Slinging Cake

In the last four years, Nate and I have been to fourteen weddings for friends and family.  Fourteen beginnings for fourteen new families.  Each wedding has been lovely and beautiful.  Each has been a testament to the personality of the couple getting married.  All of the weddings have been filled with joy and love. 

Whenever I reflect on how much fun Nate and I had at a wedding, I always feel bad for the other couple.  Their wedding just wasn't as fun or perfect or love-filled as our wedding.  Sorry friends, you just don't even compare.  Nate and I had the perfect wedding.  Four years ago today, we woke up on the hottest day of the summer, put on copius amounts of clothing, and professed our love the best way we know how.  By slinging cake at each other.

Oh yes.  We were that couple.  All covered in cake.  But can you blame us?  That cake was freaking delicious!

Slinging Cake

In the last four years, Nate and I have been to fourteen weddings for friends and family.  Fourteen beginnings for fourteen new families.  Each wedding has been lovely and beautiful.  Each has been a testament to the personality of the couple getting married.  All of the weddings have been filled with joy and love. 

Whenever I reflect on how much fun Nate and I had at a wedding, I always feel bad for the other couple.  Their wedding just wasn't as fun or perfect or love-filled as our wedding.  Sorry friends, you just don't even compare.  Nate and I had the perfect wedding.  Four years ago today, we woke up on the hottest day of the summer, put on copius amounts of clothing, and professed our love the best way we know how.  By slinging cake at each other.

Oh yes.  We were that couple.  All covered in cake.  But can you blame us?  That cake was freaking delicious!

I can do this!

You know those irrational fears you have as a mom?  Those ones where you won't be a fun enough mom, or crafty enough?  Those fears where other moms will totally show you up at the science fair (because let's be honest the moms are totally in charge)?  Those fears where you will be the mom to experience stage fright in front of a room full of kids?

After today, I worry for my craft and social skills no longer.  My children are safe.  They have a mom who can create a paper bag puppet without mumbling like a moron in front of a crowd.

I made nearly 150 paper bag puppets today.  With nearly 150 children between the ages of 2 1/2 and 85.  No seriously.  Eighty-five.  That woman was young at heart.  Was it chaotic?  Totally.  Was I covered in marker and glue?  Indescribably so.  Was it awesome?  OMG YEAH!

I connected with a group of kids today.  I talked TO them without feeling like I was talking down to them.  I felt confident in helping those kids when they needed a hint.  I felt confident in asking kids to please wait their turn, without feeling bossy.  And dammit if I didn't rock the socks off those paper bag puppets!  Best puppets ever!

So all my fears about being an awkward mom, unable to craft or talk to my kids' friends, have completely flown out the window.  I can do crafts!  I can talk to kids without seeming creepy!  And the lack of creepy is a very important thing, my friends.  Very important.  I am going to totally rock this whole "mom" thing.

I can do this!

You know those irrational fears you have as a mom?  Those ones where you won't be a fun enough mom, or crafty enough?  Those fears where other moms will totally show you up at the science fair (because let's be honest the moms are totally in charge)?  Those fears where you will be the mom to experience stage fright in front of a room full of kids?

After today, I worry for my craft and social skills no longer.  My children are safe.  They have a mom who can create a paper bag puppet without mumbling like a moron in front of a crowd.

I made nearly 150 paper bag puppets today.  With nearly 150 children between the ages of 2 1/2 and 85.  No seriously.  Eighty-five.  That woman was young at heart.  Was it chaotic?  Totally.  Was I covered in marker and glue?  Indescribably so.  Was it awesome?  OMG YEAH!

I connected with a group of kids today.  I talked TO them without feeling like I was talking down to them.  I felt confident in helping those kids when they needed a hint.  I felt confident in asking kids to please wait their turn, without feeling bossy.  And dammit if I didn't rock the socks off those paper bag puppets!  Best puppets ever!

So all my fears about being an awkward mom, unable to craft or talk to my kids' friends, have completely flown out the window.  I can do crafts!  I can talk to kids without seeming creepy!  And the lack of creepy is a very important thing, my friends.  Very important.  I am going to totally rock this whole "mom" thing.

Summer of Classics: Ivanhoe

Ivanhoe.  What a book!  I have read some dense stuff in my time (Tolstoy, Dickens, all of the Bronte's, Seuss), and nothing comes close to Ivanhoe. 

The back of my copy (because we all scour the back for details, right?) claims that the author, Sir Walter Scott, is "the father of the historical novel."  He had to have earned that "sir" somehow!  But truly, this really did read like something ground-breaking.  As if no other novel had existed before Ivanhoe.  It was published in 1819 (long, long ago), and takes place during the Crusades (long, long, LONG ago).  So the book is written in a very Old English form (thou dost!) from a very Georgian Era standpoint.  Which means I sometimes had difficulty digesting the actual language.

My difficulty in actually reading the book did not detract from my enjoyment of the plot.  Ivanhoe is another action-adventure book on my Summer of Classics book list.  But this one was so chivalrous.  Which makes sense, since the main characters are knights in shining armor rescuing damsels in distress.  Many characters are in disguise.  All of them are memorable.  Hi there, Friar Tuck!  Why hello, Robin Hood!

My favorite characters (who I feel should be the ones listed as "hero" on the back cover) were the Jester and the Swineherd.  Loved them.  They opened the story, set me up for the adventure.  They were present at all the most important parts.  They saved the stated hero on numerous occasions.  And they were fun.  I loved them.

I was also really impressed with the female characters.  All two of them.  I might be alone in this, since they did tend to wait around for the men.  And yet.  Let's look at the book: written in 1819 about the Crusades.  Women back couldn't really be strong.  They sorta had to wait around for the men.  So while their plots revolved around marriage and rescue, they were very strong, independent-minded women.  Women who did not lay themselves down at the feet of their oppressors.  Women who had the strength to protect their feminine virtues as much as they could.  I loved watching their characters grow.

So, Ivanhoe was a very difficult book.  I wouldn't rush out and recommend it to just anyone.  But if you are looking for a challenge, something to really slow you down and make you work, pick this up.  It's poetic, beautiful, hilarious, exciting, and memorable.  But don't take my word for it!

Summer of Classics: Ivanhoe

Ivanhoe.  What a book!  I have read some dense stuff in my time (Tolstoy, Dickens, all of the Bronte's, Seuss), and nothing comes close to Ivanhoe. 

The back of my copy (because we all scour the back for details, right?) claims that the author, Sir Walter Scott, is "the father of the historical novel."  He had to have earned that "sir" somehow!  But truly, this really did read like something ground-breaking.  As if no other novel had existed before Ivanhoe.  It was published in 1819 (long, long ago), and takes place during the Crusades (long, long, LONG ago).  So the book is written in a very Old English form (thou dost!) from a very Georgian Era standpoint.  Which means I sometimes had difficulty digesting the actual language.

My difficulty in actually reading the book did not detract from my enjoyment of the plot.  Ivanhoe is another action-adventure book on my Summer of Classics book list.  But this one was so chivalrous.  Which makes sense, since the main characters are knights in shining armor rescuing damsels in distress.  Many characters are in disguise.  All of them are memorable.  Hi there, Friar Tuck!  Why hello, Robin Hood!

