26 aug 2018

Aug26

She had eaten frozen blueberries – but it looks so much worse, like she’s straight out of a Dickens novel. Ryan’s reading a story to them about a magical pig that, in one chapter, helps kids learn table manners. The next night when we ate spaghetti we looked over and Annie was shoving a fistful into her mouth with the tendrils all dangling down. Anyway, all I wanted to show here is that the page said to “draw an animal with spots” so she wrote Tiger and drew spots around it. She was dead serious.

They’ve been sick all week and grandma sent us a care package. New coloring books help everything.

Ryan got a taste of being needed in all directions for 15 minutes: Annie wanted to do puzzles with him, Ruthie make jewelry, and Gertie standing up.

Annie said today that she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a swim teacher or a pirate when she grows up. Ryan suggested being a swim teacher on a pirate ship.

How To Almost Wreck a Bike AND Your Marriage

Mar16

Once a month, Ryan and I are able to go out on a date thanks to a group of friends who take turn watching everyone else’s kids. If there were ever a time I wish grandparents lived nearby, it’d be now. But they don’t, so we circle the date on the calendar several times with a red marker and stare at it longingly through the mound of poopy diapers and incessant whining.

It finally came around this past weekend and as we all walked to the building, Annie kept asking “Happy? Happy?” Why yes, Annie… You must’ve seen my grin from three blocks down. I swear I love ya, but go on now. Play with your friends for FOUR HOURS. Yes!!!

As soon as neither were looking, we snuck out the door, raced to the van and headed to a nearby town for a little bike ride. A tandem bike ride. And for some reason, my mind immediately went to the word tantric whenever I said tandem. But I justified it and thought, hey if Sting has the stamina for 7 hours surely I can also ride for an hour.

We showed up at the bike shop, cute, in love, smiling as the guy oiled up our bike. He asked us if we needed helmets and we cackled at that silly question. Of course not, can’t you see we’re in love and riding as close to each other as humanly possible on two wheels? Only non in love people wear helmets. So he rolled the bike out and off we went.

We got this far from the building before our first full-on fight broke out.

Like growls-from-the-depth-of-your-bowels fight. If you’ve always wondered how low your voice can get while still remaining a woman, sit on the back of a tandem bike. Romance, giggling, and flirting quickly fly out the window when only one person has control of the steering wheel AND brakes. Good God! No literally, good God please save me….and we hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.

We did several circles before venturing out into the downtown area to hit up the trail. Ryan wanted to ride on the sidewalk to I guess make sure that anyone who hadn’t seen us swerve our way out of the parking lot, to have an up close and personal experience with our front wheel. I convinced him to ride on the street though because a) a bike lane is there for a reason and b) I wanted to get hit by a car.

After many hisses and screams later….from the car drivers avoiding our inability to stay within the bike lane, we finally made it to the trail. We’ve walked this trail many times and didn’t think anything of it. Until we approached the first of several hills that we’d conveniently forgotten about. You know when you’re cresting the top of a roller coaster and are powerless to stop it, all the while knowing there’s a 3% chance you’ll be the only person to eject from the seat 90 mph into the funnel cake stand? Yeah.

I took a deep breath and only quietly begged and pleaded to brake more, to not swerve, and to quit leaning so far this way or that. But with each person we passed (somehow we did remember to ring ring our little bell), my begging got louder and louder and reached it’s highest when up ahead we saw a sweet little girl on her pink bike riding towards us…and I knew. I knew she was going to crash. Ryan rang the bell, we zoomed forward like a game of chicken, he rang the bell again, she looked up and crash there she went down in our lane.

To our right was a straight shot down the hill, to our left more walkers. Mr. Oil Luber’s words came back to me “If you need to stop, you better start braking long before you need to. You’re like a semi, it’ll take a while to slow down.” At the time, I was too busy wondering if he was really calling me a semi or not, but now I got it. Holy crap girl, Mooooooooooove!!!! I yelled as Ryan started braking. Somehow, some way we managed to slow down enough to look like we were casually biking along, enough to smile at the girl’s mom and give a jolly hello before picking up too much speed right afterwards.

We swerved around several more groups and Ryan apologized for his insane bell ringing saying “Sorry, we’re barely in control here.” Nervous laughter by everyone.

But I tell you what. This was a great team building exercise, because before we got to our turnaround point, I started closing my trap and trusting that Ryan had control of us. And then I was able to look around and enjoy myself. It wasn’t entirely peaceful, but it became fun and we started laughing instead of barking.

So much so, that I wanted a pic of us on that darn bike. We stopped and waited for the man up head walking toward us. He seemed nice and I asked if he could take our picture.

