. It's God's way of making sure that every baby is loved and accepted....even the ugly ones....c'mon I'm just kidding. A little. But, man-oh-man. This little man is 17lbs 11oz of chunky-dunky cuteness. And on the first day of the last year of my life in my 20's (that's my 29th birthday for you slow-learners), he busted out with this.

And not to be outdone, the redhead has some tricks up her sleeve that make her irresistable herself. Check this out. Just don't ask me how Shane got his voice that high.

2. It's October 28th and I don't have a pumpkin for my kids. There. I said it. I'm a terrible mom and my kids will grow up to be delinquents and rob banks and they'll blame me for never giving them appropriate holiday festivities. They'll be on Barbara Walters drowning in their tear-filled psychoanalyses, and I'll be wishing I had just bought the freakin thing and spared all the drama. I think I'll take a trip to Publix in the morning and get a pumpkin. But are there any long-lasting social ramifications for missing out on a pumpkin patch? Argh!

3. My patients never cease to amaze me. For the record....women(and men for that matter), your babies come from a different hole than your pee. So don't ask me when you get your catheter how your baby is going to come out. Please don't.

4. Peanut the wonder weenie is killing me. Somehow, despite being blind, deaf, and unable to smell, she manages to escape from the backyard approximately three times a day. Problem is, she doesn't know how to get back. I'm pretty sure if there is a DCF for dogs, they are coming after me. My dog has been found wandering the streets (probably in circles since she is blind, deaf, and can't smell) of Gainesville more times than I would like to admit. It's a pitiful walk of shame for me walking to the door to receive her from my evil-eyed neighbors who look at me as if to say, "What kind of heartless, hateful person leaves a poor blind dog all alone on the streets? You animal killer, you!" I smile and politely thank them, shut the door, and prompty scold the wonder weenie. But she doesn't care. She can't hear me.

5. I had a 77 year old (I'm gonna go with slightly demented) patient that I operated on last week. She made us all hold hands in the operating room around her bed to pray. As an air of discomfort filled the room, one resident suggested that perhaps we should pray to ourselves. "No!" she said, forcefully. "You will all pray out loud. I'll start." And, with her dentures removed for her impending surgery and all of the surgeons, anesthesiologists, and OR staff holding hands, she said, "Dear sweet Jesus, I pway for my tu-mah. I want to live thuhty more years so that I can live to be wit my pure-bred long haired siamese cat, Christ, who I named after my Lord and Saviah. He's such a good cat."

6. I need a bucket list. A real one. Because right now my goals include things like making sure I remember to brush my teeth, making a new baby food, and making sure my kids leave the house in something semi-seasonally appropriate. But I want some cool ones. So here are a few.
-Visit Yosemite
-Run a marathon
-Go on a zipline tour somewhere cool
-stop biting my nails
-Go on a girls trip
-Take Shane to the NFL hall of fame
-Take a photography class
-Deliver babies in a third world country

That's enough for now....I'll keep thinking on this one

6 things that ROCK

2010-08-26T17:24:00.000-07:00

1. My mother-in-law: The ORIGINAL Mrs. Knipple, folks, is the bomb-diggity. Just when I thought having a three year old and a newborn was enough to have me rocking in the corner and sucking my thumb, here she comes, saving the day! She's like some freakish hybrid of Shane's demeanor and Martha Stewart, with a sprinkle of Paula Dean. She's been here for 2 weeks, and when she leaves, I may lie down in front of her tires and refuse to move. And although my hips don't thank her for the extra few pounds of cellulite, I owe 99.9% of my sanity to her. I'm currently grubbing on banana cake and brownies while she puts Riley to bed and rocks Caleb.....uh....freaking awesome.

2. Epidurals: Listen, people, take it from me, there is nothing maternal, serene, or rewarding about having a baby "au-natural". What the crap does that mean, anyway? I mean, is having a baby with an epidural not natural? Huh? Bottom line, I wanted an epidural, and I got one. A dysfunctional one. A very dysfunctional one. A why-the-crap-did -I-get-a-four-inch-needle-in-my-back-in-the-middle-of-freakishly-strong-contractions-if-it-wasn't-going-to-work epidural. That's right, folks. I delivered a 9lb8oz baby without a much-desired epidural. And it sucked. It really sucked. In fact, after I returned from my near death experience that was labor, I decided that I will NEVER, EVER do that again. Thus, I have decided that God so loved the world that not only did he give his only begotten son, but also epidurals so that we might know how deep and how high his love is for us. And, thank you Jesus, I will take full advantage of God's gift to me if I ever have another baby. Amen.

3. This video. OMG. FINALLY, you can truly understand my life on Shands labor and delivery. This, my friend, is just an example of the sheer brilliance that graces the halls of the hospital every day. These breeds are reproducing at an alarming rate, people. And I'm delivering their babies on a regular basis. You've already seen this, I'm sure, but watch it again and feel my pain.

4. Peanut the wonder weenie. See my previous blog on her for full details, however, briefly, she is the picture of awesomeness. She is 13 years old, blind, deaf, and can't smell. She smells like butt. She has terrible gas. She snores. And she's still alive and kickin! So why does she rock, you ask? Because Shane can't stand her. And watching the two of them in the same house is almost as entertaining as the Jersey Shore.

5. The Genius pacifier. My super mother-in-law introduced me to this modern marvel, and my life is 89.2% better for it. It's baby crack. Riley never used a pacifier. Caleb does, and it's heaven.

6 . Riley Grace: This kid is freaking hilarious. Don't believe me? Think I'm partial to my own child? Read these un-edited quotes:

(Riley watches lots of Diego...her favorite episodes are the ones where he saves the whales or dolphins)
Riley in the bathtub with Caleb....points to his privates: "Mommy, is that Caleb's blowhole?"
Me: Pause, erupt in laughter, Pause..."Uhhhh....yup!"

(Riley asked about the water on the grass in the morning. I explained it was the morning dew.)
Riley one morning walking out to the car: "Mommy...look at all the morning doo-doo everywhere!"

7. These quotes I'm currently chewing on:
"In the shadow of my hurt, forgiveness feel like a decision to reward my enemy. But in the shadow of the cross, forgiveness is merely a gift from one undeserving soul to another." - Andy Stanley

"If you don't feel strong desires for the manifestation of the glory of God, it is not because you have drunk deeply and are satisfied. It is because you have nibbled so long at the table of the world. Your soul is stuffed with small things, and there is no room for the great." - John Piper

“God almost never calls His people to a fair fight.” - George Otis

Randoms

2010-07-30T11:46:00.001-07:00

-I should be fired from the blogosphere. I clearly don't have mad blogging skillz or it wouldn't have been 6 months since my last blog. In fact, you probably stopped reading months ago. My blog is tucked away in the land of misfit web pages right alongside myspace. Forgive me, friends!

-I was actually doing something over the past few months. I grew a person. So there. What did you do? His name is Caleb Christopher and he arrived into the world on 7/6/10 at a whopping 9lbs8oz. He poops alot....2-3x/hour usually. Takes after his Daddy. Labor was not beautiful, fun, or tranquil. I wanted an epidural and it didn't work. It was the worst experience of my life. He's worth it.

-Of all of the things that I have had to explain to my 2 year old, a breast pump may be the most difficult. I mean, lets face it, it freaks my 29 year old husband out beyond belief. They do look like some sort of medieval torture device. I think Riley might be pretty traumatized. I told her that Caleb drinks milk...from my.....tummy. Could not think of anything else to explain it for the life of me. Anyone have a better suggestion?

-Speaking of things that are difficult to explain, here is a conversation Riley decided to have in the middle of the grocery store in front of, oh, three or so male strangers:
Me: Riley, I can't carry you anymore. You're too heavy and my arms are tired. Walk like a big girl
Riley: You can't carry me 'cause you have boobies?
Me: (humiliated silence - maybe if I pretend she didn't say it they won't think she just asked me if I have boobies)
Riley: MOMMMMMYYY! You have BOOOOOBIES! Me and Daddy don't got boobies. (matter-of-factly)
Me: Riley, lets go get a cookie

-Against my better judgment, I allowed Shane to put three mini-helmets and a Dan Marino figure up in Caleb's room. Aside from the day he got his life-sized Dan Marino standing cutout, it might be the best day of his life. We're talking 10 hour perm-grin. I'm not sure, but I think he might spend some time during his late night baby-rocking sessions to pray to the Miami Dolphins/FSU shrine. I draw the line and hockey pucks and Sidney Crosby figures. Hockey's dumb.

-I think I have officially outgrown MTV's The Real World. I can remember when I wasn't allowed to watch...I would hide in my room and watch it after my mom went to sleep. Now, I find it annoying, boring, and staged. I think that makes me officially old and boring.

-Riley: Caleb's my baby brother
Shane: Caleb's my son
Riley: pause....Well then Caleb's my moon <3

-it's been a blissful hockey-free, football-free couple of months. I think my husband might even know my name again. I maintain that while football can stay, hockey should cease to exist. What fool thought of a six month long season anyway!?

-My August resolution....blog more. I'm working on it, people!

A day at the Jags game

2010-01-11T17:09:00.001-08:00

I like NFL football almost as much as I like a hangnail. But there are two moments that occurred during our wedding on July 17th, 2004 that were so shocking and freaking amazing that they are forever etched in my mind. Bear with me...I do have a point.

The first, which is totally unrelated to this blog, was when I begged and pleaded Shane to help keep the party going at the reception by dancing. Shane looked at me as if I was asking him to castrate himself with a butter knife. If you know Shane for 0.1 seconds, you can pretty much deduce that he doesn't dance. But when I mentioned that if he did this one thing, I would NEVER ask him to dance again, he glided with urgency to the center of the dance floor. What happened next was the most fantastic display of awesomeness that I have ever seen from my husband. He sprinklered, bus-stopped, stanky legged and Roger Rabbited the night away like some sort of MC Hammer on crack!. He had moves that put Beyonce to shame...moves that seemed as if they were reserved for that very moment, never to return again! It was incredible. And when the clock struck midnight and the party was over, my dancing king promptly returned to his pre-reception self. And he has NEVER danced again. And every time I even think about asking him to revive some of his now-infamous moves, he quickly reminds me of our pact. And how he will never, EVER do it again. In my opinion, humanity has lost one of it's greatest entertainers. In his opinion, it was the best pact we (HE) ever made.

The second moment occurred when we got back to our honeymoon suite. Have no fear...I'm keeping this PG. I sat down on the bed, resting my feet and reflecting on what an incredible night it had been. Shane sat next to me and sighed. I waited to hear what he would say. Was he about to tell me how beautiful I looked walking down the aisle? Was he going to say how happy he was to be spending the rest of his life with me? Or maybe he would tell me that he had so much fun dancing that he was reconsidering our deal? I waited.... "Did you know that in 2009 the Dolphins are playing the Jaguars in Jacksonville? We totally have to go!" Now I know that as you are reading this, 2009 seems like a not-so-distant memory. But people, this was FIVE years ago! We didn't know where we would be, what we would be doing, or whether or not we would have children, but Shane KNEW that for the first time in his life he was living in Florida and that come hell or high water we were going to see the Dolphins play in 2009. I should have known at that very moment that here was something strangely odd about Shane's relationship with the Miami Dolphins and football in general. I mean, who knows the schedule five years out? My husband does. I should have known.

So this brings me to my actual post. Five years, two houses, one redhead, and NO dances later, we found ourselves at THE GAME. Yes, my friends, thanks to my Dad's resourcefulness and my frugality, we were able to get our hands on two club seat tickets on the 50 yard line at the only price that I will EVER pay to attend an NFL game...Free!