My favorite characters (who I feel should be the ones listed as "hero" on the back cover) were the Jester and the Swineherd.  Loved them.  They opened the story, set me up for the adventure.  They were present at all the most important parts.  They saved the stated hero on numerous occasions.  And they were fun.  I loved them.

I was also really impressed with the female characters.  All two of them.  I might be alone in this, since they did tend to wait around for the men.  And yet.  Let's look at the book: written in 1819 about the Crusades.  Women back couldn't really be strong.  They sorta had to wait around for the men.  So while their plots revolved around marriage and rescue, they were very strong, independent-minded women.  Women who did not lay themselves down at the feet of their oppressors.  Women who had the strength to protect their feminine virtues as much as they could.  I loved watching their characters grow.

So, Ivanhoe was a very difficult book.  I wouldn't rush out and recommend it to just anyone.  But if you are looking for a challenge, something to really slow you down and make you work, pick this up.  It's poetic, beautiful, hilarious, exciting, and memorable.  But don't take my word for it!

Addiction

I'm sure you have heard the news about Amy Winehouse.  If you haven't, well, she died of a drug overdose this weekend.  It's truly sad, but not surprising.  Which might be the saddest part of it all.  She died from addiction, and no one is surprised because we all saw that one coming just around the bend.

I wasn't overly phased by the news on Saturday.  I'm not a huge fan of her music, and I'm certainly not a fan of the public persona she had adopted.  But more importantly, I was preoccupied on Saturday with more important, better things.  My husband's cousin was getting married.  I was adding another in-law to my little club of outsiders, of which I was the sole member for the longest time (four years on Thursday!!).  My club added it's second member a mere eight weeks ago, and now here we are a club of three!  I love my cousin-in-law, and am so excited for his new wife - a wonderful young woman, who obviously adores her new husband and puts up with all the rest of us.

Melissa puts up with the rest of us.  My husband's family is a lot to take in.  They are inclined to drink to excess.  Beyond excess.  They are inclined to drink to oblivion.  This family can be difficult to be around.  As the drama and emotions begin to spill over, as the wine begins to flow with reckless abandon.  As loving as they each are, they are overwhelming, emotional and dramatic.  It is a drama that enters your veins and, like poison, slowly takes over rational thought.  Drama feeds on drama, and in this family the drama is well fed, its thirst well satiated. 

Russell Brand wrote a beautiful and moving article, reflecting on the passing of Amy Winehouse, as well as his relationship with addiction:
"Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there."
We all know drunks and junkies.  We all do.  I do.

Amy Winehouse touched the lives of so many, who put up with her antics.  I'm sure she had loved ones who tried to make her go to rehab (and she said, "No, no, no!").  I'm sure she had loved ones who tried to reach out to her, to keep her safe.  And I'm sure she had loved ones who were simply too tired to try any longer.

I watched this weekend as a lovely wedding and reception turned into a raucous after-party.  Full of emotion.  Full of drama.  More drama than should be invited to a wedding.  I wish I could say that I didn't, in some way, add to the drama.  I did.  I wasn't the worst culprit, but there I was making a scene.  Over something as stupid as pizza. 

I love my husband's family.  They are my family.  And I worry about them.  I worry for their health.  I worry for my relationship with them.  I worry for Laura's relationship with them.  I heard about Amy Winehouse and was not surprised.  Then I read Russell's beautiful words and felt tears well in my eyes.  How much can I do for Nate's family?  How much can I do for myself?

"We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to [addiction]. Not all addicts have Amy's incredible talent. Or Kurt's or Jimi's or Janis's. Some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill."
-R.Brand

Addiction

I'm sure you have heard the news about Amy Winehouse.  If you haven't, well, she died of a drug overdose this weekend.  It's truly sad, but not surprising.  Which might be the saddest part of it all.  She died from addiction, and no one is surprised because we all saw that one coming just around the bend.

I wasn't overly phased by the news on Saturday.  I'm not a huge fan of her music, and I'm certainly not a fan of the public persona she had adopted.  But more importantly, I was preoccupied on Saturday with more important, better things.  My husband's cousin was getting married.  I was adding another in-law to my little club of outsiders, of which I was the sole member for the longest time (four years on Thursday!!).  My club added it's second member a mere eight weeks ago, and now here we are a club of three!  I love my cousin-in-law, and am so excited for his new wife - a wonderful young woman, who obviously adores her new husband and puts up with all the rest of us.

Melissa puts up with the rest of us.  My husband's family is a lot to take in.  They are inclined to drink to excess.  Beyond excess.  They are inclined to drink to oblivion.  This family can be difficult to be around.  As the drama and emotions begin to spill over, as the wine begins to flow with reckless abandon.  As loving as they each are, they are overwhelming, emotional and dramatic.  It is a drama that enters your veins and, like poison, slowly takes over rational thought.  Drama feeds on drama, and in this family the drama is well fed, its thirst well satiated. 

Russell Brand wrote a beautiful and moving article, reflecting on the passing of Amy Winehouse, as well as his relationship with addiction:
"Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there."
We all know drunks and junkies.  We all do.  I do.

Amy Winehouse touched the lives of so many, who put up with her antics.  I'm sure she had loved ones who tried to make her go to rehab (and she said, "No, no, no!").  I'm sure she had loved ones who tried to reach out to her, to keep her safe.  And I'm sure she had loved ones who were simply too tired to try any longer.

I watched this weekend as a lovely wedding and reception turned into a raucous after-party.  Full of emotion.  Full of drama.  More drama than should be invited to a wedding.  I wish I could say that I didn't, in some way, add to the drama.  I did.  I wasn't the worst culprit, but there I was making a scene.  Over something as stupid as pizza. 

I love my husband's family.  They are my family.  And I worry about them.  I worry for their health.  I worry for my relationship with them.  I worry for Laura's relationship with them.  I heard about Amy Winehouse and was not surprised.  Then I read Russell's beautiful words and felt tears well in my eyes.  How much can I do for Nate's family?  How much can I do for myself?

"We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to [addiction]. Not all addicts have Amy's incredible talent. Or Kurt's or Jimi's or Janis's. Some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill."
-R.Brand

Fluff Friday

I hear that my generation is very nostalgic.  Already.  This is why all things childhood are so popular right now.  Have you seen the craze for cupcakes at bakeries across the country?  Even Sesame Street has been running classic clips in their latest episodes.  And did you hear that Nickelodeon is bringing back Clarissa Explains It All?  Oh yes they are!  I am over the moon about this.  And it's not just Clarissa - my old friend Doug Funny is coming back too!  Anyone else want to be Patty Mayonnaise when they were in middle school?

Speaking of mayonnaise and nostalgia... I went through a phase as a toddler where I was really into Peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches.  My mom swears they are really tasty with sprouts on them.  To that I say, "Pass me the fluff!"

