Shannon is live-blogging Senator John McCain’s acceptance speech tonight over at BlogHer – thought some of y’all might like to check it out!

So. Remember this?

Well, now it’s this:

I know. I KNOW. I’m two months late to my own dadgum party. But, you know, I’ve been very busy procrastinating.

And seriously – summer just turned out to be way crazier than I anticipated. Crazier in a good way, mind you, but not necessarily in a way that lent itself to tackling home improvement projects.

You should also know that my list-o-goals is now MUCH smaller. I’m shooting to have my bedroom painted, THE END.

If you’d like to grab a new button for your blog, you can do that right here:

<a href="https://www.boomama.net/2008/06/17/itll-be-just-like-hgtv/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i63.photobucket.com/albums/h134/boomama205/BeforeAfter3.jpg" border="0" alt="beforeafter"></a>

Big fun in store.

And thanks for being so patient, y’all.

For real(s).

After spending several years on the fence in terms of joining some sort of wholesale shopping club, we finally decided to become Costco customers earlier this year. The “quick trips” to Target and Walmart to pick up toilet paper or peanut butter or laundry detergent were almost always more expensive than I planned, so we decided to see if buying stuff in bulk would make a difference, if changing how we shop would have a positive impact on our budget.

And in a word (or three): yes, it has.

In fact, it’s made a huge difference. Now granted, we’ve had to be smart about what we buy at Costco – which means we stay far away from the computers and fancy knives and fine jewelry and whathaveyou – but in terms of buying paper goods and canned goods, it’s been a mighty good thing. Costco has been our grocery budget’s friend.

Plus, you know, they have two of my favorite snack products in the entire world in convenient economy sizes.

There are no words for the deliciousness contained therein.

But if there’s any drawback to shopping at Costco, it’s that you come home with many items that require storage, all manner of rolls and bottles and jars and cans. And as a result, for the last seven or eight months our laundry room has sported an elaborate organizational system that consisted of stacking all Costco purchases on top of one another.

Aye, and precariously.

Because the stack? It defied the laws of physics, my friends. At one point we had a small flat of English peas as the foundation for a multi-level tower-o-product that included paper towels, bottled water, Ziploc bags, marinara sauce, granola bars and an assortment of pasta. I just figured that if the whole thing ever came toppling down I’d scream “JENGA!” and pretend like it was fun.

Pragmatic as always, I am.

Last Sunday I’d been home from San Antonio for all of five minutes when David asked me if I’d grab him a twelve-pack of diet Coke from the laundry room. I figured that was easy enough since the twelve-packs are typically located right inside the laundry room door so that we have the opportunity to break a toe or three every single time we need to get to the washing machine. But when I walked into the laundry room, there were no twelve-packs in the middle the floor. In fact, there was no anything in the middle of the floor. Not an ill-balanced stack in sight. And when I looked behind the door to try to figure out where all our stuff was, here is what I saw:

Y’all. I squealed. And then I clapped. And even now – over a week later – I still think that, aside from my newborn son, it may be the most beautiful sight that I ever did see.

I mean, forget all those notions of being wined and dined that I harbored in my twenties. Because now? In my thirties? Wining and dining is fine and all, but truth be told it doesn’t hold a candle to the fact that my husband bought shelves, assembled them, and then filled them with our Costco bounty.

I get a little weak in the knees just thinking about it.

Last Monday I met my sweet friend NK for lunch, and after we finished relaying tales from our respective weekends, I told her about Shelving Surprise ’08. I told her about how all the paper goods are on the top shelf, and how I don’t have to break toes on the Coke products anymore, and how even the dog treats have a place of honor now.

And after I finally quit talking, NK pushed away her plate, looked straight in my eyes, and said, “Oh. Now that’s romance.”

I couldn’t agree with her more.

I should probably warn you that I have had a LOT of caffeine this afternoon, and it’s made me feel like Martha probably feels on a minute-by-minute basis, which is to say that I am VERY! EXCITED! about all manner of inconsequential things, including but not limited to the fact that I’m GOING! TO STEINMART(S)! TO LOOK! FOR SOME SUNGLASSES!, which of course is absolutely no big deal at all, but the overabundance of caffeine has me convinced that searching for those sunglasses is going to be the single most memorable event of my entire life, and I CAN’T WAIT! I JUST CAN’T WAIT!

