i will pay you a dollar to dress up like the fox and send me a video of you doing the dance. that's a promise. (thanks for the video, amanda!)
i will pay the guys in this video to never, ever invite me over to their frat house under pizza pretenses. (thanks for the video and the permanent mental scarring, jeska!)
repost: who wears short shorts?
(repost from here.)
this one time in high school, i was at work, washing dishes, and this co-worker (who was generally predatory anyway) came into the kitchen. we were the only two in there, and he stood in the doorway and took off his shirt and just stood there all bare-nippled for what felt like about 20 million hours.
so i did what i assume any normal seventeen year old human would do - i looked away, pretended he didn't exist, and turned bright red as i finished washing the dishes. eventually he must have put his shirt back on and left. or maybe he's still standing there to this day. i'm not sure.
let me tell you another little story: i go grocery shopping every other thursday night. apparently, every other thursday night is also on some guy's schedule to go walking around downtown with no shirt, i'm assuming to show off his well-cut but very white pectorals. once i even saw him walking shirtless while carrying a small child. now that is dedication to trying to get the chicas to at least whistle at him.
let me tell you yet another little story: i know a girl who has a guy friend who habitually removes his shirt at the most random times: in public, at his apartment, in large movie-night gatherings at other people's houses. he just pretends to get hot or something and opens his top button...and just keeps going until he's just skins.
which leads me to my question: do guys think this is more sexy than awkward? it would appear so. however, i know of no girl who gets all hot and bothered seeing a guy with a mr. cotter haircut and no shirt walking down the street, regardless of how muscular he is. in fact, if other girls are anything like me, they try to avoid eye contact so as not to risk communicating that they're way into it. because, in my book, guys who are asking to be ogled a) don't deserve it, b) make me extremely uncomfortable, and c) probably also have some weird skill where they can make their pecs dance, and if somebody looks at them long enough they might be emboldened to try it, and i really don't want that visual burned into my brains.
so. i guess what i'm saying is that i spend a lot of time on this blog deriding girls who don't keep their orifices and fattiest bits covered up. but now i think it's time to get on the case of the fellas who find it appropriate to walk around shirtless in public arenas other than the pool.
also, while we're at it, short shorts on guys do not communicate 'look at my sinewy hamstrings' so much as they scream, 'awkward shirtless guy in shorties at eleven-o-clock.'
this one time in high school, i was at work, washing dishes, and this co-worker (who was generally predatory anyway) came into the kitchen. we were the only two in there, and he stood in the doorway and took off his shirt and just stood there all bare-nippled for what felt like about 20 million hours.
so i did what i assume any normal seventeen year old human would do - i looked away, pretended he didn't exist, and turned bright red as i finished washing the dishes. eventually he must have put his shirt back on and left. or maybe he's still standing there to this day. i'm not sure.
let me tell you another little story: i go grocery shopping every other thursday night. apparently, every other thursday night is also on some guy's schedule to go walking around downtown with no shirt, i'm assuming to show off his well-cut but very white pectorals. once i even saw him walking shirtless while carrying a small child. now that is dedication to trying to get the chicas to at least whistle at him.
let me tell you yet another little story: i know a girl who has a guy friend who habitually removes his shirt at the most random times: in public, at his apartment, in large movie-night gatherings at other people's houses. he just pretends to get hot or something and opens his top button...and just keeps going until he's just skins.
which leads me to my question: do guys think this is more sexy than awkward? it would appear so. however, i know of no girl who gets all hot and bothered seeing a guy with a mr. cotter haircut and no shirt walking down the street, regardless of how muscular he is. in fact, if other girls are anything like me, they try to avoid eye contact so as not to risk communicating that they're way into it. because, in my book, guys who are asking to be ogled a) don't deserve it, b) make me extremely uncomfortable, and c) probably also have some weird skill where they can make their pecs dance, and if somebody looks at them long enough they might be emboldened to try it, and i really don't want that visual burned into my brains.