 My coworkers and I were talking about the wonders of the fluffernutter sandwich at lunch yesterday (as we all munched healthy, grown-up food much to our dismay).  One of the interns sitting with us is Canadian - and had never heard of fluff.  Whoa.  My desires to move to Canada for free health care have been quashed in a single blow.  So when I happened to pass by a display of Fluff when I was running errands last night, I bought some on behalf of our poor, deprived, Canadian intern.

And then, when I turned the jar around to muse nostalgic on the familiar glass jar, I saw The Recipe: Never Fail Fudge.  The most delicious chocolate creation of my fondest childhood memories.

For a better view of this recipe, please visit my cooking site!
Mrs. MidAtlantic Cooks

Dear Mom, I may disagree with you on the PB&Mayo&Sprouts sandwich, but thank you from the bottom of my heart for the thousands of pounds of fudge you kept in my tummy.  Much Love, C

Fluff Friday

I hear that my generation is very nostalgic.  Already.  This is why all things childhood are so popular right now.  Have you seen the craze for cupcakes at bakeries across the country?  Even Sesame Street has been running classic clips in their latest episodes.  And did you hear that Nickelodeon is bringing back Clarissa Explains It All?  Oh yes they are!  I am over the moon about this.  And it's not just Clarissa - my old friend Doug Funny is coming back too!  Anyone else want to be Patty Mayonnaise when they were in middle school?

Speaking of mayonnaise and nostalgia... I went through a phase as a toddler where I was really into Peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches.  My mom swears they are really tasty with sprouts on them.  To that I say, "Pass me the fluff!"

 My coworkers and I were talking about the wonders of the fluffernutter sandwich at lunch yesterday (as we all munched healthy, grown-up food much to our dismay).  One of the interns sitting with us is Canadian - and had never heard of fluff.  Whoa.  My desires to move to Canada for free health care have been quashed in a single blow.  So when I happened to pass by a display of Fluff when I was running errands last night, I bought some on behalf of our poor, deprived, Canadian intern.

And then, when I turned the jar around to muse nostalgic on the familiar glass jar, I saw The Recipe: Never Fail Fudge.  The most delicious chocolate creation of my fondest childhood memories.

For a better view of this recipe, please visit my cooking site!
Mrs. MidAtlantic Cooks

Dear Mom, I may disagree with you on the PB&Mayo&Sprouts sandwich, but thank you from the bottom of my heart for the thousands of pounds of fudge you kept in my tummy.  Much Love, C

The Art of Seduction

Last night as I was playing Angry Birds while Nate watched reruns of LOST on Netflix, I suddenly remembered that I'm supposed to be baby-obsessed, and wouldn't it be nice to have some physical contact with my husband while the baby was in bed.  We may have been in the same room, but we could have been on separate planets for all the interaction that was going on between the bird flinging and the... whatever LOST actually turned out to be. 

I put the G-D birds down.  I ignored the plight of the secret hidden papayas I was trying to bust out of crates.  And I hobbled over to my husband, who was practically drooling while mindlessly staring at the TV.  I say hobbled because my shinsplints are killing me and I read somewhere that an ankle brace can help.  So I was sporting the sexiest outfit ever seen:  Cargo capris (?), a t-shirt, and an ankle brace.

Like a sultry movie star from days of yore, I put the bad leg up on Nate's knee and sexily tore off the ankle brace.  He looked up at me like I was insane.  So I said, "What, don't you want somma THIS!"  He said, "The ankle brace strip tease really doesn't do it for me."  Apparently the bend-and-snap move I learned in Legally Blonde doesn't actually work.  And since I'm lazy, I quit trying to seduce my husband shortly after that.

You know how some women can turn a man on like flipping a light switch?  I'm not one of them.  I guess that's why I spend so much time sitting in the dark.  Pass me those irate birds - I have some pigs to kill.

The Art of Seduction

Last night as I was playing Angry Birds while Nate watched reruns of LOST on Netflix, I suddenly remembered that I'm supposed to be baby-obsessed, and wouldn't it be nice to have some physical contact with my husband while the baby was in bed.  We may have been in the same room, but we could have been on separate planets for all the interaction that was going on between the bird flinging and the... whatever LOST actually turned out to be. 

I put the G-D birds down.  I ignored the plight of the secret hidden papayas I was trying to bust out of crates.  And I hobbled over to my husband, who was practically drooling while mindlessly staring at the TV.  I say hobbled because my shinsplints are killing me and I read somewhere that an ankle brace can help.  So I was sporting the sexiest outfit ever seen:  Cargo capris (?), a t-shirt, and an ankle brace.

Like a sultry movie star from days of yore, I put the bad leg up on Nate's knee and sexily tore off the ankle brace.  He looked up at me like I was insane.  So I said, "What, don't you want somma THIS!"  He said, "The ankle brace strip tease really doesn't do it for me."  Apparently the bend-and-snap move I learned in Legally Blonde doesn't actually work.  And since I'm lazy, I quit trying to seduce my husband shortly after that.

You know how some women can turn a man on like flipping a light switch?  I'm not one of them.  I guess that's why I spend so much time sitting in the dark.  Pass me those irate birds - I have some pigs to kill.

Ok, Am I Obsessed?

I started blogging a little over two years ago, because I needed an outlet for the baby-crazy in my head.  It was going to be a TTC thing, until I was lucky enough to get pregnant.  Which happened like two seconds later.  Which is probably a good thing, because I would have been A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G to the max.  I was full on obsessed that first go-round.  I temped before I was even off birth control, because that made sense (not).  I read up on when, how often, what positions.  Which meant, for me, often and however.

This time... I had originally planned on being obsessed this time.  I gave myself wiggle room and leeway to be a TTC nut.  I'm finding that I'm just not quite so over the top this time (so far).  I weaned myself off Zoloft and caffeine.  I finished my packet of pills.  I've been taking prenatal vitamins for two months.  I reminded myself of my Fertility Friend log-in information.  I attempted to find my basal thermometer.

There I stopped.  I haven't done anything on Fertility Friend.  I never did find that thermometer.  I think perhaps I'm a little gun-shy.  It's hard to think of starting all over again with a newborn and the crying and the sleepless nights and the crying. 

But also, I know I have changed a lot in the two years that have passed since I started this little blog.  I have found a strength in myself.  And I have also found a tiny bit of faith.  I hear there's this cool guy upstairs looking out for us.  He's always dishing out only what we can handle.  He'll let me get pregnant on his own time, when things are meant to work out.  I have faith in that.  Why shouldn't I?  Everything else has always worked out, in whatever way, for the best. 

So this time, I'm not obsessed.  I'm not temping or tracking or attempting awkward positions.  I'm not constantly googling.  I'm just letting things go with the flow.  I'm totally cool and relaxed.  I'm a normal human being, who just happens to be off the pill while enjoying  relations with her husband.  I even bought a brand new box of tampons for next month when I'll need them.  So I can jinx the need.  Totally normal.  Not obsessed.  Nope, not me.  And clearly, anyone who is not obsessed blogs all about it.   That's a totally normal, not-obsessed sort of thing to do.

I'm not obsessed.  Right?

Ok, Am I Obsessed?

