Going Hillbilly Tapper-Style!

(the Artist caught the sun in the act of frying me alive. I am literally a redneck now.)

Our grand adventure began at the one and only Silver Dollar City.

If you've been there- I don't need to say anything more.

If you haven't- I am not talented enough to describe this place.

It's amusement park meets old West meets barn dance meets historical reenactment meets craft fair. You pull out your inner hillbilly (however small and feeble he may be) and you just run with it.

We got there as the gates opened and didn't drag ourselves home (wet, tired, achy and happy) until it was dark. And then, because children are insane, we went back to the condo and went swimming.

This is a picture of the last ride of the day. Notice the two teenagers either falling asleep or praying for strength. I can't tell which.

Miraculously, we all managed to drag ourselves back out of bed the next morning and we headed over to the butterfly palace to play with some winged creatures.

And although I truly don't know what it has to do with butterflies, we climbed some fake coconut trees outside.

This came after the indoor mirror maze, which was undeniably entertaining.

So entertaining, however, that the Cowgirl took a flying leap into a mirror that she thought was a passageway and chipped her tooth.

A grown up tooth.

So she's got the hillbilly teeth going on. She blends right in with the natives.

Luckily it was a little chip and on we went on with the day. Back to Silver Dollar City and then to the real reason I go to Branson in spite of the hill-billyness of it all:

BUMPER BOATS!!

This year I had four new people to terrorize. It was great.

The Cowgirl showed off her brute strength on the rock wall. The tech holding her rope turned to us when she got to the top in under a minute and said That little girl is strong!

Yeah, we noticed.

Even the baby got some action because she now tips the scales at a whopping thirty pounds and they let her on the trampoline. (Thanks for ignoring the 40 pound limit. Super cool of you!)

But even the bumper boats didn't compare to the boat we took out the next morning.

Can you say FUN?

We spent almost five hours at the lake tubing and knee boarding (Cowgirl got up on her second try and rocked it!) and yes, roasting.

I am now well down and ready for some giant ghoul to eat me extra crispy.

It was the most non-stop vacation of my life. We barely gave ourselves time to breathe, but there was so much to cram into three days.

We walk away with sore bodies and lighter wallets, a few souvenirs, and memories that will light up our minds with laughter and friendship for the rest of our lives.

I am so grateful for friends to share these adventures with.

There is the gift of having a loving family.

And there is an added gift of finding extra family in the friends you collect along life's path.

I am so blessed to have both.

So pass on the moonshine, pass over the sasparilla and ya'll come he'e for a mighty great hug!

Ow. Ow. Ouch and Ow.

Guess what happens when seven girls and one boy take a pontoon out for five hours on a 100 degree summer day?
No, just guess.
Yes, a whole lot of fun. (that's a given)
No, I'm not talking about the girl who lost her drawers when the tube went flipping.
(Oh good heavens- I will never stop laughing over that one)
I'm talking about the Sunburn!
And the aching muscles. (we all just had to learn how to kneeboard)
So today three adults, three teenagers and two little girls looked like we were rehearsing for geriatric school when we hobbled into church.
Eased ourselves into the pews.
Shifted slowly.
Jumped when the Dancer (who wore less sunscreen than all of us and still walked away without even getting a tiny bit pink) tried to climb onto our laps.
Lots of wincing.
Lots of slow movements.
Lots of smiles when we spontaneously remembered one teenager surfacing holding her bathing bottoms and laughing as hard as we were. (This is a PG post and a PG vacation. No one saw anything. But her predicament left me gasping for air)
You know, I always complain that my daughters are shaving years off my life.
Yesterday, I think one of my favorite girls put a solid year back on.
Thanks for the laughs, Gorgeous.
So tomorrow when I can sit here without making a full array of noises (ooohhh. ouch. yikes. yowee Batman...) I will fill in with pictures of our great Branson adventure.
I'm going to go get a little high on Aloe first.
Good times.

I'm BAAAACKKK (but away)

Cheers from the lovely land of the Ozarks. I woke up in Branson with seven of my favorite people this morning and we are heading out to Silver Dollar City in about an hour (if we can get the teenagers out of bed).
So even though I am away from home, I am officially back.
At nine o'clock last night in the corner of a Walmart parking lot in Springfield Mo, the Artist did some fine finageling and bought the nice laptop I am writing on now. I am almost positive it was entirely legal. Mostly.
So I am back.
But I have to go.
Ironic, huh?