It was even slightly more underwhelming than I had imagined. With my husband in his element, and I by his side, we experienced the NFL at its finest. The game began with the jaguar mascot attempting to bungee jump from the 50 yard line. It was a meager attempt at getting the crowd amped up for the game by having some furry big-headed creature hurl himself over the football field. It may have worked, but he got stuck and hung upside down for about 5 minutes before anyone realized that the pregame entertainment was a flop and went up to get him down. I actually found it to be the most entertaining part of the game!

The game however, left me wanting more. In fact, after the first 5 seconds of the game, I began to think of ways to kill time. I casually scanned the sparse crowd, and I found the people to be more entertaining than the actually game! Take, for instance, this guy:

There is no zoom on this lens, my friends. I got a front row seat at this man's show. And oh, what a show it was! He first caught my eye with this fantastic hat. Somewhere, someone told him that this was a good idea. But it was his dedication to the game that kept my attention. He cheered, jeered, pointed, and booed. He was dedicated to getting the fifteen people in our section to stand for EVERY third down, and he chanted "DE-FENSE!" with such conviction that I almost joined in myself. My favorite part? The combination of the leopard-skin hat and the old-man Flat-butt syndrome accentuated by 1987 Lee jeans. Saweet!!! He made such a statement, in fact, that others decided to follow suit!

Or how about this guy? I was just about to congratulate him on his uncanny resemblance to Will Smith in the Fresh Prince of Bel Air when I realized that the sun was noticeably more prominent on the our right hand side. But perhaps it was his own throwback style. So progressive! So retro! So.....distracting me from the game!

And just as my mind burst into song with "In West Philadelphia born and raised.." I noticed that one of the Jaguars Roar Dancers was an old high school friend. So then I spent a large portion of the second quarter reading about her in the media guide. A few more crowd observations, two diet cokes, four restroom breaks, and a couple of touchdowns later, the game was over. I had done it! I had survived my first (and hopefully last) NFL game. Success! And here's the picture of the happy couple to prove it. Please note my teal and orange....Go Phins! Hehe.

Christmas with the Knipples

2009-11-29T12:02:00.000-08:00

Today we put up our Christmas decorations. There are a few things that can always be expected to happen when Shane and I decorate for Christmas.

1. There will be balls. I love Christmas ornament balls. I love glitter. I love garnet and gold. So one year, when all of these things came together in an explosion of fantastic-ness at Dollar Tree, I bought 476 of them. Maybe not 476, but I lost count after about sixty. So I have somewhere between sixty and 476 glittery, sparkly, twinkly bundles of Christmas wonder on our tree. Every year, Shane says something to the effect of, "There's so many freakin homosexual glittery balls on our tree." And every year, I put them all on and buy a few more for good measure. When it comes to Christmas, my friends, there is no such thing as too many balls.

2. There will be the eternal battle of where Dan Marino will go on the tree. You only have to read my blog 0.1 times to know that Shane has a small obsession with Dan Marino. I won't go into detail, but lets just say that every night before I go to bed, I pray that we never run into Dan Marino because Shane might actually leave me to have his children. Every year, Shane carefully unwraps his prized ornament and his eyes light up like the kid in A Christmas Story when he gets his Red Rider BB gun. And every Christmas, he marches himself right up to my beautiful, color coordinated, sparkling, twinkling masterpiece of a tree, and puts Dan Marino smack dab in the front and center. In all of his teal and orange glory. I very nonchalantly wait until Shane is busy putting his Mario Lemeaux hockey player on the BACK of the tree before I silently move Dan Marino to a discrete corner. Now don't start feeling bad for Shane, my friends. He does have about fourteen Miami Dolphins Christmas ornaments that take some real ingenious planning to fit on the tree without being seen. But this one is special. This is the one. The Dan. Our tree has been up four hours and he's already switched places four times. I suspect when we're 80 we'll still be fighting the Dan Battle. I will prevail.

3. Bing will be ringing. One year, I got a little carried away and bought twelve Christmas CD's. It was around 1999, and perhaps I was afraid that the rapture might happen in 2000, so I wanted to OD on Christmas music long before I rang in the New Year. At any rate, we now have a plethora of renditions of Jingle Bells and Silent Night, but none so magical as my crooner Christmas CD's. No sooner have I put it on and I am back in 1989 opening my New Kids on the Block sleeping bag and Paula Abdul tape. Bing Crosby is the man. Not that Bing has anything to do with 1989, but he simply takes me back to my childhood. Even if Shane makes fun of him.

So there it is folks, the list of the first three of our traditions. More to come...

10 things I don't get

2009-11-15T18:28:00.000-08:00

Dean and Krissie did their lists, now here's mine.

1. Rock Band

2. Fantasy Hockey - Seriously? It's painful enough in real life.

3. Robert Pattinson obsession - I think a little less heart throb and a little more werewolf

4. Skinny jeans - unless of course you're Cameron Diaz

5. Responsive Readings - Does anyone really get into these?

6. Pet outfits

7. Looking down on people for not going "natural" in labor - the next time you need a tooth pulled, lets just forego the anesthesia and do it "natural". After all, you're not experiencing true tooth-pulling unless you do it without any pain relief

8. Confession - who does the pope confess to?

9. Comb-overs - you realize we all know that you don't have hair on the top of your head, right?

10. Promise rings - it never works out people

Golden Opportunity

2009-10-23T20:10:00.001-07:00

As the two of you who actually read this blog may know, we have had a slight glitch in our potty training schedule. Riley is terrified of poop and I don't know what to do. So, I did what any mom would do. I told on Riley at the doctor's office. I complained about her fear, begging Dr. Kelly to give me some reassurance that my daughter wouldn't be pooping in her pants from now until she's 80 (at which time it would be okay to poop in your pants because it becomes socially acceptable again.) Among many suggestions, Dr. Kelly actually told me that I should actually TAKE her poop from her diapers, PUT it in the toilet, and CHEER, while allowing Riley to flush and wave bye-bye to the poop.

.....

What??? No thank you. I tried it once and I couldn't cheer because I was dry-heaving when I realized I was waving bye to a gigantic turd (which, by the way, I always thought was spelled T-E-R-D until Shane and I got into an argument about the spelling and I looked it up on Websters.com). So, in lieu of that recommendation, I decided on a tactic of my own. Just call it the Knipple manual for mothering. Here's a preview.

As I was putting the redhead to bed tonight, we quietly settled into our night time routine. Change the diaper, scream ewww! at the top of our lungs, Riley gives her best shot at brushing her teeth and then wails as I finish the job, and then reading time.

We always read one book and one bible story from Riley's favorite Bible. (Thanks, Krissie and Dean for the suggestion). This particular night, we read a book called "I love you, Goodnight" and then, as if by some stroke of sweet coincidence, I flipped the bible open to a story about love. (I guess you can't really say it was coincidence...they're all to some degree about love.)

At the end of the story, this was our conversation:

Me: Mommy loves lots of things. Mommy loves Riley, and Daddy, and Peanut, and Uncle Ric. I love music, and dancing, and summer. What do you love?

Riley: Silence...confusion...

Me: Do you love Mommy?

Riley: Yes! (emphatically)

Me: Do you love Daddy?

Riley: Yes. (purposefully)

Me: And do you love Nana and Papa, and Sue-Sue and Uncle Ric?

Riley: Yes!! (more excited)

Me: Do you love Dora (the explorer) and Diego, and sheep, and Monkeys?

Riley: Yes, yes yes!

Me: Do you love your friends at daycare and Miss Suki your teacher?

Riley: Yes!

Seizing this opportunity, I cautiously asked the following

Me: Do you love Poop?

Riley: (giggling) Yes.

A small victory, friends. Who needs a pediatrician, anyway?

Poopaphobia

2009-10-12T06:34:00.000-07:00

Well, friends...I should have seen it coming. I've been setting the stage for two years now. I don't know why I didn't think it would happen. The redhead has a phobia. A bad one. A phobia so intense, so terrifying, that the sheer thought of it brings about blood-curdling screams that echo throughout the Knipple household. A phobia so horrifying that I'm not sure how we're going to overcome it.

My daughter is afraid of poop. Not just any poop, my friends. Her own poop. Her own poop only.

It's all my fault, I'm sure. 99.99 and 1/3% of my blogs have something to do with poops and toots. I can't change a diaper without yelling "Stinky poo-poo!" at the top of my lungs until Riley sings along with me. We spend the rest of the changing experience yelling "EWWWWW! ICKY!" My obsession with the brown stuff has left my daughter paralyzed with fear.

The other night while I was working, Shane was bathing Riley as is our night-time ritual (contrary to popular belief, we do bathe). We've recently discovered that the warm bath water serves as a cheaper equivalent of ex-lax for the redhead. One foot in the water and she's straining faster than we can say potty. On this particular night, Shane noticed a change in Riley's facial expression, and then a change in her body position. Before he knew it there were two adult sized lincoln logs bobbing in the water. Initially she didn't notice the floaters. And then...she did. Now I wasn't there to eyewitness this spectacular display of sheer terror, but by all accounts Riley went into panic mode. She screamed her best horror film scream, and before the tears even reached her cheeks, she went airborne into Shane's arms, kicking, screaming, pointing and yelling "POOPY! POOPY! POOPY!" She refused to get back into the tub, and I'm pretty sure she has post traumatic stress disorder and may never take a bath again.

Even the other night, when she successfully pooped in her potty for the first time, the very sight of the poop in the toilet sent her running and screaming! Shane swears he did the poopy-in-the-potty-dance to assure her that he couldn't be prouder of his little girl for her accomplishment, but it did nothing to ease her fears.

What's a mom to do? My daughter is afraid of a bodily function that is inevitably going to follow her wherever she goes! All I can say is that this puts a serious damper on potty training. Any suggestions? Anyone?

Grossology

2009-09-25T08:46:00.001-07:00

My good friend Dean was here for the night a few nights ago. Dean and his wife, Krissie are two of the most rockin-awesome totally stupendous people I know. And despite the fact that Dean is single-handedly responsible for introducing my husband to collecting autographs on mini-helmets like a 7 year-old school boy with a man-crush, I have to give Dean a shout-out because he actually sat through an entire episode of Glee (the most delicious new show on TV) and didn't complain, which by all male standards makes him a total tool, but by Knipple standards makes him freakin awesome. Rock on Dean. My daughter is totally marrying your son. We arranged it from the beginning. There's no backing out now.

But I digress.

Dean and Shane usually lose themselves in deep theological talks about which player should go on which mini, and what color the autograph should be, while I don't pretend to be interested in the background. But on this particular night Dean asked me a question. Excited to actually make some contribution to the testosterone-ey discussion, I listened intently. "So, have you ever just been totally grossed out at work?"

Now, people. I spend my days surrounded by (and often covered in) more bodily fluids than a Spring break hot tub. I've been elbow deep in amniotic fluid and blood holding a woman's uterus from the inside while thinking about how hungry I was. Often the "miracle of birth" that I experience on a daily basis is better likened to turning my scrubs into a canvas for splattered schmutz from various bodily orifices. I leave the room and have a bite of my sandwich. My job is not glamorous, but I'm rarely grossed out.

But the very mention of this question and thoughts immediately flooded my mind of the most appalling, disgusting, stomach-turning day of my life as an OB/GYN. "Yes, I have." I said. "But only once."

It was a cold, dark day in November. (actually it was probably sunny in mid-July, but I have such disdain for this memory that November sounds better). My patient was pushing. Now let's just get something straight. Our patients poop when they push. They poop alot. They poop often. In fact, while we're being honest, my biggest fear during labor with Riley had nothing to do with pain or problems with the baby and EVERYTHING to do with ensuring that not one iota of the brown stuff seeped from
down below. So when this particular patient started to poop, I calmly grabbed a towel to cover it. I like to give my patients what small amount of dignity they have by not allowing family members to be eye-witnesses to a "boo-boo" as my patients call it. But, friends, the poo was a-flowing. There was nowhere for it to go, and no time to think about it. It was like she hadn't gone for days and this was her moment! Her poop was a caged animal and I held the key! My nurse, in a moment of sheer panic and poor judgment, stuck her gloved-hand out to catch it. One hand filled and she looked at me with sheer terror. She shifted hands and it quickly filled.