so. i guess what i'm saying is that i spend a lot of time on this blog deriding girls who don't keep their orifices and fattiest bits covered up. but now i think it's time to get on the case of the fellas who find it appropriate to walk around shirtless in public arenas other than the pool.
also, while we're at it, short shorts on guys do not communicate 'look at my sinewy hamstrings' so much as they scream, 'awkward shirtless guy in shorties at eleven-o-clock.'
the weekly wonder that is 'what's up.'
it's fall, y'all!!!!! (that clever little one-liner courtesy of pinterest, which makes that sentence the paige van voorst trifecta: it involves autumn, talking like i'm from the south even though i'm a total poser, and stealing all my ideas off pinterest. boom. trifecta'd.)
oh lawdy how i love fall. and to prove my undying devotion to the season, i started off the week with some kind of autumn-induced crafting-and-decorating seizure, which ended with my porch looking like this:
also, i decorated my kid for the fall and he's looking pretty dapper:
also, Aforementioned Kid has recently become my housekeeper, making him my favorite kid right now. i joke, i joke. but really, is there anything so beautiful as a toddler pulling his own weight? and in an adorbs hoodie to boot?! (yes, he's only wearing one sock. it's how we do.)
and in other-kid news, laurelai started smiling this week! i'm entirely smitten, which is my poser-fancypants word for 'i'm literally melted in a puddle on the floor.' the writing of this blog post was made more difficult and messy as a result, but totally worth it.
also, here's a photo of my biggest projects right now:
i made bread. the kids were impressed with my domestic prowess. or really, with my stand mixer, but i like to think it's the same.
and finally, these kids are a gang of two. they're besties. also, they can't stand each other. but mostly they're besties.
best. week. EVAH.
oh lawdy how i love fall. and to prove my undying devotion to the season, i started off the week with some kind of autumn-induced crafting-and-decorating seizure, which ended with my porch looking like this:
simple, but it involves a straw bale, so i'm happy with it. though, i'm not going to even get started on how crappy the fake straw bales at walmart are. there is hay EVERYWHERE. my porch. my entryway. my yard. my shoes. kind of kills the fall spirit, until the fall spirit is all I'M IMMORTAL AND NO IRRATIONAL NUMBER OF HAY BITS CAN CONQUER MEEEE.
i've got a bit of a dilemma. i need one more chunk of mums to make my mailbox planter look less wonkadonk, but that means another trip to walmart with all the kids. so wonkadonk mums it is!
I MADE THAT!!! what's up now, pinterest?!
also, i decorated my kid for the fall and he's looking pretty dapper:
also, Aforementioned Kid has recently become my housekeeper, making him my favorite kid right now. i joke, i joke. but really, is there anything so beautiful as a toddler pulling his own weight? and in an adorbs hoodie to boot?! (yes, he's only wearing one sock. it's how we do.)
and in other-kid news, laurelai started smiling this week! i'm entirely smitten, which is my poser-fancypants word for 'i'm literally melted in a puddle on the floor.' the writing of this blog post was made more difficult and messy as a result, but totally worth it.
also, here's a photo of my biggest projects right now:
menu plan, sleeping child, the Giant Binder of All Things Van Voorst, and a dr. seuss anthology. whoops, the seuss is purely for fun. but the rest are my biggest projects right now.
i made bread. the kids were impressed with my domestic prowess. or really, with my stand mixer, but i like to think it's the same.
and finally, these kids are a gang of two. they're besties. also, they can't stand each other. but mostly they're besties.
ignore the crazy housemess. pleaseandthanks.
best. week. EVAH.
3...2...1...
laurelai is six weeks old today! hoping not to jinx myself as i say this, but i believe we've made it through the brand-newbie stage with relative grace.
she is now blasting off into old age.
that's one giant leap for one tiny girl.
she is now blasting off into old age.
that's one giant leap for one tiny girl.
video vednesday: no way! i had like four...five...teen dunkeroos for dinner!
oh, you mean, 'i only wanna be with you' by hootie and his blowfish?