I started blogging a little over two years ago, because I needed an outlet for the baby-crazy in my head.  It was going to be a TTC thing, until I was lucky enough to get pregnant.  Which happened like two seconds later.  Which is probably a good thing, because I would have been A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G to the max.  I was full on obsessed that first go-round.  I temped before I was even off birth control, because that made sense (not).  I read up on when, how often, what positions.  Which meant, for me, often and however.

This time... I had originally planned on being obsessed this time.  I gave myself wiggle room and leeway to be a TTC nut.  I'm finding that I'm just not quite so over the top this time (so far).  I weaned myself off Zoloft and caffeine.  I finished my packet of pills.  I've been taking prenatal vitamins for two months.  I reminded myself of my Fertility Friend log-in information.  I attempted to find my basal thermometer.

There I stopped.  I haven't done anything on Fertility Friend.  I never did find that thermometer.  I think perhaps I'm a little gun-shy.  It's hard to think of starting all over again with a newborn and the crying and the sleepless nights and the crying. 

But also, I know I have changed a lot in the two years that have passed since I started this little blog.  I have found a strength in myself.  And I have also found a tiny bit of faith.  I hear there's this cool guy upstairs looking out for us.  He's always dishing out only what we can handle.  He'll let me get pregnant on his own time, when things are meant to work out.  I have faith in that.  Why shouldn't I?  Everything else has always worked out, in whatever way, for the best. 

So this time, I'm not obsessed.  I'm not temping or tracking or attempting awkward positions.  I'm not constantly googling.  I'm just letting things go with the flow.  I'm totally cool and relaxed.  I'm a normal human being, who just happens to be off the pill while enjoying  relations with her husband.  I even bought a brand new box of tampons for next month when I'll need them.  So I can jinx the need.  Totally normal.  Not obsessed.  Nope, not me.  And clearly, anyone who is not obsessed blogs all about it.   That's a totally normal, not-obsessed sort of thing to do.

I'm not obsessed.  Right?

New Shoes, Feeling Sexy

If you read my post last Monday, I'm sure you could see that I... wasn't in the best place.  I'd eaten way more ice cream than anyone ever should - especially when that someone is lactose intolerant.  Cue: bloat.  None of my pants fit and I did not feel sexy at all.  Which completely goes against my New Year's Resolution of feeling sexy.  I didn't want to put numbers on a weight loss, or even a specific target of working out __ days a week or limiting calories to __ a day.  I just wanted to do what I had to do to feel sexy.  So after last Monday's glum post I needed to change.

I went to the gym three days last week.  Three days is the maximum I can go in the mornings before work, due to day care drop-off duties.  Three days is not a number I have hit recently.  I can't remember what I did on Tuesday, not a great work-out, but I was there.  Showing up is half the battle.  I did bootcame on Thursday - love it.  It's so motivating, and the trainer I do it with is great at molding the class to the people who show up.  I felt so motivated after Thursday's workout that I ran - outside - with no one chasing me - on Friday, for FOUR miles! 

I ran four miles.  In a row.  Without stopping.  Pride is sexy.

And then I could barely move the rest of the day because my shin splints are so bad.  They still killed Saturday.  So yesterday, Sunday, I got up, went to the specialty running store, and got fitted for shoes.  If you have never been fitted for a pair of running shoes, drop everything, throw out your current shoes, and go.  It is completely worth the 20 minutes it takes to be matched to your ideal shoe.  There is no charge for the session, and the shoes prices are no higher than any crap sports chain.  I go to my area Fleet Feet; this is a reputable franchise around the country, with great service and selection.  I have a new pair of running shoes, and my shins are thanking me.

I can't wait to go for a run tomorrow morning!

New Shoes, Feeling Sexy

If you read my post last Monday, I'm sure you could see that I... wasn't in the best place.  I'd eaten way more ice cream than anyone ever should - especially when that someone is lactose intolerant.  Cue: bloat.  None of my pants fit and I did not feel sexy at all.  Which completely goes against my New Year's Resolution of feeling sexy.  I didn't want to put numbers on a weight loss, or even a specific target of working out __ days a week or limiting calories to __ a day.  I just wanted to do what I had to do to feel sexy.  So after last Monday's glum post I needed to change.

I went to the gym three days last week.  Three days is the maximum I can go in the mornings before work, due to day care drop-off duties.  Three days is not a number I have hit recently.  I can't remember what I did on Tuesday, not a great work-out, but I was there.  Showing up is half the battle.  I did bootcame on Thursday - love it.  It's so motivating, and the trainer I do it with is great at molding the class to the people who show up.  I felt so motivated after Thursday's workout that I ran - outside - with no one chasing me - on Friday, for FOUR miles! 

I ran four miles.  In a row.  Without stopping.  Pride is sexy.

And then I could barely move the rest of the day because my shin splints are so bad.  They still killed Saturday.  So yesterday, Sunday, I got up, went to the specialty running store, and got fitted for shoes.  If you have never been fitted for a pair of running shoes, drop everything, throw out your current shoes, and go.  It is completely worth the 20 minutes it takes to be matched to your ideal shoe.  There is no charge for the session, and the shoes prices are no higher than any crap sports chain.  I go to my area Fleet Feet; this is a reputable franchise around the country, with great service and selection.  I have a new pair of running shoes, and my shins are thanking me.

I can't wait to go for a run tomorrow morning!

Vlog Talk: Baby Monitors

So I look ridiculous and the lighting is bad, but it doesn't matter. The real star of this vlog is Laura!
I'm vlogging today with the Vlog Talk meme, with the WILDCARD! prompt: I'm going with the June 30 prompt, what I'm obsessed with right now. Enjoy!

PS- I couldn't figure out how to post this on Saturday, so happy Sunday instead!

Vlog Talk: Baby Monitors

So I look ridiculous and the lighting is bad, but it doesn't matter. The real star of this vlog is Laura!
I'm vlogging today with the Vlog Talk meme, with the WILDCARD! prompt: I'm going with the June 30 prompt, what I'm obsessed with right now. Enjoy!

PS- I couldn't figure out how to post this on Saturday, so happy Sunday instead!

Tubby Little Cubby

We took Laura to see her first movie today.  I'm not sure how much she truly enjoyed the movie experience, but I L-O-V-E-D, loved, LOVED the newest Winnie the Pooh! 

I can't remember the last time I was so excited to see a movie that I trudged out to the theatre on opening day.  Let's keep in mind, also, that I go to the movies maybe once a year.  So Winnie the Pooh was a big deal for me.

I wasn't actually all that into going to the newest Pooh movie until just this week, when I took the time to watch some trailers.  The trailers had me in stitches, and I was so impressed with the hand-drawn animation that I was dead-set on seeing the movie as soon as possible.

I met Laura (with my mother-in-law) at the theatre this afternoon for a 5:05 showing.  We settled into our seats and plied Laura with snacks.  From the opening sequence, I was laughing, smiling, and having a great time.  Which is mpressive, since I had a toddler crawling all over me the entire time.