Just before I was about to take off my shoe and use it to catch the overflow, IT HAPPENED. Yes my friends, we haven't even gotten to "it" yet. The poo stopped and I calmly readjusted my seat. Mask in place, I moved closer. "Take a deep breath, mom." I said. "And, PUSH." And with all the gusto in the world the patient obliged. And I'll never forget what happened next. What came out of her bottom at that moment was not the infant that I expected, but a gust of the most noxious, foul smelling flatulence that came out like an orchestra of tubas in synchrony. My hair actually flew back as if I were standing in the middle of a wind tunnel of farticles (Shane and I use this term for fart particles...you know, the things you inhale with someone breaks wind around you). My scrub top rustled. It lasted for a solid three seconds before subsiding. My hair fell back to my shoulders. The room fell silent. I was speechless. I tried to muster up enough composure (and breath) to say that this was completely normal. I tried to make a joke to lighten the mood. But instead, I stood there, speechless, vomiting in my mouth, unable to think or move or breathe. I delivered the baby and left the room. I showered, scrubbed, brushed my teeth, and then repeated it again for good measure.

And that was it, folks. The only time I've ever been really "grossed out" from my job. Dean felt that this incident deserved a blog. So here it is. I'm sure there are more to come, and rest assured I'll keep you updated!

Carrie Underwood

2009-06-19T19:09:00.000-07:00

My brother and me in the car recently:

Carrie Underwood comes on the radio.

Lindsay: She's amazing.

Ric: She's more than amazing. She's...oh my gosh....She's....like....perfect.

Lindsay: I want to be her basically.

Ric: If you were her, I'd marry you.

Pause...

Lindsay: Yeah, so that's kinda gross.

Car Conversation

2009-02-21T18:05:00.000-08:00

The setting: On a long drive to North Carolina, shane swerves erratically.

Lindsay: Shane, what the heck are you doing?

Shane: I was swerving to miss an animal cracker. I mean, I wasn't swerving to miss an animal cracker, I was swerving to miss an animal...comma....cracka. Get it? Now there's something for your blog.

Just another day in the life...

2009-02-08T16:02:00.001-08:00

Shane: So your daughter tasted a Peanut turd today. (smiling)

Lindsay: What???? (Not smiling) Shane? (Still no smile) Are you serious? (Not even a smirk.)

Shane: Well, it wasn't a big one. It was just a little pellet.

Lindsay: Are you seriously telling me you watched our daughter eat a turd and you didn't try to stop it? And now you're justifying it because it was small? (astonished...still not smiling)

Shane: Well, I just saw her put something in her mouth and I ran over and she had a turd in her mouth. So I took it out. (smirk)

Lindsay: That is sooo not funny. I can't believe you are smiling. This is so going on my blog.

A Real Man...

2009-02-07T17:27:00.001-08:00

A real man...

...can stand in Dillards while his mother-in-law and wife sift through the clearance bras and panties and not feel threatened

Love you, Shane.

Peanut the wonder weenie

2009-01-27T17:12:00.001-08:00

So I basically have an awesome dog. People all over the world (or maybe just in my circle of friends) marvel at her fantasticness and wish they had a dog half as rockin awesome as she is. Here's her story.

I found Peanut waiting for me in my room on my 16th birthday. She was about half a pound of sheer freakin cuteness and she's been my love ever since. She doesn't exactly fetch, and she won't roll over unless there's a piece of lunch meat on her back, but there are plenty of reasons she's the coolest. Here are a few.

1. Peanut the Wonder Weenie can run your booty into the ground: Don’t let her two inch legs fool you. This dog is like a silver bullet. Racing her is like racing Michael Johnson…except harder. Don’t blink. You’ll miss her. Like lightning.

2. Peanut the Wonder Weenie’s land speed is only rivaled by her water speed. A few summers ago, I reluctantly placed my beloved Weenie into Shane’s parents’ pool. I wasn’t sure if she could swim, but before I could figure out how to do CPR on a weiner dog, she was streaking across the pool like some sort of perfectly crafted torpedo. She was like a porpoise with legs. It was amazing!

3. Peanut the Wonder Weenie can sing. Seriously. Better than Mariah. My mother forced me into six years of painful piano lessons when I was younger. I’m convinced the sole purpose of these lessons was so that I would be able to accompany my mini Pavarati-Peanut’s solos. I play, she sings. It’s like peas and carrots, baby. Peas and carrots.

4. Peanut the Wonder Weenie makes it her life goal to irritate Shane. If you’ve ever met Shane, you’d realize that, in general, he’s the picture of poise. Nothing rattles him. Nothing bothers him. He’s chill. But Peanut has identified a few things that can make even the most mild mannered Shane lose his cool. You see, Peanut likes to lick. She licks carpet. She licks pillows, she licks hands, faces, clothes, couches, floors, beds. It makes her happy. It makes Shane BATTY. And it makes me flippin' hysterical.

5. Peanut the Wonder Weenie is a magician. FO’ Real! Shane calls her Poudini. This dog puts Kris Angel to shame. We’ve never found a kennel that can hold her. No matter how intricate…how fool-proof…how many locks, zippers, and chains…no matter how deep the fence or how many amps of electricity in the wire, Poudini escapes, leaving onlookers mystified. I have spent way too many nights in the streets trying to track down my escape artist with a bag of chips and a slice of lunch meat. So, in reverence, we have decided that peanut will no longer be kenneled. Poudini cannot be contained.

6. Peanut the Wonder Weenie is just one of the guys. This dog can hang with the boys. Her rear end produces some of the most noxious gases ever experienced by man. These things will leave your nose hairs burning for days. No way could Shane blame his gas on Peanut…hers is way worse. She snores like a 500lb man. This weiner dog can saw some logs. And she likes nothing more than to eat and lay on the couch. What more does a guy need? Her idea of a good day is a good nap, good food, releasing some gas, and a good snore.

7. Peanut the Wonder Weenie is has may names: Weenis, Peenie, Nut-nut, Weenie, Pee-pee, Peenie-ween, Peenie-peen...She answers to them all. It's all about the love, baby. When love calls, she comes a-runnin. She basically rocks.

So you can see. She's no ordinary Weenie. She dominates any dog contest paws down. I'm only slightly disturbed that the average miniature dachsund only lives 14 years. That means that I only have two more years of dachsund-filled bliss. I'm not really into trying to predict how she's gonna bite the dust, but when she does, pray for Shane. Cause it's gonna be tragic. There will never be another Peanut the Wonder Weenie. And when I think about that, I'm thankful for her. Here's to you Peanut. You're the epitome of awesomeness. Rock on.

Road Runner

2009-01-21T17:36:00.001-08:00

Not too long ago I finally broke down and did what I...NEVER...EVER........do. I got on the scale. Now, it should come as no surprise (I am, of course, a female) that the scale and I have never been BFFs. I have, numerous times, dreamt that it would mysteriously disappear from my bathroom. Yet every morning, just as the sun rises, my scale awaits. Sitting on my floor daring me to step on...looking up at me as if to say "are you brave enough? Are ya?!? Are ya?!?" Well this particular morning, against my better judgment, I gave in. I got on. I did it. I did it and I immediately regretted it. My scale not so subtly reminded me (think flashing red numbers) that I need to start running again.

Now, really, don't choke on your food, but I used to be quite the runner. At one point, I was consistently running six miles a day with ease...like a gazelle I tell you. I was a regular world class athlete...well sorta...not really. But I did run six miles a day. I even ran until I was 38 weeks pregnant, stopping at construction site porta-pottis on the way....now that's dedication. The women at the gym would shoot me dirty looks as I gave my unborn child shaken baby syndrome on the treadmill (don't worry...I think she's pretty normal now.) I try to tell myself I should cut myself some slack because I just had a baby, but It seems as if having a baby isn't really an excuse if your child is walking and talking. Thus, I decided it was time. Time to pull out the old trusty running shoes, blow off the dust, and hit the road. And so I did.

It was freakin freezin outside, but off I went. It felt good. I hit my stride. I had some good jams on the iPod and I was on a roll. Bring it on, scale! I started breathing hard. It felt good. Tiring, but good. I felt like Eye of the Tiger should have been playing in the background. I figured I had run at least fifteen miles by the time I looked down to check my watch. 17 minutes!?!?! WHAT?!? I decided to press on. And then it happened. Two miles away from home, tromping along resembling more closely a wounded animal than a world class athlete, my iPod bit the dust. No warning. No flashing low battery light giving me time to turn around. It just died. Along with my motivation.

So there I was. Dying. No music. Carrying five pounds of extra not-so-much-baby-weight-anymore weight. Listening to my semi-asthmatic breathing. Watching my lead feet pound the pavement. At first I counted telephone poles. But that got old quickly. Then I counted passing cars...but I can't count that high. I forced a smile at the walkers passing by. FOR THE LOVE! Why did my iPod have to die? Why now? Why here?

So I struggled home, running (a glorified skip some might say) the entire way. And I was frustrated. But I persisted. Check back in a few weeks. I might just be a runner by then. Until then, I'll be here...charging my iPod.

08 Treasures from 2008

2009-01-18T07:58:00.000-08:00

In honor of the end of a great year, I decided to share with you some of my greatest finds of 2008. Enjoy!

1. Monk and Neagle: These guys are, without a doubt, the most overlooked group in all of Christian radio. Even if you aren't a Christian music fan (I get it...I'm not always a fan either), these guys are a must-hear. Buy their CDs...you won't be disappointed. I'm just sad I didn't find them earlier.

2. Bare minerals: Alright, alright. I'm the last to indulge in expensive make-up. I've never owned anything from MAC or SEPHORA, and I've certainly never ordered anything from an infomercial. But this line is worth the extra cha-chang, I assure you. Its so light it feels like air and looks so natural. My pick...rose radiance blush. A must have.

3. iChat: I consider myself generally technologically challenged. I just learned to text within the last year. But even my pathetically tech-retarded brain was able to get my MacBook and our iMac to log on to iChat. Now I can video chat with the family no matter where I am! Riley sees me, I see her, and anyone in the world with a Mac can video chat with us...how cool is that?

4. Things...Humor in a Box: This was a game that was introduced to us by some good friends. Now, we're not much for game night, but this game is downright entertaining, especially if you have some witty cohorts. The funnier your company, the better the game. Quite possibly the most fun I've had playing a game. We're totally sold on it.

5.
This is, by far, the most entertaining video of 2008. I have seen it a million times and I still laugh. Try it, I dare you.

6. The Nashelle Initial Charm Necklace by Threelovelies.com. I don't have one yet, but I NEEEEEED one. Perfect for moms, grandmas, newlyweds, anyone! The cutest! Check it out.
http://threelovelies.com/product_info.php?products_id=240

7. Wakeboarding: I totally stink at this, and it takes me forever to even get up on the board, but it's precisely this fact that makes it like crack to me. So fun. Painful, but fun. Shane totally kicked my butt on our first try.

8. Strawberry Pretzel Jello Dessert: This unique dessert has become a staple in our house. I could eat the whole 9x13" pan in one setting, and everyone that tries it agrees. Relatively healthy and sooooo, soooooo yummy! Here's the recipe.

2 c. crushed pretzels
3 tbsp. sugar
1 stick butter, melted
1 (8 oz.) pkg. cream cheese, room temperature
1 c. sugar (powdered or regular)
12 oz. Cool Whip
2 c. boiling water
2 (3 oz.) pkgs. strawberry Jello
2 (10 oz.) pkgs. frozen strawberries, thawed enough to slice into pieces

Mix crushed pretzels with sugar and butter. Press into 9"x13" pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. Cool completely. Mix cream cheese and sugar. Fold in Cool Whip. Spread over pretzel mixture. Cool completely. Boil two cups of water and add jello. Add frozen strawberries to hot Jello. Stir until strawberries thaw and Jello starts to thicken. Pour on top of rest of dessert.
Make this with low-fat ingredients and it won't hurt your waist-line.

