Don't read the Oprah book!

I can't recommend it. I wish I had never read it. I can't say more than that without giving stuff away. Let's just say I've never liked things that are tragic just to make you sad. For no other reason than to jerk your tears. It bothers me and leaves me feeling manipulated. Also, the fact of who was cast as Ophelia in this re-telling of Hamlet was problematic for me.

A Thousand Splendid Suns: Devastating but beautiful and the tragedy occurs to illuminate truth.

Sawtelle: Just wants to make you cry.

Sunday

Please keep the prayers and positive thoughts for Uncle Justin. A good thing to pray and hope for would be no more vasospasms. You can read the full updates here.

Stephanie writes how much she misses her kids and her day to day life and this really touched me. It's so easy to see the negative things about our own lives, the things we don't like or aren't happy with, but imagine how beautiful today would look in retrospect if tragedy were to strike tomorrow. Imagine how much you would long for yesterday if it were all to end today.

I love you family! Nothing is more important that all of you.

Post Script:

I.E.: The football game.

Football game? What football game? There was no game today. I didn't watch a football game. Did you? I didn't see us hand Kansas City two touchdowns off two fumbles. I didn't see Cutler throw two interceptions. I didn't see us do everything but take the ball and calmly walk it into the Chief's end-zone for them. I'm telling you all, there was no game. If there had been a game, I would watched Denver just miss recovering their own ball on an on-sides kick. My little heart would have broken (had there been a game). It would have puttered, and stuttered, and broke down and died. Luckily, that didn't happen. Because there was no game.

The only thing I saw today was Cutler shove a Chief and send him to the ground like a spineless rag doll.

That's all. I. Saw.

The Painter Sisters (or, mi casa is Pi-casa)

I believe in artistic expression (just ask our walls).

Mud Puppies

The girls make a mud puddle.
Heil Ayla?

Maniacally Happy:


The mud dance:


Time to get all clean:

Almost all clean.
I wanted to share these pictures before I upload them to snapfish, save them to an external hard drive, and then delete them from my pc (which is about to crash at any minute now). When it goes: mac? Or another pc?

Smells Like Aunt Suzy

Yesterday, playing with mom's make-up.

Ayla (holding pressed powder): Mom, this smells like. . . hmmm. . . (ponders a moment). Mom, this smells like. . . like. . . (more pondering). . Oh, I know! This smells like Suzy!

Mom: Suzy? Where is Suzy?

Ayla: At uncle Zach's house, with the pool. Suzy is far away.

There you have it.

Sunlight Sessions

It's late and Britta is tired. I just got home from my paying job. The one whereby I work for pay in actual U.S. currency. Tonight this nice lady was training me on the register. We have bonded because her daughters are the same ages as mine. We were joking around and we bumped into eachother. "Oops, sorry!" I said and reached out to pat her upper thigh. You know, the safe region. Well. She wasn't positioned where I thought she was and I accidentally slapped her ass. That was embarrassing.

The girls came out from their nap dressed like this:
Ayla posed for mommy. Does she look embarrassed? She's too young to be embarrassed, right??


Indy was saying, "Ooooh, Fretty!"
Silly kisses:
Ayla's Self Portraits Vol 1: The Sunlight Sessions






More of Indy to come. She's harder to get. She's constantly trying to move around to look at the camera from my pov--from behind. So I'm always snapping pictures of her cheek and ear, her face disappearing from the frame.

75 Books

Here's what I'm reading now:

It's pretty good so far. It goes back and forth between the story of the 19th wife of Brigham Young, and the story of a modern day 'lost-boy'--a boy who has been kicked off the polygamy compound by the prophet for, you know, doing things like being young and a boy and thereby posing a threat to the old prophet's chances of marrying yet another underage girl. In the book, the boy, Jordan's, mother, herself a 19th wife, has been accused of shooting her husband in the chest at point-blank rage. Did she do it? It remains to be seen.

Jezebel had a fun post today. It was a response to a list composed by Esquire online of the 75 books 'every man should read'. The list contained ONE book by a woman and only four books by men of color. So the gals over at Jezzie came up with their own list of 75 books every woman should read.

They left off THE HANDMAID'S TALE by Margaret Atwood, a sin for which I will never forgive them, but that's beside the point.

I think it's a great list and I will definitely be picking up some of the books on it that I haven't read yet. But what I really would have liked to see?

Are you ready? Are you sitting down?