I was really impressed with the clever animation, which highlighted letters and words in the font I remember so fondly from my childhood copies of the books.  Pooh and his friends literally walk across pages and paragraphs, as the narrator reads the words shown on the screen.  So simple, but it really made the connection between the original books and the animated feature.

At one point, a little girl next to us screamed with fright when the Backson loomed out of the woods.  But she was laughing hysterically soon after.  The movie is very appropriately rated G.  It was also the perfect length for a family outing.  Just as I was thinking "gee, now would be a great time to wrap this up so my toddler can let out some of her energy on something other than me," the movie ended!  In a most satisfying manner!  With no creepy woosels or heffulumps or anything!

My favorite part was the... everything.  Laura's favorite part was the sequence with Pooh swimming through the honey.  Seriously.  And I know this because she was suddenly completely still, snack free, and staring with rapt attention at the screen for the entire scene.  And once that part ended, Laura was back to her snacking, flailing ways.  Which was perfectly fine!  I expected nothing less, taking an eighteen-month-old to the movies!

If you are thinking of seeing Winnie the Pooh, please do!  And if you were thinking you'd see HP7 instead, see both!  WtP is definitely worth the movie ticket!

Tubby Little Cubby

We took Laura to see her first movie today.  I'm not sure how much she truly enjoyed the movie experience, but I L-O-V-E-D, loved, LOVED the newest Winnie the Pooh! 

I can't remember the last time I was so excited to see a movie that I trudged out to the theatre on opening day.  Let's keep in mind, also, that I go to the movies maybe once a year.  So Winnie the Pooh was a big deal for me.

I wasn't actually all that into going to the newest Pooh movie until just this week, when I took the time to watch some trailers.  The trailers had me in stitches, and I was so impressed with the hand-drawn animation that I was dead-set on seeing the movie as soon as possible.

I met Laura (with my mother-in-law) at the theatre this afternoon for a 5:05 showing.  We settled into our seats and plied Laura with snacks.  From the opening sequence, I was laughing, smiling, and having a great time.  Which is mpressive, since I had a toddler crawling all over me the entire time.

I was really impressed with the clever animation, which highlighted letters and words in the font I remember so fondly from my childhood copies of the books.  Pooh and his friends literally walk across pages and paragraphs, as the narrator reads the words shown on the screen.  So simple, but it really made the connection between the original books and the animated feature.

At one point, a little girl next to us screamed with fright when the Backson loomed out of the woods.  But she was laughing hysterically soon after.  The movie is very appropriately rated G.  It was also the perfect length for a family outing.  Just as I was thinking "gee, now would be a great time to wrap this up so my toddler can let out some of her energy on something other than me," the movie ended!  In a most satisfying manner!  With no creepy woosels or heffulumps or anything!

My favorite part was the... everything.  Laura's favorite part was the sequence with Pooh swimming through the honey.  Seriously.  And I know this because she was suddenly completely still, snack free, and staring with rapt attention at the screen for the entire scene.  And once that part ended, Laura was back to her snacking, flailing ways.  Which was perfectly fine!  I expected nothing less, taking an eighteen-month-old to the movies!

If you are thinking of seeing Winnie the Pooh, please do!  And if you were thinking you'd see HP7 instead, see both!  WtP is definitely worth the movie ticket!

Pinterest

I know I'm not the first person to blog about Pinterest, nor will I be the last.  However, you won't see me on Pinterest.  Me, meaning Mrs. MidAtlantic.  Because I am certainly pinning away.

A few months ago, I started to have an identity crisis.  Am I the blogger who calls herself Mrs. MidAtlantic, or am I a real person with a real family.  My family and friends don't know about the blog (with a very few exceptions).  My blog readers don't know who I am.  I have two (actually four, with the recipes) blogs under two emails.  I have two facebook accounts.  Only one of me twitters, and that with great infrequency.  With two identities, sometimes I confuse myself as to who I truly am.

So when I scored an invite to Pinterest, I signed up using my real name.  I talk about pinning with my mom and sister-in-law, whose boards I follow.  When I pin something, my IRL friends see it on FB.  It's refreshing for me to have something real that I can share outside of the internet.  It's fun for me to pin a cute baby toy or Christmas ornament, and show it to my mom.  It's fun - and completely neccessary - for me to realize that I exist outside of a nom de plume.

I love being Mrs. MidAtlantic.  But I also love being me.  So I might check out one or two of your pins, as you choose to post them through the magic that is the internet.  But you won't see mine.  Not here, at least!

Pinterest

I know I'm not the first person to blog about Pinterest, nor will I be the last.  However, you won't see me on Pinterest.  Me, meaning Mrs. MidAtlantic.  Because I am certainly pinning away.

A few months ago, I started to have an identity crisis.  Am I the blogger who calls herself Mrs. MidAtlantic, or am I a real person with a real family.  My family and friends don't know about the blog (with a very few exceptions).  My blog readers don't know who I am.  I have two (actually four, with the recipes) blogs under two emails.  I have two facebook accounts.  Only one of me twitters, and that with great infrequency.  With two identities, sometimes I confuse myself as to who I truly am.

So when I scored an invite to Pinterest, I signed up using my real name.  I talk about pinning with my mom and sister-in-law, whose boards I follow.  When I pin something, my IRL friends see it on FB.  It's refreshing for me to have something real that I can share outside of the internet.  It's fun for me to pin a cute baby toy or Christmas ornament, and show it to my mom.  It's fun - and completely neccessary - for me to realize that I exist outside of a nom de plume.

I love being Mrs. MidAtlantic.  But I also love being me.  So I might check out one or two of your pins, as you choose to post them through the magic that is the internet.  But you won't see mine.  Not here, at least!

Resemblance

Am I the only mom who worries that her child doesn't look like her?  Laura looks a lot like her daddy.  Who looks almost identical to his dad, his four siblings, and his four paternal cousins.  There are some strong genes on that side.  And while I think Nate is HOT, I also want my children to bare at least some passing resemblance to me.

It doesn't matter too much.  Kid could look like the milkman, and she'd still be adorable!  I'm glad she's not the milkman's kid.  That would be awk-ward.

Woah, Mom.
Did you just compare me to the milkman?

My mom and dad were able to take some really adorable pictures of Laura this weekend.  Including one where Laura looks a LOT like I did as a baby:

Left: Me with my big brother, c. 1982/3
Right: Laura c. 2011

See those cheeks and eyes?  And THE NOSE??  That nose is all mine!  I was really worried curious about the nose, actually... Nate's is just generally big and mine is ridiculously long.  But so far that little button looks a lot like mine!

Laura and Mom

So do we look exactly the same?  Probably not.  But it doesn't matter, because she is super adorable!

Resemblance

Am I the only mom who worries that her child doesn't look like her?  Laura looks a lot like her daddy.  Who looks almost identical to his dad, his four siblings, and his four paternal cousins.  There are some strong genes on that side.  And while I think Nate is HOT, I also want my children to bare at least some passing resemblance to me.

It doesn't matter too much.  Kid could look like the milkman, and she'd still be adorable!  I'm glad she's not the milkman's kid.  That would be awk-ward.