*i know i just did a jimmy/justin clip last week but srrsly.
**also, if you've sent me ideas for future video vednesdays, could you resend the links to me? i'm sorry. i'm a scatterbrained dirtball. you guys have had some great ideas, and i've been sporadic about saving them to a central location.
*i know i just did a jimmy/justin clip last week but srrsly.
**also, if you've sent me ideas for future video vednesdays, could you resend the links to me? i'm sorry. i'm a scatterbrained dirtball. you guys have had some great ideas, and i've been sporadic about saving them to a central location.
it's like book club and you get to be oprah.
i'm just going to be honest, here: i started this blog post like fourteen bajillion times (actually, four. it's the same.) but i can't think of anything interesting to write about. not a blessed thing. i've hit a blogger's block.
so, you get to be the blogger for the day: tell me what i should read next. or sometime. right now i'm in the middle of east of eden, which is my favorite book of all time and if you haven't read it you're either blissfully ignorant of what you're missing out on, or you're probably some kind of criminal. so that's what i vote you should read next. and then read to kill a mockingbird, because you're going to need an awesome chaser when you're done with east of eden.
your turn: any suggestions for me? (i'm in the mood for fiction or autobiography/journals.)
also, what's your opinion of the harry potter books? i know i'm basically the aforementioned criminal for neither having read any of these nor watched any of the movies, but you know me: i'm wild and crazy and unconventional. but seriously: have you read them? are they really as good as everybody says?
GO!
so, you get to be the blogger for the day: tell me what i should read next. or sometime. right now i'm in the middle of east of eden, which is my favorite book of all time and if you haven't read it you're either blissfully ignorant of what you're missing out on, or you're probably some kind of criminal. so that's what i vote you should read next. and then read to kill a mockingbird, because you're going to need an awesome chaser when you're done with east of eden.
your turn: any suggestions for me? (i'm in the mood for fiction or autobiography/journals.)
also, what's your opinion of the harry potter books? i know i'm basically the aforementioned criminal for neither having read any of these nor watched any of the movies, but you know me: i'm wild and crazy and unconventional. but seriously: have you read them? are they really as good as everybody says?
GO!
sing it if you know it: weekly whatup.
let's begin with this week's major accomplishment, shall we? i have not cried about the state of my life since saturday! (i think.) that's pretty huge. it means that i feel i have a tiny semblance of control and calm in the midst of chaos. in fact, i really do think we're settling in around here. barring any kind of major (or minor) upheaval, and until i'm finally forced to take them out in public by myself, things should be manageable and, dare i say it, somewhat normal-feeling.
okay, on to the week's other milestones:
sister poop-pants turned one month old! and waved her arms and rapped, 'hip hop hooRAY, HO, HEY, HO' in celebration.
man alive, it's exhausting being this old.
finneas is learning to use a fork. i'm pleasantly surprised to find that it actually motivates him to eat small bits of dinner that he would normally snub, like this-here rice. amazing.
also, he lifted a car and gave you his best 'step off' look while so doing. don't mess with him; he's an ironman with the intensity to prove it.
penelope conquered her first without-help puzzle:
also, not pictured: she ate six eggs for breakfast the other day. i repeat: six eggs. the next day she ate two and a half pb&j's on whole wheat. i really should contact the food network about this: we could be making sweet grocery-moolah doing a show called 'preschooler v. breakfast.'
and just because they're insanely cute:
there you have it: the van voorst weekly chronicles.
okay, on to the week's other milestones:
sister poop-pants turned one month old! and waved her arms and rapped, 'hip hop hooRAY, HO, HEY, HO' in celebration.
now you're singing it, i know you are. hip hop hooRAY, HO, HEY, HO!
man alive, it's exhausting being this old.
also, he lifted a car and gave you his best 'step off' look while so doing. don't mess with him; he's an ironman with the intensity to prove it.