All the World's a Stage

Something really fun happened to me today.

I got a phone call from a friend (normal) who wanted me to help stage her home to sell it (semi-normal) because she told her Realtor about me and he is willing to pay for my work (so not normal!)

Now, I don't really care about the money.

But work- work is exciting.

I need a project to live. If I am not working on something I start slumping. And slouching. And wilting.

Yes- I can always reorganize my junk drawer AGAIN.

Or mop my floors AGAIN. (I think it's been an embarrassing number of months since I tackled that one to be embarrassingly honest.)

Or put my folded laundry away AGAIN.

But I mean a new project. Something I haven't done 13746817687163248273 times.

Something I won't have to do 20945794758273498758934725 more times before I die.

(Yes, I just randomly played with the number keys. But it was fun.)

So quick sum up.

I get to stage a house.

I get to make it prettier.

I might even make a little pocket change.

Which I will use to make my house a little prettier.

Daisies. Rainbows. Unicorns.

All that jazz.

And if you ever need a little hand making your house prettier- I always need a project.

Thursday Thank You Notes

This one goes out to you, Jungle Jane.

Because- sorry, this will sound weird- you kind of think I am great.

At least, greater than I really am.

But in life we all need someone who thinks we are great(ish).

Even if they see our faults and totally understand the extent of our flaws.

When I set out with the grand goal to write a novel (a coherent novel, may I add) I wrote most of it for you.

Because I knew you would care.

I knew you would think I was brilliant (even though in reality, I am just a tad shy of brilliant).

And if nothing else, I wanted to finish it for you.

You invested so much time into caring about what I wrote that I couldn't just leave my characters eternally unresolved.

So the mediocre, but completed, novel sitting on my shelf is 99% due to you.

I wrote to the Cowgirl, but I wrote it for you.

It's hard to explain.

Your mental encouragement rippling across the Midwest all the way from Iowa to Kansas kept finding me and pushing my fingers on.

And the book doesn't mean anything. It is a stack of paper.

But your belief in me means everything.

Thanks for helping me to meet a massive goal. It wouldn't have happened without your love.

And-

just so you know-

I think you're great, too.

Your loving sis,

Tapper

Phillips or flat?

Last night the Dancer had an unfortunate run-in with a door.

She lost.

And I won't waste my breathe telling you how I had been pleading, begging and demanding that my children stop running and wrestling in the house.

I won't bother about the fact that I had just lowered myself up to my ears in a hot bath.

Or how I threatened their lives if they played tag in my bathroom one more time.

And I'm not going to bore you with how I had to jump out of said bath, grab my robe and run to the scene of the crime only to find the perfect imprint of a screw embedded in my daughter's face.

And I do mean perfect.

I could tell you what size phillips screwdriver the thing took.

Nobody listens to mom (WHY doesn't anyone listen to mom?!!)

Apparently she bit it right on the hinge of the Cowgirl's bedroom door.

Today she is pretty proud of it.

And they are still rough housing....

And today- I took two baths.

Tuesday Tutorial- Do It Tapper Style

Tonight I am going to tell you how I survive a three year old fashion diva.

Just like the real fashion divas, she has no sense of what looks good.

She just wants to make a statement.

The Dancer's fashion statement is I am completely, totally, and always a princess.

So when I do something horrific like tackling her and forcing her squirmy body into pants when it is forty degrees outside- she gets traumatized.

I try to tell her that leggings are footless tights and princesses wear tights.

Well, you just look at her photo from this morning and tell

me if she is buying it.

She cried in bed until I distracted her by letting her take pictures with my camera.

I know- I'm a vision.

So how do I manipulate and outmaneuver her?

I lie a lot.

I pull it out of thin air.

Things like,

I saw Cinderella yesterday and she was wearing a red shirt

or

When you go to princess land you have to pack a jacket because every

princess has a purple jacket.

And I throw a lot of tantrums.

You have to wear it because I am the mommy and it is cute and you have to like it!

And I lose a lot.

I try to look like I don't know why the kid in the crazy outfit is following me around Target.

And every great now and then, the kid throws me a bone and lets me have my way.

So that is how I survive a lack of style Tapper-Style.