Woah, Mom.
Did you just compare me to the milkman?

My mom and dad were able to take some really adorable pictures of Laura this weekend.  Including one where Laura looks a LOT like I did as a baby:

Left: Me with my big brother, c. 1982/3
Right: Laura c. 2011

See those cheeks and eyes?  And THE NOSE??  That nose is all mine!  I was really worried curious about the nose, actually... Nate's is just generally big and mine is ridiculously long.  But so far that little button looks a lot like mine!

Laura and Mom

So do we look exactly the same?  Probably not.  But it doesn't matter, because she is super adorable!

I'm not even bringing my B game today

I am exhausted today.  Apparently, I am a travel jinx.  Friday night, I met Laura at the airport for our 6pm flight to Boston for my SIL's baby shower in Maine the next day.  Our flight was delayed till 7. Then 8:30.  Then 9.  And when the board was threatening to put an even later number up there, I spoke with customer service, got myself on a flight the next morning, and got Nate to pick us up so I could put my patient toddler to bed.

Saturday morning, we woke up at 4:30 to get to the airport for a 6am flight.  I had to negotiate with Nate to drop us at the airport, rather than have me drive, park, take the bus with Laura two bags and a stroller, and then get through security.  I won.  The flight was fine, but we then spent two and a half hours in the car driving to Maine.  A lovely shower with lovely cake, and then another drive back to Boston.  Where my dad accidentally drove 20 minutes NORTH instead of south, so 40 minutes out of the way.  And meanwhile, Laura decided to be a little constipated and grumpy.

Yesterday, we had a leisurely day of pancakes and petting zoos before heading back to the airport for our 5pm flight.  You guessed it!  We were delayed!  When the man came over the speaker, I started sobbing.  In the middle of the crowded terminal.  I got myself somewhat put together, gathered Laura and our bags, and shuffled back through security so we could SIT at a restaurant to be served some food.  I really wanted a beer.  But I also had a raging bloat tummy ache, the shakes from Zoloft withdrawal (cuz I quit it) and a toddler who would NOT stop crawling on me.  So I just got a water.  And french fries. 

We finally got home last night around 9:30, after I may have cried a second time mid-flight when Laura started getting really frustrated with the tight quarters.  Traveling is a bitch.  Laura went straight to bed, which sounded like a really nice place to be.  But I stayed up getting Laura packed for school today. 

So it's Monday again.  I'm exhausted, cranky, bloated (too much ice cream), twitching like a grasshopper (do they twitch?), and ready to burst into tears.  My coworker I hate just got in, after a (beautifully quiet) week off from work.  I can't have coffee because the thought of dairy makes me want to hurl, but I can't keep my eyes open.  Why did I wear contacts today?  Oh yeah, because I'm an idiot.

Morals of this story:
- Get toddler her own seat next time we fly without Daddy.
- Wear glasses when tired.
- Zoloft withdrawal makes me feel like I should be in rehab.
- People who are lactose intolerant should not have ice cream for dinner every day for a week.
- My pants don't fit from the bloat.
- I won't be eating ice cream this week.  If I'm smart.  Which I'm not.
- I haven't had a drink in over a week.  It's like I'm practicing for pregnancy.
- I have two pills left in my packet.  And then that's it.
- Prenatal vitamins give me heartburn.  This doesn't bode well.
- I'm exhausted.
- I hate my coworker.
- I hate her even more because I can smell her delicious coffee.
- Sometimes I cry in airports.
- I ramble.

I'm not even bringing my B game today

I am exhausted today.  Apparently, I am a travel jinx.  Friday night, I met Laura at the airport for our 6pm flight to Boston for my SIL's baby shower in Maine the next day.  Our flight was delayed till 7. Then 8:30.  Then 9.  And when the board was threatening to put an even later number up there, I spoke with customer service, got myself on a flight the next morning, and got Nate to pick us up so I could put my patient toddler to bed.

Saturday morning, we woke up at 4:30 to get to the airport for a 6am flight.  I had to negotiate with Nate to drop us at the airport, rather than have me drive, park, take the bus with Laura two bags and a stroller, and then get through security.  I won.  The flight was fine, but we then spent two and a half hours in the car driving to Maine.  A lovely shower with lovely cake, and then another drive back to Boston.  Where my dad accidentally drove 20 minutes NORTH instead of south, so 40 minutes out of the way.  And meanwhile, Laura decided to be a little constipated and grumpy.

Yesterday, we had a leisurely day of pancakes and petting zoos before heading back to the airport for our 5pm flight.  You guessed it!  We were delayed!  When the man came over the speaker, I started sobbing.  In the middle of the crowded terminal.  I got myself somewhat put together, gathered Laura and our bags, and shuffled back through security so we could SIT at a restaurant to be served some food.  I really wanted a beer.  But I also had a raging bloat tummy ache, the shakes from Zoloft withdrawal (cuz I quit it) and a toddler who would NOT stop crawling on me.  So I just got a water.  And french fries. 

We finally got home last night around 9:30, after I may have cried a second time mid-flight when Laura started getting really frustrated with the tight quarters.  Traveling is a bitch.  Laura went straight to bed, which sounded like a really nice place to be.  But I stayed up getting Laura packed for school today. 

So it's Monday again.  I'm exhausted, cranky, bloated (too much ice cream), twitching like a grasshopper (do they twitch?), and ready to burst into tears.  My coworker I hate just got in, after a (beautifully quiet) week off from work.  I can't have coffee because the thought of dairy makes me want to hurl, but I can't keep my eyes open.  Why did I wear contacts today?  Oh yeah, because I'm an idiot.

Morals of this story:
- Get toddler her own seat next time we fly without Daddy.
- Wear glasses when tired.
- Zoloft withdrawal makes me feel like I should be in rehab.
- People who are lactose intolerant should not have ice cream for dinner every day for a week.
- My pants don't fit from the bloat.
- I won't be eating ice cream this week.  If I'm smart.  Which I'm not.
- I haven't had a drink in over a week.  It's like I'm practicing for pregnancy.
- I have two pills left in my packet.  And then that's it.
- Prenatal vitamins give me heartburn.  This doesn't bode well.
- I'm exhausted.
- I hate my coworker.
- I hate her even more because I can smell her delicious coffee.
- Sometimes I cry in airports.
- I ramble.

Flashback Friday: Little Chef

My parents started me helping in the kitchen at a very young age.  I remember sitting on the kitchen floor with a very important job: poking holes in the baked potatoes before they went in the oven.  A crucial step towards baking the perfect potato.  I also remember learning to make "Mexican Grilled Cheese" at a point in my life when my mother was too burnt out to cook me one.more.grilled.freaking.cheese since that's all I would eat.  (Mexican Grilled Cheese, btw, is just some shredded cheddar on a tortilla and microwaved).

Perhaps my proudest childhood cooking achievement was my Deviled Egg Chickens.

We found this recipe in a children's cookbook that I can't put my finger on right now.  These chickens are both adorable and delicious - I still make them for parties!  I've added the recipe to Mrs. MidAtlantic Cooks for your eating enjoyment.  And now I can't wait to get Laura started in the kitchen, too!