Top ten things you might not know about me...and maybe wish you didn't

2009-01-09T17:09:00.000-08:00

1. I hate warm toilet seats. I once told my brother Ric about this phobia and was shocked and appalled when he didn't share my disgust. I mean, is there anything more horrifying than sitting down on a toilet seat only to have the warmth remind you that someone else's bare bottom preceeded yours? And really, what else can make a toilet seat warm than butt skin? It makes me dry heave.

2. I have three freckles on my left wrist that form a triangle. My mom named them Huey, Dewey, and Louie the day that my three goldfish with the same name died. My brother was three at the time and poured Apple Juice in the fish tank. He told me that they were thirsty. I found them belly up in an apple juice ocean. My mom said the freckles meant they would always be with me.

3. I hate spicy food. Something about me just can't understand the concept of inflicting pain into my mouth during something as enjoyable as eating. Dumb if you ask me. Eating is like my favorite thing in the world to do!

4. One time, in the second grade, I lost a school wide spelling bee by mis-spelling the word Lettuce. It was and is by far my most humiliating moment. I got excited at the thought of getting a word as easy as Lettuce and spelled it L-E-T-T-U-S-E. The Mean Girls of second grade were sitting in the second row and laughed at me. I'm forever scarred.

5. I used to go hunting as a child to make my Dad happy. Just to please my Dad, I shot turkeys, pigs, and quail, even though I hated the thought of killing them. The day my Dad tried to make me shoot a deer, I purposely shot over the deer's head and missed so that I didn't have to tell him that I didn't want to shoot it. I silently thought, "Run like the wind....run! Run!" He spent the rest of the day trying to make me feel better about my miss. I spent the rest of the day thinking of how I'd saved Bambi's mom.

6. I cut off the tip of my thumb with a paper cutter at work in high school. Yup. That's right folks. Dr. K here. All by myself and sliced it off. My coworker found my nail on the counter and threw it away for me. I think that's when I realized cubicle life wasn't for me. Just as an aside, I also managed to run over myself with a four-wheeler. I was the only one on it.

7. I hate feet. Feet really gross me out. Don't touch mine, don't get near mine. Don't even look at mine for very long. And certainly don't put yours anywhere near me.

8. I always wanted a sister. I used to force my younger brother to wear bras stuffed with oranges, heavy makeup, and curling iron styled bangs just so I had someone to dress up. For some reason he let me do it.

9. My favorite movie is Son in Law. It's a classic Pauly Shore movie that no one remembers, and I think that that is tragic. It is, quite possibly, the most rockin awesome movie that ever graced the big screen. I bust out lines frequently, but no one can truly share my joy. It's devastating.

10. I can't stand when people end sentences with prepositions. It's my grammar pet peave. You can't end a sentence with "at". In other words, "Where's it at?" and "I don't know where it's at" are grammatically incorrect sentences. In most cases, you can simply drop the trailing "At" and have a grammatically correct sentence (Where is it?). If you ask me the question, "Where's it at?" I will simply respond, as my mother did, "Behind the at."

Dinnertime Discussion

2009-01-05T17:20:00.000-08:00

So, one of my New Years Resolutions was to make more sit-down dinners. Partly because I'm pretty health-conscious and Shane eats like a First Grader(think Little debbies and bagel bites), and partly because it takes alot of work after a long day, Shane and I have been notorious for just grabbing something separately and eating a different times. So, tonight, in my second consecutive day of full meal preparation, I was feeling pretty good. We sat down to the table to feast on my elaborate spread. I was feeling good. Here's what transpired in another episode of the The Knipple Family Drama (comedy?)

Scene: Lindsay and Shane have just said a blessing. Riley is in a relatively positive mood, playing with her mashed potatoes. Lindsay and Shane take their first bites of her freakin awesome (I added that in) meal, when Shane mysteriously rises from his chair. He walks behind his chair and begins to squirm uncomfortably. The following conversation ensues:

Lindsay: Shane, what in the heck are you doing?

Shane: Nothing

Lindsay: Shane, you're standing behind the chair acting weird.

Shane: I have gas. BAAAA-AAAAD gas.

Lindsay: Well, don't do it at the dinner table, you freak. That's disgusting. I'm eating. (Stare) Are you seriously doing this right now?

Shane: Well, it hurts!

Lindsay: Are you freaking serious? Go to the bathroom weirdo. That's disgusting. I'm totally grossed out.

Shane: Fine.

This my friends, is what never ceases to amaze me about the male species. At what point in time did Shane decide that it was okay for him to walk behind the dinner table chair to pass his painful gas as opposed to politely going to the restroom? And at what time did I give him the impression that this was acceptable for my own dinner experience? So much for quality family time. All I can say is thank goodness Riley is a girl...we need some estrogen backup around here.

The Redhead

2009-01-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

So I like to pretend I'm perfect. I like to think that the decisions that I make are always rational, brilliant, and in everyone's best interest. So, naturally, I pretty much figured I would rock as a Mom. My daughter would be perfectly poised, the picture of a sharply well-mannered toddler, well-behaved in all situations, and charming at all times.

Friends, why didn't someone warn me? At some point in my delusional fantasy, someone might have felt compelled to tell me that there would arise brief moments in time, when I least expected it, where my little precious moments redhead would shift gears into someone (or something) resembling only Satan himself. People! I didn't teach her this!

One moment, we're cuddling on the couch tickling noses and reading books (normal). The next moment, she gets that look in her eyes(not normal). She throws herself on the floor. She bites, she scratches, she kicks, she screams. She's suddenly not my daughter. What is going on? Help! I only slightly feel like a failure at life...and, for a brief moment until my redhead returns, I do feel like the mother of Satan's child.

For a moment, I panic. What have I done? Where have I failed? I ignore her, but no! She's biting the varnish off of my expensive coffee table. I scold her, but to no avail...she bites the trash can and swats my hand. I move her from the trash can, but she pulls on peanuts ear and falls to the ground flailing around like some mix between an African dance and a seizure. What's a mom to do? I'd rather watch Shane's entire Pearl Jam DVD collection that deal with this. And then, just as abruptly as it began, she silences. She looks up at me with a tear in her eye..."Mama?". I turn. She's pointing to Peanut. "Gog?" (translation: Dog). She grins.

And just like that. Satan has left the building. My chest pain dissipates, my fury subsides. And the redhead sits there, eyes bright blue, staring at me.

Slightly melodramatic, I know, but does anyone have the answer? Clearly my prayer that she would have Shane's personality was not entirely granted. She's...ahem...got a little of me in there. I'm not so sure I'm okay with that. But I guess, for the moment, I'm learning to be.

Halloween

2008-11-27T13:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm totally a holiday behind, but I thought that this subject deserved a post. I have one question regarding Halloween. At what point did Halloween become an opportunity for all women between the ages of 16-29 to dress like $4 hookers? I don't understand it. My sweet little one year old spent the night wandering around in her pink butterfly outfit, and all I could think about was all of the sororities and fraternities that were turning into playboy mansion for the night. I mean, I'm not really sure why all of a sudden, under the label of "costume", it's okay for a woman to walk around in fishnets and a thong. Any other day, the same girls would gasp in atonishment at the thought of a lady wearing such a thing, but, hey, it's Halloween, so we'll all let our butt hang out and our boobs overflow. It's a costume, for goodness sakes. Am I the only one who's confused about this subject?

I walked through the costumes at Target before Halloween searching for something for Riley, and I came across a snow white costume, so I picked it up. It was a blue miniskirt with a red sparkly bra and a yellow apron....HUH? Last time I checked snow white wore a shirt. No shirt on this one, kids. And don't even ask about the little red riding hood costume. I mean really? Here is a list of the three most common offenders.

1. The sexy Disney character: As previously mentioned. There's nothing more traumatizing to my childhood memories than a snow white costume that has no shirt. Why don't you just give her some blonde hair too? Just ruin my whole image of her. Dress like a playboy bunny or Jenna Jamison or something, but leave my Red Riding Hood alone!

2. The army girl: This is the girl who didn't have time for a costume, so she borrowed her boyfriend's camouflage shirt and a pair of scissors and went to work. By the time she gets to the party, she has sculpted a piece small enough to fit my miniature dachsund. She calls it a shirt, puts it on with a denim miniskirt, and ta-da! It's an army costume. It's a shame she's got on camouflage...I bet no one will notice her.

3. The devil: We've all seen this one. A classic staple of any Halloween house party. This consists of horns, a tail, some cher-esque black tights and a bra. Who knew replicating the antichrist was this easy?

Listen, I'm not hatin' on Halloween. But to me, a costume like that says, "I really want to dress like this every day, but people might call me a promiscuous, so I'll do it today because today is the only time it is acceptable. So here's my suggestion: if your goal is for people to admire your stunning figure and to gawk at your beauty, why bother with a costume? Go naked. You'll definitely be the talk of the town after that.

Pillow talk

2008-10-24T16:39:00.000-07:00

Shane: "You know you've gotten really good about staying on your side of the bed at night, but right when you fall asleep, you're all over my side."

Lindsay: "I can't help it. I like to spread out. I like to sleep in the 'X' formation."

Shane: "Yeah, well, I don't like sleeping in the 'I' formation."

Lindsay: "Hehe. Sometimes I wish people could listen to the things we talk about. I mean, we're funny people."

Shane: Yes, yes we are.

Thanks, Dean

2008-10-23T16:58:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing I'm sure of, it's that my husband loves me. I don't question that. But Shane has a love affair to which I can never compare. I won't even try. My husband is obsessed with...signatures on minihelmets. Little inanimate objects...yet everything shrinks away in comparison to Shane's love for them. I'm not shy about pointing fingers at the culprit. He's probably reading this right now, feeling the guilt seeping in with every typed word. Do you feel it, Dean? I have the Reverend Dean Inserra to thank for the atrocity that has become my husband's obsession. He knows it. He has no defense. It's all his fault. You see, when I introduced Shane and Dean a few years ago, I never would have predicted that they would have become so enamored with each other's passion for everything sports. It was like two peas in a pod...two totally star struck little boys stuck in 28 year old bodies, eyes aglow with excitement that they had found each other. It started with a text here, a football game there. A "Hey do you wanna go to Double tree and stalk some football players for signatures?" to "Do you want to drive 6 hours and stand in the blazing heat at Miami dolphins training camp to get the signatures of players that we're just going to erase off of minihelmets after we discover they're totally overrated two months later?" And thus it began...the mini-helmet love affair.

I suppose Shane isn't totally innocent in this. After all, his obsession with football far pre-dates Dean-days. Shane has an obsession with Dan Marino that borders on (well, actually it is) creepy. We have a life-sized cutout of Dan Marino that follows us from house to house. Our first cat, albeit a girl, was named Marino. Shane has an intimate internal party every year on Dan Marino's birthday. We have a box of Marino themed Cheerios ("Marinos") from like 1982 that can't be opened lest we destroy priceless sports memorabilia. I guess I should have taken a hint when Shane's mom told me that up until he was like, 12 years old, he would lock himself in his closet if the Dolphins were losing. Why didn't I see the signs, one might ask?

So, two years, hundreds of dollars and 30 mini-helmets later, my closets are a mini museum of sports heroes past and present, spectacular and suck-tacular (thanks Jon). I glance at Shane as he peers at his masterpieces and I see the wheels turning...who will he get next? What mini is he saving for? What trip will accomplish his autograph-inspired goals? The mini collection is a constant process of collecting and erasing signatures, buying and trading minis, carefully orchestrating the perfect plot to score the ultimate autograph. It like the secret service of football autographing. Thanks to these tiny plastic replicas of the sport that holds Shane's heart, I have had to share my husband's affection. This is no longer a two person relationship. There's another woman, and she comes in the form of face-masks and chin-straps.