And y’all? Seriously? This is the level of enthusiasm that Martha has for stuff like, oh, pimento and cheese. Or a cute postage stamp design. Or a dress she wore to a friend’s wedding back in 1964.

But I’m telling you, I think the combination of caffeine and football season has sent me right over the edge. There is absolutely nothing better than a clean football slate, than the last few hours before the season starts when I can tell myself with great certainty that the SEC Championship is OURS, ALL OURS, OH YES MA’AM.

You know, I think that of all the forms of optimism, the stone-cold, blind variety is my most favoritest kind.

So, to summarize, here are our plans for tomorrow: 1) football 2) football 3) nervous cleaning that accompanies watching my beloved Bulldogs play football and 4) SportsCenter.

And 5) QUESO.

We’ll be following up all the football by watching the weather incessantly and pleading with our relatives in Mississippi to DRIVE OVER HERE AND STAY WITH US, PLEASE. My parents were mighty stubborn post-Katrina; they didn’t have power for two weeks but insisted on staying home (unlike Martha and Sissie, who hopped in the car as soon as the trees were out of the roads and got over here ASAP so they could get their hair washed and set, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT). I’m hoping that this time, if need be, Mama and Daddy will get the heck out of dodge and head our way.

Hope y’all have a great Labor Day.

And be safe, Gustav people. You’ll be in our prayers.

About a week ago, as part of Johnson’s Thanks, Mom campaign, I had an opportunity to be a part of a panel of bloggers who interviewed Debbie Phelps, mom of fourteen-time Olympic gold medalist Michael Phelps.

You may have heard of him.

I have absolutely no idea why I was asked to participate, but I do know that I was the only blogger on the panel with a Southern accent. And since I do not have what the business people would refer to as a “phone voice,” I just brought my inner hillbilly all up in the conference call and unleashed some excruciatingly long vowel sounds.

The other bloggers – who represented MamaPop, Mom Advice, MomLogic and Better Than A Playdate – were just great, by the way. They were smart and articulate and professional. I, on the other hand, was all, “AHM THE WUN FROM ALLYBAMMER.”

Skillz. I got me some.

I should also tell you that I totally relied on my friends and family members for questions. I did this because the only question I could come up with initially was, “So. How was China?”

Clearly I have missed my calling as a hard-hitting journalist.

And as evidence of my no-holds-barred journalistic style, the first thing I asked Debbie Phelps about was her wardrobe.

But it was a no-brainer for me. Sister and her hubby were here for a visit the weekend before the interview, and as we watched the Olympics, Sister wondered aloud if Debbie planned out her wardrobe since she seemed to favor black and white clothes – with just a splash of color.

As it turns out, Sister was dead-on. Debbie said, “I did do black and white with a splash of color on purpose. I’m just not a jeans or khakis with a button-up shirt kind of girl. I’m a Chico’s girl” (she wore their clothes throughout the games). “I wanted to elevate my pool side style the same way that Michael has elevated the sport. Plus, there were times when I’d have to leave the pool and go out for different appearances or events, and I needed to be dressed for those things.”

My next question was courtesy of FryDaddy and his beautiful bride. They wanted to know if Debbie still feels protective of her twenty-three year-old son, if she worries about people trying to take advantage of him now that he’s internationally known.

And I thought that was SUCH a good question. Travis and Angela should totally have a talk show.

So I asked Debbie if she still feels protective, and she said, “Yes, absolutely.” She mentioned a couple of times when she felt like people’s motives weren’t completely on the up-and-up, and she said, “I always tell Michael, ‘Understand who your true friends are…be very selective about who you hang out with.’ Because the one thing you don’t want is for your child to be burned or to be used.”

Then I asked her if she ever feels like she has to protect herself. She said, “I do feel that way. Just the other day someone came up to me and said, ‘Hey. Remember me? We had a beer together in Athens!’ And the whole time I was thinking No we did not. We never did any such thing in Athens…or people will say, ‘I’m such a huge fan of Michael’s,’ and I’ll say, ‘Really? How many meets have you been to?’ And it’s their first one…plus, people we don’t even know are now saying things in the media…it’s just distasteful, really.”

One of my favorite moments in the conversation resulted from one of the other bloggers’ questions (I am so sorry that I don’t remember who asked it). But when asked how she resisted the urge to be a stage parent, Debbie said, “I wasn’t a pusher. I just always let the coaches do their jobs. My job was to be Michael’s mom.”

And all the mamas say: amen.