75 Books Every Person Should Read.

Ahahahaha! Wait! Don't call Phyllis Schlafley. I was JUST KIDDING! I would never expect men and women to actually be interested in, let alone find worth in, the same books. What a joke! Preposterous! Whew! Someone must have slipped me a big glass of Arbor Mist before I came up with that nutty idea.

GO BRONCOS!!!

I'm wearing my jersey. Number 6. Are you?

The moment has arrived!

There it is! The new Oprah book.

I picked this one up awhile ago. It was good, but it was a library copy and I had to return it. So I never finished. Maybe this time I'll give it a go. I hope a paperback edition comes out. I do so prefer paperback.

The writer lives in Colorado. For anyone who doesn't know, it's Hamlet set on a farm in the midwest. The Sawtelle's raise dogs. Sawtelle is a funny last name for the main character, because he is a mute. Get it? He can see but not tell. Telle. Oh so very clever.

Off to my paying job now, folks!

New Oprah Book Today!

Truely, this is the day that the Lord hath made! I can't wait to find out what it is. The bummer is, my new paying job at Borders starts tonight at 5. So I'm going to miss O's big reveal. I know, I know, I'm going to be at a BOOKSTORE. Surely they've known the choice for days at least. They have the shiny uncracked volumes with their new O stickers all boxed up in the back, waiting, begging for display. Surely someone will be able to tell me the new pick, if they haven't broken them out already. But I enjoy O's quarterly histrionics. She bounces. She jumps. She clutches the book in her two finely manicured hands and shakes that mane of hair like a hussy hoping to land the king's knight. She pumps those cashmere clad arms in the air and declares her latest pick the "BEST. BOOK. EVAHHHHHHHH!"

The audience goes wild. Of course they do. They get a free copy. Hey Oprah. Those broads at your show don't NEED a free copy. They can afford to fly to Chicago and dress nicely and spend a business day sitting in studio audience laughing politely and tasting crab-brie sandwiches made by your latest chef-friend. They can afford a book. Me, on the other hand. I'm praying for a Border's discount. I would have worked for that alone.

Note to O: Feel free to send me a copy anytime. I could also recommend a book or two. It just so happens I read. Alot.

So: What would you tell Oprah to pick for her club?

Britt's Favourite Books:

Ponies on a Stick

You know you want one.

So, the other day at the grocery store Ayla and Indy spotted a pink confection of a toy--a unicorn with long flowing hair and sparkly hooves. The unicorn was on a stick. The unicorn connects to the stick with a harness, and the point is that juniors can then hold said stick and walk the unicorn--or pony, as Indy likes to say--around like an animal on a stiff leash. Mom had a moment of cowardice and bought the ponies-on-a-stick because she didn't want to deal with two toddlers screaming in their Radio Flyer wagon on the two block ride home. It took the girls about five seconds to discover that ponies-on-a-stick also function well as hockey sticks, good for batting yogurt cartons around on the slick grocery store tiles, and as swords with a soft pony on one end and a hard handle on the other, excellent for combat.

Ayla named her pony SpiderFeather.

Grammy's cat had four kittens. Ayla has named them Bubbles, Blankie, Spider, and Dirt.

For her birthday she can't decide if she wants a Barbie cake or a spider cake.

For Halloween, she told me she wanted to be a dragon. No, a witch. No wait, a spider. With two legs.

Other recent Ayla-isms:

"You're not a girl, you're mommy."

"Mercy has a pretty tattoo. But Mercy is supposed to be a girl, like mommy. And Uncle Trey is supposed to be a boy, like daddy."

"Can I see Syd's cousins?" (Syd is the cat that had babies. Ayla apparently thinks all babies are cousins, like her cousin Eisley.)

Welcome to the fabulous blog of Brittany and Noah Tuttle. Prepare to be shocked and amazed. We do not recommend viewing this blog while driving. Nor do we advise operating heavy machinery after checking out our latest posts. Commenting while under the influence is encouraged for our amusement but discouraged for the preservation of your dignity.

Tuttle snap-shot: Indy is sleeping. Ayla is sleeping. Mom and Dad are drinking whiskey cowboy-style and watching football. All is well with the world.

We would love to accept your donations. Currently we are prepared to handle any money, clothing, books, and liquor you find on your hands. We are sorry to say that at this time we are not equipped to accept your advice. Anyone requesting to watch the children need only arrive on our doorstep. No application necessary.

Further updates to come.