One time I asked Shane, "If you could go anywhere on vacation with me, where would it be?" My mind drifted to visions of sandy beaches or romantic mountain getaways; far away countries and African safaris. "Canton, Ohio," he replied quickly. "It's where the NFL hall-of-fame is." That's it my friends, enough said. Shane's watching football as I write...guess I'll go join him.

Lessons Learned

2008-10-19T17:05:00.000-07:00

As we were teaching Riley about not standing in the tub, the following incident occurred. Please don't report me to DCF.

Facebook Falters

2008-09-30T17:32:00.000-07:00

Ok, so let's face it. I'm pretty into facebook. It didn't take me long to hop on the facebook train...and once I did, I was hooked. I check my profile daily. I look at people's pictures and read their quotes. I get mad when they change the format and I can't navigate my page the way that I want to. I do draw the line at all of the buttons, bumper stickers, pokes, and quizzes, but all in all, I'm certainly pro-facebook...a facebook advocate of sorts. But, dear friends, I must call you out on one small thing. I hope you'll understand. There is one thing that makes facebook only slightly unbearable to me. It has to do with the status line. I'm convinced that there are a few classic offenses that facebookers commit in this status line, and I'm here to expose them. Here goes:

1. Alanis Morissette :" This is the girl that uses her facebook status to shoot world wide web daggers at all who cross her. She uses quotes like "[insert name] is wishing some people would @#$% off." or "[insert name] is thinking certain people should mind their own business." Everyone knows that she's only addressing one person, but its against the unwritten facebook protocol to actually use their name. And approach them in person? That's so two years ago. It's all about facebook trash-talk now, and all of her facebook friends can see and send facebook messages to each other about the facebook fight that about to ensue. Monday morning in algebra, it's all smiles, baby, but on the world wide web....it's WAR!

2. Debbie Downer: This girl uses quotes from sad songs to convey her deepest emotions and feelings about her recent breakup. She changes her relationship status to single (*GASP* she's no longer "In a Relationship with Johnny B Cool") and everyone notices. It's critical that she change her relationship status on an hourly basis...this relationship is turbulent and the status is ever-changing...heaven forbid someone think she's "in a relationship" when really, "its complicated." They see her relationship status and realize it's really happened...the facebook breakup is the real thing. So she inserts a classic breakup song lyric into the status line, just in case Johnny B Cool wants to see how she really feels. He checks her status and sees "[insert name] is unbreak my heart...say you'll love me again." or "[insert name] is I can't live if livin is without you." I true facebook love story comes to an end...**SIGH**

3. Beer Belly Billy: This is the guy who makes sure anyone and everyone know when, in what quantity, and for how long he has been drinking. His status line frequently reads, "[insert name] is totally hungover from the five kegger he had last night." or "[insert name} is so wasted right now." or "[insert name] is going to go get drunk tonight." He didn't really drink that much the night before, but it certainly sounds much more legit if he makes it sound like he was totally obliterated. Plus, the more he puts in his status bar about being wasted last night, the less responsibility he has to take for running around in a pink thong singing Britney Spears before vomiting profusely for the rest of the night in his friend's parent's toilet. If you were drunk, you totally keep your cool points....right?

In my book, these are official Facebook offenses. Please, please refrain from using these, or similar phrases in your daily Facebook escapades, or I will have to hunt you down and facebook status attack you ("Lindsay is wishing [insert name] would stop using the status bar to insult her enemies and would just confront them face to face"). I'm Mrs. Knipple and I approved this message.

Poopy.

2008-09-30T17:26:00.000-07:00

Riley pooped in the tub today. I'm not sure why or how, but at the very moment I was bathing her, she just got the urge. She leaned over and made a funny face at me. And there it was, floating in the tub. She triumphantly grinned and reached for it before I snatched her hand away. Well, it didn't actually happen that way. I was so shocked and overcome with laughter at the sight of the little turd pellets floating that Shane had to come in and remind me that I should remove our daughter from the tub (minor detail). He's so level-headed that guy. Anyway, don't know what possessed me to share. Just thought some of you moms out there might appreciate it.

Birthday Bonanza!

2008-09-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

So, my little baby turned one on Friday. One year! It's so cliche, but it's amazing how time flies. Saturday was the big birthday bash. Here are some random thoughts...

1. Shout out to the Inserra family for an impressive showing. Tommy is quite possibly the most well-behaved (and cutest for that matter) two year old there is. He waited patiently as he watched Riley eat her cake and said "Riley eat cake?" until he got his cupcake. Such a gentleman. And he helped open presents...but only the ones that his mom gave permission to open...priceless! Krissie is a rockstar plus plus plus for driving four hours in one day simply to celebrate with us. And Dean came to a birthday party during the Miami football game....major kudos. We love those guys.

2. I couldn't have asked for a better day out of my big one year old! Amidst a house full of people and a lot of noise, she happily stumbled around, grinning and hamming it up for cameras. And my fears were relieved when she happily dug into her chocolate cake. I had high hopes, but was sure she'd choke when the moment came! And not even a peep of crying. DOLL!

3. Shane was a master grill-man. Nothing strikes fear in his heart like knowing he is responsible for feeding twenty five hungry guests...he rose to the challenge.

4. My Dad remained true to his redneck roots, and I love him for that. When I asked him to bring some extra chairs, he brought a camouflage folding chair that turns into a turkey-hunting blind. He didn't understand why that was weird. His gift for riley was a Gord (I have no idea how to spell that, so I'm just going to spell phonetically) that was painted orange and blue. Luckily, Riley retaliated with her trademark endless seminole chop. That's my girl.

5. Mom was clutch...she handled the kitchen while I mingled and (BONUS!) cleaned the entire house after the party. She's basically the best.

6. It's getting hard to watch Florida State Football. Having been there for the glory days, and watching them drown (taking the Bobster and his records down with them) is getting painful. I'm not sure how much more I can take...especially living in Gator country.

7. I'm amazingly blessed with fantastic family and friends. Thanks for making Riley's birthday a day to remember!

Doogs

2008-09-04T17:18:00.001-07:00

Today, one of my patients asked me as I was delivering her baby if I was 15. 15!?!?! Seriously. She told me that I looked like the female Doogie Howser. Okay, number one, why are you worried about my age when you're squeezing a human being through through a hole slightly larger than a grape, and number two, do you really think I look like Doogie?? Sheesh. I guess one day I'll appreciate this whole "you look eleven years younger than you really are" thing. But for now, it's only slightly annoying and humiliating. I smile politely and say, "Nope, I'm 26, married, with a baby and an M.D. degree. Not to worry. You're in good hands." That usually satisfies them...usually. Sometimes they sigh as if to say "you basically suck...isn't there anyone with experience around here?" Sometimes I wish I could say something along the lines of, "Listen, I've been in your shoes. I know this whole birthing babies thing is not a walk in the park, and I can be sympathetic, empathetic, and down right helpful to you if you'll let me. On top of that, I don't think Mr. Wrinkle-ranch been-here-a-thousand-years has any clue what it feels like to push out an 8lb 4oz baby like I do, so if you'll just get over my age, we'll really get somewhere. And by the way, if we run into trouble, I have about fourteen people over me watching my every move." But I don't say that. It's okay. I guess one day I'll be the wrinkle-rancher who's forgotten what it feels like to labor and deliver. I'm just, once again, at the bottom of the ladder making my way up. It's not so bad from the bottom. I much prefer looking up! So Doog on Dr. Doogie-Knipple. The best years are ahead.

For Real, though

2008-08-22T17:59:00.001-07:00

So today I was watching Ellen, who, by the way, happens to be one of the funnier people I've ever watched on TV. As Ellen likes to do, she said that she was going to share with the audience a hilarious workout video. My inquiring mind had to know, so I stayed tuned. I almost fell out of my chair in sheer hysterics when I saw this video. Not only is this the most hilarious thing I have ever seen, but it is a workout video that two of my college roommates had, and in fact, participated in. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it in my living room with my own two eyes. Dare you not to laugh...

The Gym

2008-08-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was thirteen, I have been a member of a gym. Big gyms, small gyms, in betweens. You could say I've been around the gym block. So I feel pretty comfortable saying that I have the gym culture pegged. In fact, I'm a gym expert. Every gym has their own versions of the same character. Don't believe me? Read on, my friend, read on.

1. The spikey haired muscle man: we're most familiar with this character. He walks in in sweats, gym bag on shoulder, biceps bigger than most people's thighs. (you know, arms so big that they can't comfortably hang down by his side.) He smells like a mixture of tanning bed and axe spray. he struts (the long way) to the locker room begging, pleading for you to gawk at him. His eyes scream, "I was never cool in high school, so I spent all of my time in the gym during college so someone would validate me by looking at me. Please notice me. I don't have any social skills but I have great biceps." He may work out, but mostly, he gives fist pounds and spots to all his gym buddies while he pounds back his milk jug of water with his protein shake. My pleasure is counting the blood vessels that pop out on his forehead during his 'roid rage bench press set. He melts at the sight of carbs. He's Superman, bread is his kryptonite.

2. The She-man. We think she's a she, but she might be a he. We can only make assumptions that she has two X chromosomes based on the fact that she actually wears a sports bra to cover her massive pectorals (breasts??) She enters the gym on a mission: to make the men look like little girls when they lift next to her. No doubt her voice is deeper. Like Mr. Spikey-hair, her skin tone is somewhere in between burnt orange and fake bake. No weight machines for her...those are for pansies. She's a pro. Give her a weight bar and free weights. She adjusts her black weightlifting gloves between sets, daring the men to ask her for the weight bench. My pleasure is watching the men shrink away in her presence. Her kryptonite: the Zumba teacher.

3. The noon-time regular. He's 76 years old, and he's been coming to this gym every day at exactly 12:00 noon for sixty years. He complains because the music's too loud and the machines are too high tech. He likes the third treadmill on the right...and he'll wait for it, even if it means staring at the person who's on it for thirty minutes. He insists on watching the news on the mounted television and will go home if the TV isn't working. His workout attire? White undershirt, v-neck of course, shorty shorts from his 1930's gym class, black high socks, and some version of all white Reeboks. He smells like grandpa's aftershave, his legs a lovely shade of hairless ivory. My pleasure is watching him do his air shoulder presses and bicep curls with imaginary weights as he walks at 1mph. His kryptonite: the second treadmill on the right.

4. The newbie: You spot this one from a mile away. She's made a new resolution to venture into the gym for the first time. She wants to fit in, so she went and bought a coordinated Nike outfit with $200 shoes and an iPod to match. She gazes timidly at the machines, praying she can find one that she can navigate. She settles on the elliptical. She begins her strides and gains confidence. "This is easy", she thinks, and she checks your speed so that she can one-up you. Five minutes later she's in near cardiac failure. She quickly scans the gym to see if anyone will notice she's only been on the machine 6 minutes before she retires. She ventures into the weight machines and settles on one, only to fumble with the weight pin and the seat adjuster. She has no idea what she's doing, but she prays that no one notices. She quietly sighs and resigns to the mats to do some crunches before stretching and heading home. My pleasure is watching her sit backwards on the lat pull down and still try to do it. Her kryptonite: the She-man.