penelope conquered her first without-help puzzle:
also, not pictured: she ate six eggs for breakfast the other day. i repeat: six eggs. the next day she ate two and a half pb&j's on whole wheat. i really should contact the food network about this: we could be making sweet grocery-moolah doing a show called 'preschooler v. breakfast.'
and just because they're insanely cute:
there you have it: the van voorst weekly chronicles.
in which laurelai is rocky and i can't write a grocery list to save my life.
so, you may have noticed that i've been a little scarce around these parts lately. lots of reposts and many days of silence. maybe you didn't notice. that would be fine, too.
if you've been wondering, we're actually doing really well. laurelai is the living definition of 'champion.' eating, growing, sleeping. she's got it all down. many nights she eats around 10:30 p.m. and doesn't eat again until 4:00 or 5:00 the next morning. (i worry i just jinxed myself there, though, by saying that out loud.) plus, she only takes about 10 minutes to eat before zonking back into oblivion. all things considered, she's pretty much Rocky in the ring of overnight feedings. even though i feel like Rocky loses at the end - not sure, never actually saw it myself - which, if true, is where the metaphor stops fitting. because laurelai always wins.
and because nights are going so well, i feel like i've finally conquered the challenge of being a mostly-gracious mom to a newborn. (not to toot my own horn or anything, #toottoot.) and it's only taken four kids to get to this point!
but here's the thing: i have always explained away my postpartum fuzziness, idiocy, confusion and ridiculousness as resulting from a lack of sleep. as it turns out, it must not be entirely attributable to that, since i'm currently just as foggy as i always am for the first six months or two years of a given V.V. child's life.
i find myself in the middle of sentences, wondering what i just said and (for pete's sake) why on earth i would say such a thing. but i must finish the sentence! so i continue on in some rambly, half-coherent way until whoever it is that i'm talking to looks just uncomfortable enough that i'm compelled to stop talking.
the organization required for writing a grocery list makes my brain shut down. i feel the fog come in from the corners of my mind and just smother any desire to push forward and accomplish anything.
and the other day i found myself pronouncing the word 'lost' as 'loost.' why?
all of this is my rambly, postpartum way of excusing my way out of the late nature of the blog. and i usually wrap up my posts with some kind of snarky summary statement, but i can't really remember what it is i've been writing about, so i'll end with a joke:
what did the french skeleton say as he sat down to dinner (and probably tucked his napkin into his clavicle)?
BONE apetit!
that's a little halloween humor to hold you over for the next few weeks. you're welcome.
if you've been wondering, we're actually doing really well. laurelai is the living definition of 'champion.' eating, growing, sleeping. she's got it all down. many nights she eats around 10:30 p.m. and doesn't eat again until 4:00 or 5:00 the next morning. (i worry i just jinxed myself there, though, by saying that out loud.) plus, she only takes about 10 minutes to eat before zonking back into oblivion. all things considered, she's pretty much Rocky in the ring of overnight feedings. even though i feel like Rocky loses at the end - not sure, never actually saw it myself - which, if true, is where the metaphor stops fitting. because laurelai always wins.
and because nights are going so well, i feel like i've finally conquered the challenge of being a mostly-gracious mom to a newborn. (not to toot my own horn or anything, #toottoot.) and it's only taken four kids to get to this point!
but here's the thing: i have always explained away my postpartum fuzziness, idiocy, confusion and ridiculousness as resulting from a lack of sleep. as it turns out, it must not be entirely attributable to that, since i'm currently just as foggy as i always am for the first six months or two years of a given V.V. child's life.
i find myself in the middle of sentences, wondering what i just said and (for pete's sake) why on earth i would say such a thing. but i must finish the sentence! so i continue on in some rambly, half-coherent way until whoever it is that i'm talking to looks just uncomfortable enough that i'm compelled to stop talking.
the organization required for writing a grocery list makes my brain shut down. i feel the fog come in from the corners of my mind and just smother any desire to push forward and accomplish anything.
and the other day i found myself pronouncing the word 'lost' as 'loost.' why?
all of this is my rambly, postpartum way of excusing my way out of the late nature of the blog. and i usually wrap up my posts with some kind of snarky summary statement, but i can't really remember what it is i've been writing about, so i'll end with a joke:
what did the french skeleton say as he sat down to dinner (and probably tucked his napkin into his clavicle)?