Idea for Flashback Friday stolen borrowed from The Heir to Blair!

Flashback Friday: Little Chef

My parents started me helping in the kitchen at a very young age.  I remember sitting on the kitchen floor with a very important job: poking holes in the baked potatoes before they went in the oven.  A crucial step towards baking the perfect potato.  I also remember learning to make "Mexican Grilled Cheese" at a point in my life when my mother was too burnt out to cook me one.more.grilled.freaking.cheese since that's all I would eat.  (Mexican Grilled Cheese, btw, is just some shredded cheddar on a tortilla and microwaved).

Perhaps my proudest childhood cooking achievement was my Deviled Egg Chickens.

We found this recipe in a children's cookbook that I can't put my finger on right now.  These chickens are both adorable and delicious - I still make them for parties!  I've added the recipe to Mrs. MidAtlantic Cooks for your eating enjoyment.  And now I can't wait to get Laura started in the kitchen, too!

Idea for Flashback Friday stolen borrowed from The Heir to Blair!

Here She Comes

My little Miss America!  Why yes, I did put a picture of me in a bathing suit on the internet.  While holding my naked daughter on a very small inner-tube.  We're cute!  And only slightly blindingly pale.

Bathing Beauties

Laura loves the water.  She still can't float on her own, but she can jump in like a big kid!

Kid has no fear.  Which makes me terrified.

Laura also loves bubbles (bub-bohs as she calls them).  Pretty much, I'm not sure she'd qualify as a normal, healthy toddler if she wasn't completely enthralled by bubbles.

Bub-bohs!

You know what else Laura loves?  Fireworks!

Thank goodness too.  I'm not sure what I would have done with a kid afraid of fireworks.  They are my favoritest thing in the whole world!

Laura is trying to grab the fireworks.  I told her they are hot.  She blew on them instead.

Happy Independence Day!

Here She Comes

My little Miss America!  Why yes, I did put a picture of me in a bathing suit on the internet.  While holding my naked daughter on a very small inner-tube.  We're cute!  And only slightly blindingly pale.

Bathing Beauties

Laura loves the water.  She still can't float on her own, but she can jump in like a big kid!

Kid has no fear.  Which makes me terrified.

Laura also loves bubbles (bub-bohs as she calls them).  Pretty much, I'm not sure she'd qualify as a normal, healthy toddler if she wasn't completely enthralled by bubbles.

Bub-bohs!

You know what else Laura loves?  Fireworks!

Thank goodness too.  I'm not sure what I would have done with a kid afraid of fireworks.  They are my favoritest thing in the whole world!

Laura is trying to grab the fireworks.  I told her they are hot.  She blew on them instead.

Happy Independence Day!

The Freezer

I've been doing a really good job (for me) of planning dinners and writing out - and sticking to! - grocery lists for the past few months.  It feels really good going into the week with a plan.  And half the time, our plans go awry and I wind up postponing this meal or that.  But it's ok, because it's only a plan.  (and hint: I only actually plan three to four meals a week anyway, since I just know everything will go haywire by Thursday).

So I sat down to add to my on-going grocery Monday night and made sure I had buns, hamburger, bacon, cheese and bread on the list.  Then I decided to peek in the fridge to see what we needed to use up and what could be good for dinner planning.  And that's when I started to uncover the hoard.

Plenty of buns, tons of cheese, and two whole loaves of bread. I scratched those off my list.  But then I started to wonder: what on earth do I have in the freezer??  So I cleared the counter and dove in.  Here's what I found:

Two boxes of popsicles (unopened)
Three sides of bacon
Twelve bags of frozen veggies (various flavors)
Four pounds of hamburger
Eight steaks
Two packages of chicken
Five frozen meals from past freezing kicks
Two gallons of ice cream in flavors we don't like (why?!)
Three tubs of homemade babyfood from last summer
Several freezer-burned frozen hors d'oevres in ziplocs leftover from our Christmas party
Two loaves of garlic bread
Three bags of frozen french fries, in varying states of openess

Um, the freezer was ridiculous.  So I completely rewrote my grocery list and reorganized the entire space.  Amazingly, there was very little that I felt forced to throw out.  I finished one tub of sub-par ice cream and melted the rest (totally crystalized) into the sink.  One package of steaks was older than the hills, and the babyfood wasn't worth keeping.  I will not be buying any bacon for a while, and I can probably hold off on any veggie or french fry purchases through the summer!  And if you're wondering, we'll be having steaks for dinner tonight.

A Monday/Tuesday Potpourri

I'm all over the place today.  Is it Monday?  Is it Tuesday?  When is it Friday again?  Is Laura at school today, or at home with Grandma?  Did I go to the gym?  Is it lunch time yet?  Where am I?  Who am I?  Does anyone know anything about anything?!

But really, my point is.  I'm not sure.  Do I have a point?  Most Mondays of late, I have completely forgotten to post for McFatty Monday.  Well, I didn't eat too very much this weekend, despite the holiday.  Scratch that.  I had quite a few beers and several ice creams.  But I went to the gym today!  And I plan to go on Thursday and probably Friday, too!  And I looked great in my swimsuits all weekend!  And feeling sexy is really all I'm going for here, so I think I count this past week as a win.

What about all those other memes out there?  RemembeRED?  This week, we are asked to write about a TV show from our past.  Here's mine: Gilligan's Island.  My mother has abhorred Mr. Rogers since 198-something when he did a week long special on divorce and convinced my older brother that at some point, all mommies and daddies get divorced.  My parents will be celebrating their 36th year of marriage in a few weeks, thank you very much.  But anyway, this meant that when Mr. Rogers came on after Sesame Street, my mother frantically grabbed for the remote to switch the channel to anything else.  That anything happened to be Gilligan's Island.  My brother and I l-o-v-e-d all the ridiculous stuff those people made out of coconuts, which turned into endless hours of imaginative play for us at the family's beach house.  Is that a beach chair?  No!  It's a thatched hut!  That's not a lobster pot - it's a treasure chest!  I thought about how much fun we had playing Gilligan's Island this weekend as I watched Laura splash for hours on end in the pool.  I can't wait for her to have siblings and cousins to play with during the summer.  Note to self: buy Gilligan's Island on DVD.

Nate, Laura, Ries and I enjoyed a lovely 4th of July, complete with hammock naps, hours in the pool, Coronas, grilling, and fireworks.  Lots of fireworks.  I hope you had as wonderful a weekend as we did!

The Freezer

I've been doing a really good job (for me) of planning dinners and writing out - and sticking to! - grocery lists for the past few months.  It feels really good going into the week with a plan.  And half the time, our plans go awry and I wind up postponing this meal or that.  But it's ok, because it's only a plan.  (and hint: I only actually plan three to four meals a week anyway, since I just know everything will go haywire by Thursday).

So I sat down to add to my on-going grocery Monday night and made sure I had buns, hamburger, bacon, cheese and bread on the list.  Then I decided to peek in the fridge to see what we needed to use up and what could be good for dinner planning.  And that's when I started to uncover the hoard.