5. Dr. 90210 trophy-wife: Oh you know her. She comes to the gym to be noticed. At most, she wears a sports bra and spandex shorts, hot pink of course. Her body a mix of Heidi Klum and Pamela Anderson, she walks the gym, chest pushed out, stomach sucked in, hair and make up perfectly applied. It's unclear if she's going to the gym or to a nice dinner. She hops up onto the treadmill and men stand paralyzed. She eases into a trot, but shockingly, nothing jiggles or bounces. Her pony-tail is a perfect pendulum, sending men all around into a trance. She's the perfect mix of botox, silicone, and great genetics. She pretends not to notice, but secretly basks in the glory of the attention. She doesn't lift weights...the 8 carat rock on her left hand is enough to carry on its own. My pleasure is watching men think of ways to walk past her without being obvious. Her kryptonite: sweat.

It's true my friends. They exist in every gym. Test them out. Leave your own versions if you have them!

Say whatcha need to say...

2008-08-16T17:26:00.000-07:00

I'm baaaa-aaack! So, first and foremost, I must apologize to my adoring fans (all two of them) for the lapses that have occurred in between my last few posts. I can only hope that in my absence, you managed to pull yourself through, day to day, knowing that I would soon return. You see, if you don't already know, I have begun a beautiful thing called residency, which consumes 23.5 of my 24 hours in a day. The other half I have decided I probably should share with my wonderful, understanding family. By the way, Shane's none-to-pleased with my last post. So that, my friends, is where I have been . . . and why I have kept you waiting.

So I'm watching Barack Obama talk to Rick Warren. I'm not going to get into politics. This blog is much too lighthearted for that. I will say, however, that it gave me the title to this blog. And the urge to just write. So I thought I would write a totally unrelated blog...a blog to give you a glimpse into what I have been doing. You see, I deliver babies on a daily basis. Parents, when they have babies are given the responsibility of giving their child a name that they will carry with them for the rest of their lives. A name that will be a part of their identity. I believe this to be a huge responsibility. Shane and I agonized over a name for months. I think some of my patients agonized for about 0.0001 seconds before choosing the first thing that came to mind and settling on it. I suggest that there should be a time delay between the moment someone decides on a name and the time that they actually have to write it on the birth certificate. Either that or an IQ test. So here are a list of some of my favorites so far.

1. NEVAEH: pronounced Neh-vay-uh. It's heaven backwards, people. For real. If they have a brother, I think that they should consider naming him LEGNA, for angel backwards. Or, lets just face it...their other kids are in the room...I see them...they're hardly donning halos. They should probably consider NOMED instead. Or just get right to it and name them NATAS or REFICUL. That may be a more accurate descriptor.

2. SINCERE: for a boy. A BOY! Really, that's just wrong. Shoulda just named him WIMPY, or DAISY. Or perhaps STRAWBERRY-FLUFF-PINK-LACY-TWINKLE-TOES. It's just a set up for disaster. Kinda like having a girl with the last name Knipple

3. JESUS: No, not the Spanish Hay-soos. Jesus. Like Jesus of Nazareth. Now that's rather presumptuous. I mean, I know he's coming back, but I'm not convinced I'm going to deliver the real deal. I mean, I guess it could happen. (How famous would I be?) But if not, that kid has some seriously sacred shoes(Shane says sandals) to fill.

4. SHANAY MAY: First name Shanay, last name May. Shanay May. Flashbacks to Martin and sha-nay-nay. Poor kid.

(Holy stink...my dog just totally gas-bombed me....see my previous blog...excuse my brief intermission here while I vomit in my mouth)

Okay, so I'm totally distracted now...I would love to continue with this topic, but my nose hairs are on fire. I'll have to address this topic again at a later date. I'm going to go wash this nastiness out of my clothes. Peace.

It's a real problem...

2008-08-07T17:19:00.000-07:00

So, I'm back. And I'm here to let you in on a Knipple family secret. I need some serious help. You ready? My family's got gas. BAD gas. Constant gas. There. I said it. And friends, its not gasoline I'm talking about. Riley, Shane, Peanut....they've all got it. Peanut can burn all of the nose-hairs out of your nostril in about .2 seconds. Shane's the master of the incognito flatulence...you don't even know it happened until he's in the next room and you suddenly get a wave of nausea-inducing stench. Riley squeals with delight as the bubbles rise in her bathtub. I think it's a real problem. They think it's freaking hilarious.

So I thought I'd give you a glimpse into how my trio of butt trumpets poses a real problem to this disgruntled mom. Here's the scenario.

We're sitting in the living room having some nice family time. Peanut's chillin' on the couch catching a snooze, Shane's surfing our new nine hundred fifty thousand channel sports package for some football, and I'm bouncing the redhead on my lap. It's a beautiful thing. Family time. And then . . . it happens. At first I think it's a motorcycle...perhaps a helicopter...maybe a shoe dragging across the floor. But, my worries are realized as it becomes apparent that the noise I just heard has indeed come from one of my loves....but who? Therein lies the problem. The poot is paralyzing. We all freeze. Peanut lifts an eyebrow. Shane gets a sheepish grin. Riley chuckles her deep belly laugh as she takes off down the hall on all fours. And I sit dumbfounded. Seriously...who did that? It's a mystery. Perhaps I'll never know. And so this is how it goes.

For now the farting bandit narrowly escapes. For now....

Glamour Shots

2008-07-29T17:24:00.001-07:00

It sounded like a good idea at the time. I mean, everyone was doing it. It was the "in" thing if you will. Adolescent girls with dreams of being the next Cindy Crawford or Nikki Taylor lined up at the doors. You weren't cool if you didn't have Glamour shots. . . and so I signed up.

At twelve years old, I walked into the Governors Square Mall that day with high hopes. My shots would be beautiful. People would OOh and AAAhhhh over them. They would tell me how I should think about being a model. They would all rush out and get their own Glamour Shots.

So I sat in the chair. My "stylist to the stars" was Charlene, a debutante in her former life, who was sure she'd make me look like a million bucks for my big day. Her long, hot pink nails ran through my hair as she chattered on about my new hairdo. She wouldn't let me look. She wanted it to be a surprise. She assured me that I would love it, and when I cringed at the sight of her "teasing" comb, she quickly reminded me that you HAVE to tease hair for pictures or it would just look "flatter than a georgia highway." She teased and sprayed, teased and sprayed...one more spray for good measure. Then onto the makeup.

She leaned over me, her perfume making me slightly nauseous. She sighed and smiled as she completed her canvas on my face until finally she squealed with delight. "Finished!" she said. "Don't you just look hotter'n a chili pepper in the summertime! You ready to see?". I nodded and took a deep breath with anticipation. This was my moment. She spun me around in the chair. "Wha'dya think?"

I was mortified. My glamour shot was more like a promotional shoot for Bozo the clown. Thanks, Charlene. Thanks.

Sock it to me!

2008-07-24T17:19:00.000-07:00

Friends! I don't know how I have missed out on this for 26 years! Up until now my poor toes have endured the company of bland, boring, blah white socks. Day in and day out, white socks, white socks, with an occasional black pair for those days that white just won't work. But alas, my four weeks as an intern have opened my eyes to a whole new world of foot flair!

And now, here I am. You could call me obsessed. Pink socks, striped socks, polka dot socks, purple flower socks...I have to have them all! Nothing thrills me more than to look down during a delivery and see my tangerine socks peering out underneath my gown...toes wiggling with delight! Oh, poor toes! You must have been so melancholy all this time. I'm so sorry it took me so long! Perhaps it's the monotone scrubs that leave me longing for more color in my life. Who knows? But whatever it is, it's got me bouncing into my closet each night to pick out which sock will accompany me to Labor and Delivery the next day.

Don't knock it till you try it. Go buy yourself some foot flair. And every now and then, kick off your shoes and give your toes a wiggle. I dare you not to smile.

I Wanna Be Like.....Shane.

2008-07-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

There are alot of things that I can improve on. I'll be the first to admit it. It's actually pretty overwhelming when I think about it. I mean, I have ALOT of shortcomings.

So, as I was sitting in the car driving to Tally this weekend, I looked over at my husband and thought, "If only I could be more like Shane...". It's true. I mean, often I feel like I'm this tazmanian devil spinning out of control, and right next to me is my life-mate, cool as a cucumber, humming along at a steady pace.

So I decided to make a list of things that would change in my life if I could take a hint from my super-duper husband...here it is:

1. Less speeding tickets.

I like to pretend I'm Danika Patrick in my car. I drive like a maniac. It makes me feel good. I know you're not going to believe this when I tell you, but Shane NEVER speeds. Never. It's incredibly annoying. He's the guy on the interstate that actually GOES 60mph in the construction zones. As cars whiz by, there Shane is, putting along in all of his good samaritan glory. Not a care in the world. And to top it all off, he refuses to speed up to a newly posted speed until he actually passes the speed limit sign. He even obeys the Stop-rock-go rule at stop signs. Now that's discipline. One time, I asked him if he had ever sped in his life. He simply replied, "One time, I got up to 80mph on the interstate." He's never gotten a ticket.

After nearly seven years of rolling my eyes and sighing every time he makes his way to the driver's side of the car, I'm finally learning to sit back and enjoy the long, SLOW rides with my husband. I've not yet tried the whole "not speeding" thing for myself, but hey, it might be nice to see a police car and not pull a hamstring trying to slam on breaks.

2. More patience.

I've got less patience than a kid with ADHD at the Nutcracker. You have two point two seconds of my attention before you lose me. And that's on a generous day. In college, I would doodle grand masterpieces on my biology notes. I can't sit in the car for more than three minutes without immediately dialing someone's number. Don't stand in line with me in a store if the cashier isn't fast enough. It's really pitiful. I sit there, annoyed, fidgety, sighing and switching from hip to hip, while Shane says something along the lines of, "Lindsay, relax. Doing that isn't going to make things go any faster." And he's right...as usual. Shane just doesn't get impatient. I've never read directions in my life. Shane reads them start to finish AND sets out all of the parts before he even starts assembling. I don't get it. He's like some freak of nature with this unending supply of patient pills. Weird.

3. Better relationships.

It shocks people when I tell them that I've never seen Shane get mad. It sounds ludicrous, but it's true. (Minus NFL draft day 2007 when Miami selected Ted Ginn, Jr as their first round pick) I've even considered throwing away his minihelmet collection (**GASP! Joe and Dean) just to see if I can actually get a furrowed brow or a gosh-darn-it out of him. I get angry all of the time. Shane seems to understand alot better than I do that everything isn't all about you all of the time. I storm in the door, wounded and vengeful over things that have "been done" to me during the day. Shane listens intently as I vent and quietly waits for the moment that I give him the opportunity to validate my feelings. Then he says something along the lines of, "Well, I mean, it's not really that big of a deal." For a moment, my blood curdles...and then I realize that it really isn't. The whole day long I was thinking about myself and in one moment Shane reminds me that I've not given myself time to think about anything or anyone else besides me!

4. More milk:

I hate milk. It makes me gag. Shane would swan dive into a pool of milk and bathe in nestle-quik if he could. I imagine if I bought him one, he'd wear a camel pack filled with milk everywhere he went. More milk in my life would be good. I wish I liked it as much as Shane.

5. Less worry over food:

I think about food all day long. I count calories, calculate weight watchers points, worry about fat free this and sugar free that. I secretly dream of a world where I can eat reeses pieces and fried okra all day long. I'm pretty sure I could eat twenty yeast rolls from Hops without even taking a breath. Yet, I walk into a restaurant and my mind instantly enters into a battle of what-I-really-want vs what-I'm-going-to-get. "How many calories did I eat for breakfast," I think. "How much cellulite will that sandwich cause?" "How many miles would I have to run if I afforded myself a small fry?" My mind races...And the drink...it's always diet.

Shane stands next to me and instantly knows that he will order a double bacon cheeseburger with extra fries and an extra large roobtbeer. Nevermind that he had two hot dogs and fourteen cokes for lunch. Forget that he ate an entire bag of chips earlier in the day. He knows what he wants, he gets it, and he moves on with his life. Meanwhile, I still haven't come to an acceptable selection in my mind. I order a salad, sigh, and sit down.