BONE apetit!
that's a little halloween humor to hold you over for the next few weeks. you're welcome.
video vednesday: #lifedecisions #sexyghost?
my friend jeska thought this video would be fitting for me. probs because of this post. (in fact, i'm pretty sure jimmy fallon reads my blog and stole the idea for this video from me.)
repost: a word of advice.
(repost from here.)
should you ever happen to be greeted by a beetle the rough size of a matchbox car, here are some pointers:
1. do NOT slam the window closed, trapping it between the window and the glass, and run away being all, ohmywordohmywordewewewewSICK. this will make the beetle think it has the upper hand.
2. do NOT spend a short moment praying that the beetle eats some of the scaly lead paint off your windowsill and die a long, painful, but hands-off death. beetles do not have any natural interest in lead paint consumption; your prayer will therefore likely receive a resounding answer of NO, and your faith might be a little shaken. and you'll need it full-strength at a moment like this.
3. do NOT rummage through the toy bins, find a matchbox car (no, not that one, it's not a very pretty color. pick the teal one.), and grab your camera for a fun-slash-terrifying 'proof of scale' photo sesh. this will make the beetle think he is liked and welcomed. false.
4. DO close the window quickly when you realize the beetle is about to hop aboard the matchbox car and get all Stuart Little and drive around your house. pretty soon he will be demanding an outfit, probably including some kind of kicky beret and a driving scarf, and you don't need to indenture yourself to a beetle. this is your house, after all. even though, in the beetle's defense, you are acting like a girl baby.
5. DO leave the beetle in there to problem solve how to get out, or fear the wrath that is your husband's shoe (when your husband gets home to squash it, of course. you should not trifle with doing the dirty work yourself). it's like a horror movie plotline for the beetle. that'll teach him to ever think he had the upper hand.
you're brave. you're at least twice the size of this beetle. you are armed with my handy tips. YOU CAN DO THIS.
should you ever happen to be greeted by a beetle the rough size of a matchbox car, here are some pointers:
1. do NOT slam the window closed, trapping it between the window and the glass, and run away being all, ohmywordohmywordewewewewSICK. this will make the beetle think it has the upper hand.
2. do NOT spend a short moment praying that the beetle eats some of the scaly lead paint off your windowsill and die a long, painful, but hands-off death. beetles do not have any natural interest in lead paint consumption; your prayer will therefore likely receive a resounding answer of NO, and your faith might be a little shaken. and you'll need it full-strength at a moment like this.
3. do NOT rummage through the toy bins, find a matchbox car (no, not that one, it's not a very pretty color. pick the teal one.), and grab your camera for a fun-slash-terrifying 'proof of scale' photo sesh. this will make the beetle think he is liked and welcomed. false.
4. DO close the window quickly when you realize the beetle is about to hop aboard the matchbox car and get all Stuart Little and drive around your house. pretty soon he will be demanding an outfit, probably including some kind of kicky beret and a driving scarf, and you don't need to indenture yourself to a beetle. this is your house, after all. even though, in the beetle's defense, you are acting like a girl baby.
5. DO leave the beetle in there to problem solve how to get out, or fear the wrath that is your husband's shoe (when your husband gets home to squash it, of course. you should not trifle with doing the dirty work yourself). it's like a horror movie plotline for the beetle. that'll teach him to ever think he had the upper hand.
you're brave. you're at least twice the size of this beetle. you are armed with my handy tips. YOU CAN DO THIS.
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