Plenty of buns, tons of cheese, and two whole loaves of bread. I scratched those off my list.  But then I started to wonder: what on earth do I have in the freezer??  So I cleared the counter and dove in.  Here's what I found:

Two boxes of popsicles (unopened)
Three sides of bacon
Twelve bags of frozen veggies (various flavors)
Four pounds of hamburger
Eight steaks
Two packages of chicken
Five frozen meals from past freezing kicks
Two gallons of ice cream in flavors we don't like (why?!)
Three tubs of homemade babyfood from last summer
Several freezer-burned frozen hors d'oevres in ziplocs leftover from our Christmas party
Two loaves of garlic bread
Three bags of frozen french fries, in varying states of openess

Um, the freezer was ridiculous.  So I completely rewrote my grocery list and reorganized the entire space.  Amazingly, there was very little that I felt forced to throw out.  I finished one tub of sub-par ice cream and melted the rest (totally crystalized) into the sink.  One package of steaks was older than the hills, and the babyfood wasn't worth keeping.  I will not be buying any bacon for a while, and I can probably hold off on any veggie or french fry purchases through the summer!  And if you're wondering, we'll be having steaks for dinner tonight.

A Monday/Tuesday Potpourri

I'm all over the place today.  Is it Monday?  Is it Tuesday?  When is it Friday again?  Is Laura at school today, or at home with Grandma?  Did I go to the gym?  Is it lunch time yet?  Where am I?  Who am I?  Does anyone know anything about anything?!

But really, my point is.  I'm not sure.  Do I have a point?  Most Mondays of late, I have completely forgotten to post for McFatty Monday.  Well, I didn't eat too very much this weekend, despite the holiday.  Scratch that.  I had quite a few beers and several ice creams.  But I went to the gym today!  And I plan to go on Thursday and probably Friday, too!  And I looked great in my swimsuits all weekend!  And feeling sexy is really all I'm going for here, so I think I count this past week as a win.

What about all those other memes out there?  RemembeRED?  This week, we are asked to write about a TV show from our past.  Here's mine: Gilligan's Island.  My mother has abhorred Mr. Rogers since 198-something when he did a week long special on divorce and convinced my older brother that at some point, all mommies and daddies get divorced.  My parents will be celebrating their 36th year of marriage in a few weeks, thank you very much.  But anyway, this meant that when Mr. Rogers came on after Sesame Street, my mother frantically grabbed for the remote to switch the channel to anything else.  That anything happened to be Gilligan's Island.  My brother and I l-o-v-e-d all the ridiculous stuff those people made out of coconuts, which turned into endless hours of imaginative play for us at the family's beach house.  Is that a beach chair?  No!  It's a thatched hut!  That's not a lobster pot - it's a treasure chest!  I thought about how much fun we had playing Gilligan's Island this weekend as I watched Laura splash for hours on end in the pool.  I can't wait for her to have siblings and cousins to play with during the summer.  Note to self: buy Gilligan's Island on DVD.

Nate, Laura, Ries and I enjoyed a lovely 4th of July, complete with hammock naps, hours in the pool, Coronas, grilling, and fireworks.  Lots of fireworks.  I hope you had as wonderful a weekend as we did!

I feel like a Corona ad

My view today:



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I feel like a Corona ad

My view today:



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

My View

Is there anything better on a summer day than a hammock and a good book?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

My View

Is there anything better on a summer day than a hammock and a good book?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Journal

I sat in the office tying my shoes as Laura fiendishly pulled book after book off the shelves, looking for something.  God knows what.  Winnie the Pooh was tossed to the left, skidding to a stop against a pile of laundry.  Jane Eyre went off to the right, splayed open on the floor.  And then Laura grabbed for the journal.  A hideous blue denim, spiral-bound journal, bedazzled beyond the point of tacky.  The words "Our Journal are written with a childish hand in puffy paint across the front cover.  Inside, the lined papers are wrinkled with time, tape, spilled beers, and love.  Lots of love.

I met Nate in March 2002 when I was a sophomore in college, struggling at the height of depression and an eating disorder to feel normal.  Nate was twenty-three, a year and a half out of college, struggling to make ends meet with a job in sales.  When we met, I was already signed up for a four-week trip to Italy over the summer.  I had been looking forward to it for months.  Looking forward to the food that I was planning to allow myself to eat without shame or guilt.  Looking forward to the relaxed schedule of classes, painting in the Italian summer sun.  Nate was less than happy about my four-week escape.  We were so new to each other - he wanted to keep me to himself all summer.  But off to Italy I went, leaving Nate behind to mope.  I loved him, but I also couldn't wait for my adventure. 

I called Nate from my Italian dorm as soon as I was able to figure out a pay phone:
Hi Hunny, I miss you, are you doing ok?  I know you were upset about this trip, but I'm having a fabulous time already!
I miss you so much, baby, but it's ok!  I figured out a way to make the four weeks pass in a flash!  But it's a surprise.  I'll show you when you get home.

Four weeks later, Nate met me at the airport.  He rolled my bags out to the car, and presented me with the journal.  The horribly tacky journal, already worn and loved.  Already half-filled with the most intimate of words.  A journal with a letter written to me each day I had been away.  A memoir of letters, written with love in the childish handwriting of my future husband.

The Journal

I sat in the office tying my shoes as Laura fiendishly pulled book after book off the shelves, looking for something.  God knows what.  Winnie the Pooh was tossed to the left, skidding to a stop against a pile of laundry.  Jane Eyre went off to the right, splayed open on the floor.  And then Laura grabbed for the journal.  A hideous blue denim, spiral-bound journal, bedazzled beyond the point of tacky.  The words "Our Journal are written with a childish hand in puffy paint across the front cover.  Inside, the lined papers are wrinkled with time, tape, spilled beers, and love.  Lots of love.

I met Nate in March 2002 when I was a sophomore in college, struggling at the height of depression and an eating disorder to feel normal.  Nate was twenty-three, a year and a half out of college, struggling to make ends meet with a job in sales.  When we met, I was already signed up for a four-week trip to Italy over the summer.  I had been looking forward to it for months.  Looking forward to the food that I was planning to allow myself to eat without shame or guilt.  Looking forward to the relaxed schedule of classes, painting in the Italian summer sun.  Nate was less than happy about my four-week escape.  We were so new to each other - he wanted to keep me to himself all summer.  But off to Italy I went, leaving Nate behind to mope.  I loved him, but I also couldn't wait for my adventure. 

I called Nate from my Italian dorm as soon as I was able to figure out a pay phone:
Hi Hunny, I miss you, are you doing ok?  I know you were upset about this trip, but I'm having a fabulous time already!
I miss you so much, baby, but it's ok!  I figured out a way to make the four weeks pass in a flash!  But it's a surprise.  I'll show you when you get home.

Four weeks later, Nate met me at the airport.  He rolled my bags out to the car, and presented me with the journal.  The horribly tacky journal, already worn and loved.  Already half-filled with the most intimate of words.  A journal with a letter written to me each day I had been away.  A memoir of letters, written with love in the childish handwriting of my future husband.