6. More chill time:

I think I would rather watch a marathon of Pittsburgh Penguins hockey games all day long than to have to accomplish nothing in a day. I'm 26 years old, and I have yet to master the art of simply doing nothing for a day. I'm definitely a setting myself up for a heart attack at age 40. Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me. I really and truly cannot sit down on the couch for more than about five minutes without getting the shakes. You would think that this could be a good thing, but the majority of the time, I'm like a one legged duck swimming in circles and getting nowhere. Shane, on the other hand, could watch ESPN classic and eat Papa-Johns all day long and it would be a successful day. That would be nice.

I could write much more, but I think that's alot to work on for now! So from now on, I'm taking some tips from the man that I share my life with....and I think I'll be better for it!

Worst Mom, Ever

2008-06-29T14:14:00.000-07:00

So, prior to yesterday, I thought I was a decent mom. Sure, I one time let Riley fall off the bed, and yes, I occasionally let her play on my questionably clean floor, but all in all, I thought I was doing a pretty good job with this whole motherhood thing.

And then it happened....

Yesterday, I, supermom, superwife, decided to make the week's grocery run on my own with Riley. Diaper in case of super blowout emergency....check! Snacks in case of super scream out emergency...check! Shopping cart cover so that my child doesn't contract a disease riding in the cart...check! And we were on our way...the redhead and me.

Shopping went off without a hitch, and we made our way outside. Hmmm....where's the car? In a true Lindsay moment (if haven't experienced this with me, you haven't known me long enough), I lost the car. Riley and I wandered aimlessly around the parking lot as I pressed my lock button relentlessly trying to hear the horn signal. And, finally, after a near heat stroke, my car appeared, right where I left her. Embarrassed, I headed across the parking lot only to realize that a man was sitting in his car next to me watching the whole thing...sheesh. Why does someone always have to be watching when these things happen.

So, I picked up Riley and put her in the carseat. No sooner had I strapped her in when I heard a car alarm going off. Geez! I glared around, looking for someone to blame for the obnoxious alarm. How annoying! That is, until I realized I had pushed the panic button on my keys when I was putting Riley in. It was, in fact, my car. I frantically began pushing buttons...please, for the love, please turn off! The man next to me glared at me. Finally, I got it turned off, turned on the ignition from the passenger's side so as not to suffocate Riley, and shut both of the passenger doors to walk around.

Well, friends, I didn't realize that the panic button that had sent me into a frenzy actually automatically locks the doors! My dear 9 month old child was locked in the car with the car running(thank goodness) as I stood in the June Florida heat...helpless...with Mr. I-cant-believe-you-lost-your-car-set-off-the-panic-and-locked-your-baby-in-the-car-all-in-five-minutes watching the whole thing.

I called Shane, who luckily, was a minute or two away. Meanwhile, my dear sweet daughter thought it was hilarious. She peered at me through the window as if thanking me for the impromptu peek-a-boo game. This is fun, MOM! Mr. ICBYLYCSOFPALYBITCAIFM (that's my new abbreviation for him) circled the parking lot, watching me as if to say, I can't leave that child with that obviously incompetent mom until he finally came by to ask if someone was coming because he "saw you lock your baby in the car."

"My husband is turning in right now, I said (he wasn't really, but I felt like it made me look better)....And she's got air conditioning." He hesitantly drove off, and I sighed.

Lindsay Hinson-Knipple...winner of worst mom in the world award 2008. Let it be known.

Turtlehead

2008-06-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

Four years ago when Shane and I married, I would have NEVER predicted that we would have the conversation below. But just the other day, it DEFINITELY happened. Not for the faint of heart...

Lindsay: How was Daddy day care today?

Shane: Good.

Lindsay: How did she eat?

Shane: Great.

Lindsay: Did she poop?

Shane: Well, sort of.

Lindsay: What do you mean, sort of?

Shane: She had a turtlehead and it wouldn't come out.

Lindsay: What? So what did you do?

Shane: Well, I let her strain but it wouldn't come, so I had to grab it and pull it out.

Lindsay: Are you SERIOUS? You pulled it out?!?

Shane: Well, I didn't grab it with my bare hands. I did it through the diaper.

Lindsay: Oh my gosh. You're gross. But I'm glad you did it. I guess.

My First Patient

2008-06-25T14:33:00.000-07:00

This week marks the beginning of the next four years of my life. Yes, I started residency orientation this week. A week that strikes fear in the hearts of young doctors. A week that you start to realize that you can no longer defer Doctor questions with the response, "I'm just the medical student. Let me ask the doctor." You are, in fact, THE DOCTOR. So, with slight indigestion and high anxiety, I walked through the doors of Shands on Monday as Dr. Hinson (Knipple)

Today, I performed my first surgery on my very first patient. He was tall, thin, and dark skinned. Looking at him brought me back to my childhood. Slightly greasy but neatly dressed in red and yellow clothing, I swear I heard him say to me, "C'mon doctor, you know how to do this surgery, don't you?" With my attending physician watching, I clamped clamps and made cuts, shaking all the while. I fumbled nervously, laughed with discomfort. And when it was over, I smiled a smile of relief. It was over. I had performed my first circumcision....on my first patient....A Slim Jim.

Can You Hear Me Now?

2008-06-16T17:34:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm the master of making it look like I'm listening when I'm really not. It's a terrible habit, I know. I like to blame it on my self-diagnosed ADD, but Shane's not buying it. I can listen to an entire conversation and never hear a thing! Take, for instance, when I was in college.

I was a college athlete (no really, stop laughing, I was). I played volleyball. My coach was a fiery hot head who often went on twenty minute rants. Instead of listening, I focused in on him, nodded intently, and thought:

1. Man, somebody really needs to tell this dude about his perma-wedgie. There was something entirely too distracting about the way his Mizunos crept comfortably in between his cheeks and stayed there for every drill, every scream, every standing-on-the-chair-hitting-volleyballs moment. I couldn't help but think, "How does he not feel that?" and "Even if he can't feel it, doesn't he notice that one leg of his shorts is about 6 inches higher?" So, instead of digesting his words of wisdom, I simply imagined the day that I would walk up to him and say, "Is yo butt hungry? 'Cause it sho is eatin' yo shorts!"

2. How does he always manage to get that one little spittle drop to travel like that? I mean, this was pure talent. I would watch in amazement as a little drop of spit travelled from his bottom lip to top, top lip to bottom with every P, B, and M that he spoke. It was always the same. Every practice. One drop. Bottom to top, top to bottom. Amazing. And once again, not listening. I was just thinking, "Lick your lips, for the LOVE of all things sacred, LICK YOUR LIPS!"

3. I wonder if he would notice if I gently tucked his chest hair sprout back into his Mizuno polo. Coach would generally come to practice looking presentable. But just like clockwork, two minutes into the first drill, our old friends the curly sprouts would emerge from the polo victoriously, curling themselves around his polo buttons as if anchoring themselves for the long haul. Slightly moist from sweat these salt and pepper friends became the object of my attention for many a scream-fest.

Ah, yes, my listening skills could use some work. But let's face it, if you were honest you can think of times where you yourself have had these moments. Be patient with me...I'm a work in progress. I never promised to be perfect...just to be honest!

(Shout out to Dean for the plug...thanks, man! If you were directed here by his blog and were sorely disappointed by my lack of depth and introspection, I apologize!)

"Hey Baby, Whasho name?"

2008-06-08T19:19:00.000-07:00

So, I like to run. Well, I call it a glorified skip, but for simplicity's sake we'll call it a run. As I said previously, we are in North Carolina visiting Shane's parents (more Knipples! Woop woop!), and I like to take full advantage of the full-time babysitter we have in Shane's mom, so I have been going running every morning. And though we're far from home, there is one thing that never changes, no matter where I go. I never, and I repeat NEVER, can go running without some dude hanging out the side of a truck honking or yelling something along the lines of "Hey baby...Whasho name?" or "Call me!". (I'm not saying they're honking at me because I look good...goodness knows my pathetic excuse for a jog and beet-red face are less than attractive...I look more like a sunburnt chicken flailing around than Pamela Anderson running down the beach...I think they would honk at a chimpanzee if it was female) Nevertheless, there I am, running down the road and HOOOOOOOOOOOONK! "Hey baby, wooooooo!"

So, in an effort to make my runs (and every other female's for that matter) more pleasant, I have decided to offer a few suggestions for you men who feel it necessary to give women near heart attacks on the side of the road.

1. If I'm out for a jog, I'm probably not looking for a date. In fact, there have been countless times where I have wished they would pull over after they say "Hey, baby!" so that I can respond..."Hey! I'm married and I have an eight month old at home who can't wait for me to come home so that I can breastfeed her and change her poopy diaper. The near heart attack you gave me is nothing compared to the sleep deprivation that my husband and I have had for the past year. How 'bout we go out on a date sometime?" I wonder how they would respond.

2. If you really want to have some kind of conversation with me, driving by at 45 mph and screaming as you drive off doesn't afford me the opportunity to have proper dialect. Perhaps a better idea is to pull over, complement me on the dedication it takes to run in the dead heat of summer, and offer me a water. Then, we could talk about your beat up Chevy and your cammo outfit, or whatever you would like to talk about.

3. If your shouts are supposed to be encouraging, maybe you could consider playing the Rocky theme song from your car as you drive by. I might really benefit from some Balboa inspiration.

4. You're not accomplishing anything with a horn honk or a cat call. I mean, its as if I'm going to hear your horn or your obnoxious comment and miraculously fall in love with you, chase you down, and give you my number. You know, I regularly give my name and number to strangers who stop me during my run. Perhaps you should stop at a convenience store and get me a towel or water instead. You might get somewhere.

Free advice from the Dr. Knip.

Numero UNO Embarrassing Moment!

2008-06-06T17:54:00.000-07:00

Oh, dear friends, it pains me to relive this moment, but I simply have to share. I have now experienced my most embarrassing (two r's two s's???, not sure) moment in my 26 years on earth (well, actually, losing the second grade spelling bee for missing the word lettuce is probably still the first, but this is a close, close second).

Shane and I flew up to North Carolina yesterday to see his parents. We left from the Jacksonville airport early in the morning, and in true Riley fashion, a diaper change was necessary the minute we got into the airport. So, Shane took his post by the women's restroom with our luggage (he's an old pro by now at waiting for me outside the restroom) and Riles and I headed into the bathroom.

Well, unfortunately, my bladder is about the size of a peanut, and while changing Riley, I decided that I needed to relieve myself as well. Any mother knows that a trip into the stall with an 8 month old takes some serious contorsion and some real balance. So, I was pretty proud of myself when I successfully managed to use the bathroom and wash my hands while still holding Riley.

Shane met me outside the restroom, and we proceeded to the security checkpoint. About 20-30 feet from the restroom, a lady came walking up to me urgently with her husband. "Excuse me, ma'am. I wanted to tell you to pull down your skirt. It's just that I would want someone to tell me."

Yes, friends, I had tucked my skirt securely into my underwear, and I pranced down the Jacksonville International airport hallway (packed with people I might add) with half of my rather large derriere hanging out for all the world to see. I reached down, hoping, praying that I would feel some material...any material...covering my bottom, but sure enough, it was all skin.

So, dear friends, as I walked around the security checkpoint line redirectors (you know, the z-shaped cords that you hung on as a kid), I had the opportunity to face all of the people who just saw my bottom every time that I turned a corner. And, people, I had to make those turns many times. **SIGH** This is my life. Hope it entertains you.

Sweet, unsuspecting Shane

2008-06-05T16:44:00.000-07:00

A true conversation that happened between Shane and myself one day:

(Walking past Lane Bryant in the Mall)

Shane: "Do you want to go in there?"

Me: Pause.....stare.....Pause

Shane: "What?"

Me: "Are you serious?"

Shane: "What?"

**DISCLAIMER** Husbands, if you don't know why this comment might not be the best comment for your wife, you might want to do further research before making such comments.

Dear NHL

2008-06-01T17:30:00.000-07:00

Dear National Hockey League,

As much as it pleases me to watch grown men skate around chasing a puck for three hours at a time, and as much as I LOVE the fact that every series is up to seven games long, I am writing to request that you expedite the process that is the Stanley Cup Finals. Like many of you involved in the NHL, I have a wonderful husband that I enjoy spending time with. However, you might not know that my husband has an obsession with the Pittsburgh Penguins that borders on obsessive(I'm quite convinced he is stalking Sidney Crosby). I do believe he has been saving his money for a penguin suit to sleep in. Thus, the process that is the Stanley Cup Playoffs has left me lying awake many nights in the glow of the white TV screen as my husband jumps with every shot on goal, curses every power play (well, maybe not curses, but cursing for Shane is relative).

It is in the interest of not only my own personal sanity, but also the health of my husband(and also your players...can we say dental work??) that I ask you (borderline beg of you), PLEASE consider cutting the finals short. It's just the right thing to do.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Wife

Dwayne Titty

2008-05-28T04:17:00.000-07:00

No, folks, its not my new stripper name. Let me just start from the beginning. My slightly demented but always hilarious grandma...Mema as we affectionately call her...is always good for some laughs. She's not really intentionally funny, and she certainly doesn't have all of her marbles, but funny sort of emanates from her. Like this past Christmas, when she gave my mother an old nightgown and deodorant stick that she stole from one of her fellow nursing home residents. "Well, it's purdy," she said. Forget the fact that someone's name is in the back in sharpie marker and the deodorant was half used by some geriatric stranger. Or how about the fact that every time someone dies at Westminster, she steals the crystal cross placed on the piano and gives it to one of us as a gift. Are you getting the picture?

When Shane and I first started dating, we visited Mema a few times at Westminster. One day, as we were pushing Mema down the hall for her daily dose of tobacco, I asked, "Mema, do you remember who this is?" "Yeah," she said, "That's Dwayne." And thus the saga began. Shane was no longer Shane. He was Dwayne, or Shann, or whatever Mema decided to call him on any given day. We just accepted it with a chuckle. We figured it would end there.

But his weekend, my mom headed to Tennessee for a cousin's wedding. At the reception, my Church of God pastor's wife Aunt Betty quietly and seriously pulled my mother aside. "Now, Susan," she said, "What is Lindsay's last name?" To which my mother replied, "Knipple" Aunt Betty sheepishly laughed. "Well, Mema told me it was Titty; that they were the Titties." Friends, I kid you not. Mema thinks I'm married to Dwayne Titty.

Say Cheese?

2008-05-26T18:38:00.000-07:00

So, I think I missed the boat on profile pictures for myspace and facebook. You see, what I think I should be doing is making pouty lips and looking off into the distance while taking a picture of myself. Perhaps my pictures of my child and my family actually looking at the camera and smiling date me. So to all of my pouty face profilers...I just have a few things for you to ponder.

First: We all know that you are sitting in your room making puckery faces and cocking your head to the side taking pictures of yourself...and sorry, but that's just weird. And, I hate to break it to you, but you're probably much more attractive when you just smile for the camera. I'm just sayin'.

Second: The only people you attract with the seductress shots are creepy forty year old pedophiles, and you're probably like...thirteen. Unless of course that is who you are trying to attract...in which case, pucker up.

Third: This has nothing to do with the profile picture, but it's more free advice for the pouty faced profilers...if you broke up with your boyfriend or your best friend is talking about you, please don't change your status to something along the lines of "(insert your name here) is wondering when people are going to grow up" or "(insert your name here) is thinking people are so immature." After all, you're the one sitting in your room taking pictures of yourself making Victoria's secret faces.

Just a few things for you to think about. In the meantime, if you need me I'll be in my room in dim lighting making pouty lips and bedroom eyes for my new profile picture.

Technological Genius

2008-05-21T18:50:00.000-07:00

Alert the Geek Squad! I'm officially part of the technological revolution.

Basking in the pale glow of my graduation gift Macbook, I take a moment to admire my newly purchased phone/PDA/internet thingy. My new digital camera and the latest apple editing software are capable of making me a photographer to the stars. My bank account is empty...but darned if I'm not keeping up with the technological Joneses.

Forget the fact that I can't dial a simple telephone number on my new technological masterpiece. Nevermind that I haven't figured out how to save a simple file on my beautiful computer. I am climbing to the top of the technological ladder...leaving mere mortal cellphones and PC's behind.

Now if I could only figure out how to turn this thing off...

Ode to the Wizard of Oz

2008-05-21T18:30:00.000-07:00

To my little carrot top, who reminds me not to take life so seriously...

"We represent

the lollipop guild

And in the name of

the lollipop guild.....

We wish to welcome you to munchkin land!

Whip 'em out!

2008-05-20T04:43:00.000-07:00

I'm convinced that there are people in this world who have no sense of propriety. It's not that they are intentionally inappropriate, they just truly don't understand that there is a time to speak and a time to be silent. We all know them.

Take, for example, my friend David, whom I met at the Wal-mart auto center the other day. After totalling another car and doing five grand in damage to my car in a rear-end accident (totally my fault) a few weeks ago, Shane and I decided that the 1/200,000 of an inch tread on my tires wasn't doing much good and I needed some new tires.

Now, I've met David before. He kinda reminds me of the Slowsky's from the comcast high speed internet commercials. He's not in a hurry. So, I sighed as I realized he would be checking us in. After an agonizing check-in with Shane and me standing in the blazing sun, David recognized Riley lunging toward me from Shane's arms. She wanted her Mommy, so I grabbed her.

To which David stated, "I know what she's thinking...LUNCH! Why don't you whip those things out?"

Perhaps my friend David would have recognized his inpropriety if I had responded with "Why don't you whip YOURS out?" Or perhaps not...

I love eating my words

2008-05-18T17:29:00.000-07:00

Call it a cruel twist of fate...but as I sat among friends and family after my graduation on Saturday, I opened up a beautifully wrapped gift from my sister, only to reveal a large, beautiful (yep, I said it...beautiful!) COACH BAG! Excuse me while I swallow the words I'm eating. In my own defense, I DID say that they made some nice things. Sooooo, in the event that you see me around town donning Coach bag proudly, here is my addendum to my previous blog:

ADDENDUM:
In the event that a friend or family member decides that in some act of love or appreciation, they would like to lavish you with entirely-too-expensive bags and/or shoes, it is only appropriate that you should graciously accept and proudly wear such accessories. It is acceptable in this situation to use these gifts with the understanding that you would NEVER spend such astronomical amounts of money on yourself. It is truly an occasion where its the thought that counts...and in this case...it really counts. And I do...love...my.....Coach......bag.

GULP.

Vera, Coach, and Crocs

2008-05-11T18:45:00.000-07:00

I have to be honest with you...I've never been a brand-name kinda girl. Sure, in high school I may have coveted a couple of my friends' designer jeans and bags, but for the most part, I'm happy enough finding a good deal on a cute outfit from a store for the mere middle classers.

That's why I have never understood the hype behind so many brand name items. I mean, when I first saw Vera Bradley bags, the first thing I thought was that it looked like a bad quilt from my grandma's closet. I'm pretty sure my grandma used to walk around the house in slippers that were the same pattern! But, someone somewhere decided that these bags were expensive, and therefore, must be attractive, and BAM! millions of people are out buying my grandma's slippers for $200 to wear proudly over their shoulders as some mark of elite status. But don't stop with one bag! Heaven's no! Go buy the whole line. Lipstick holders, change purses, makeup bags, travel bags, purses, wallets...you aren't complete without the whole thousand dollar line. Pink, blue, green, yellow, black...grandma's quilts are everywhere! And sure, now, because pop culture tells us so, I think they're kinda cute, but lets face it. Had that line shown up in Wal-Mart for $20 a pop, we'd all be turning our noses up and rolling our eyes when Grandma Betty bought it for us for Christmas. And **GASP**! Don't get caught with a fake Vera! Your reputation might never recover!

I guess you know where I'm going. It's no different than Coach. Now, I'll give you some slack here. Coach makes some nice things. But seriously, Target made a bland brown bag with T's all over it, you would never buy it, but simply because it has the Coach name behind it, ladies covet a $400 change purse. It becomes the most beautiful purse ever made...but it isn't really beautiful because of the design. It's only beautiful because someone said it was Coach.

And, ahhh the crocs. Clearly one of the most unattractive shoes ever invented, but somehow selling for $40 a pair! Crocs for everyone...babies, moms, dads, grandmas! Everyone's walking around with bubble-gum colored rubber clogs thinking that it looks good! Yikes!

So here's what I'm gonna do. First, I'll find my grandma's night gown and cleverly construct the newest "it" bag. I'll prance around town with my nose in the air and call it a "Lipple" (Get it Lindsay Knipple---Lipple) bag. I'll talk about how it is so exclusive that you can only get it at the most expensive stores. I'll tell everyone that it's the newest thing...but that they are waaaay too expensive for most to afford. Nevermind that my grandmother's nightgown is old faded silk with yellowed lace. It will take off. People will covet the Lipple. They'll ask their boyfriends and moms and grandmothers for Lipples for their next Christmas or Birthday gift. I'll be rich.

Next, I'll stick plastic bags on my feet and call it the latest fashion in shoes. The bags will come in all sizes and colors, and I'll sell them for $50 a pair. And they'll sell. Why? Because someone somewhere said that they were expensive and exclusive. And we all want to feel expensive and exclusive.

So, if you have these items, wear them proudly. They are, no doubt, exclusive in their own right. But you must agree...without the pomp and circumstance surrounding them, they are simply rubber clogs, grandma's quilts, and bland brown alphabet soup bags....

Coco McDaniel

2008-05-09T19:33:00.000-07:00

Coco McDaniel. It's my stripper name. Or so they say. You see, according to someone somewhere, if I take my first dog's name and combine it with my Mother's maiden name, the combination results in my stripper name. I'm not sure who came up with this rule or why, but it's kind of entertaining. Not that I'll ever be a stripper. But just in case I'll have a great name lined up. Although Mrs. Knipple is not too bad either. Coco McDaniel...doesn't get much better for a stripper name. Unless of course, you are Shane. His stripper name is Seargent Stefanelli.....

Mrs. Knipple

2008-05-09T19:16:00.000-07:00

I happily eat my words tonight as I have officially established myself as a blogspot blogger. I'll admit it. You see, I always pictured people with blogs as 45 year old lonely singles living in their parents' basements with nothing better to do than to spill their innermost thoughts onto a computer screen in an attempt to recieve some affirmation of their less than accomplished lives. But not so! Some of my nearest and dearest friends have been instrumental in changing this unfounded preconception. My apologies.

So I logged in to blogspot today to create my blog. Name: Lindsay Hinson-Knipple. Email: easily entered. Blog title:......Hmmmm....writer's block already! I know! Something catchy....I'll try "Noteworthy". Short, to the point....and taken. Next...something stupid like LindsayLand. Nope....taken. Sigh. Inside out? Taken. So, once again, I revert to the one part of my life that never gets old....Knipple. I must admit, I still cringe. But, if you have a name like Knipple and you can't laugh at it, then you're going to be miserable. There's always some awkward pause after someone asks for my last name. Kind of a "No-way-that-can't-really-be-your-name-so-I'm-gonna-wait-for-you-to-tell-me-you're-kidding" kinda pause. But, folks, I kid you not. It's my name, and thanks to Shane (I love him so) I'm stuck with it. So, here it goes. The Mrs. Knipple blog begins. Hold on tight....it's going to be a fun ride.