He looked straight ahead and kept walking. Sure, he was wearing headphones but I know he could feel us staring at him.

Don’t worry Orangie McGee, we got that pic. A girl down the way took one. Well not exactly. Her friend said ‘yes’ and then made her take the photo. Why was everyone afraid of taking our picture?! And then we looked at the picture she took and saw the reason.

Ryan apparently took the whole tantric word misuse a little too far. He said he’s going to return those jeans, and not because they puff out in the worst places, but because the puff measurement wasn’t doing him any favors.

Later we walked by a wedding and hoped we were in the background of photos.

After busting our buns to get back before the store closed, I wandered around and saw this upcoming race ad in the window.

If I weren’t 7 months along by then, I would’ve totally made Ryan do it with me. “Bonus cards for blasting clay pigeons” ….in the middle of a bike ride. So random…Yes, please.

Afterwards we got a bite to eat. Our goal was to take as long as possible at the restaurant since we’re normally rushing and feeding other mouths and not sinking into our chairs. Ever.

Step 1 was to order our drinks without feeling pressured to also order food at the same time in fear of the two little ticking time bombs exploding. In fact, we ordered drinks, she came back with them, and we asked her for another few more minutes to look at the menu. Holla!!!!!!

We placed our order and I didn’t really notice what Ryan got. When he told me, and then said the price:
the most expensive thing on the menu. Whatever, I know those extra minutes before she came back were spent weighing pros and cons.

I remember when I turned 21 and my sisters came down to celebrate. We all got margaritas, but my oldest sister was pregnant. The bartender put lemonade in a margarita glass and sugar around the rim. So I asked our waitress to do the same. I wanted to feel sassy!!

Meh. I couldn’t tell which was the water. Sassiness fail. Luckily I had several other drink options to fall back on.

Yikes. We were thirsty after our ride.

It was a fun night for sure. And no joke, I think our marriage got stronger because of that bike. Next date night though, we said we’re going to find a place and just sleep for four hours. We’re exhausted.

See Ya!

Mar25

Hi.

Can I share a secret? I haven’t spent a night away from Ruth. Until this past weekend, that is. It’s hard to wrap my mind around that fact. What exactly have I been doing for 18 months? I mean, I know there’s been a break between Project Runway seasons, that would’ve been the perfect time. As soon as Heidi said, I’m sorry… you’re out, I should’ve taken her seriously and walked straight to the nearest hotel.

But we all have our own timelines and this is how mine finally shook down.

We didn’t go anywhere exotic. It was probably the most hum-drum “vacation” I’ve ever taken. No trekking around with strangers we’d just met to search for The Soul of The World.

No walking around naked in a Korean Spa.

No backpacking what seemed like 3 billion miles amongst bison.

No. This was decidedly more low-key.

Ruth knew something was up when I actually put on slacks and make-up. She was more hands-on, literally. Wherever I was standing or sitting, she always had one hand on my leg.

But when my in-laws arrived and she came down the stairs to see them, all the uneasiness about my eyeliner & mascara disappeared. We ate dinner together and then packed up the car. As we left, she was held by her jama in the doorway as we gave her kisses and waved goodbye to us with not even a whimper.

Uh, alright…. SEE YA!!!!!!!

And off we went… to a town 30 minutes away.

Yeah, 30 minutes. Can someone say E-X-O-T-I-C?

Here’s the deal. It had to do with selfishness and being a cheap skate. I wanted to spend plane ticket money or gas money on us. In a spa. With no hiking or Korean ladies staring at my birthing hips or bison poop.

But you know what we did first? We went shopping at Target’s $1 bins like it was a duty free shop on a cruise. We stocked up on 75% St Patty’s day junk. YES.

And when we checked into the hotel, I rolled around in all of that target loot on the bed. It was literally a scene from Indecent Proposal. Fricken sexy.

See for yourself:

Settle down, boys.

We checked into the room and decided to have a second dinner, just because we could. Wrong move. I’ll leave it at that. But the next morning we had a date with the adjoining spa. Both of us signed up for spa journey and in between sessions, we’d meet up in its little communal waterfall room to wait for the next. And yes, we were wearing robes.

But not for long, unfortunately for my stupidity.

Fricken SIGH. Why can’t I just walk around not making an absolute fool of myself for fricken once?

My first session was a full body scrub and when I walked in she showed me the disposable underwear to put on:

If Ruthie cries seeing me in make-up, can you just imagine how long it’s been since I’ve worn a thong? I immediately think the bigger piece of fabric is obviously for the bigger asset, right? A 14 year old could have reminded me the right way. But no, I throw that sexy piece of clothing on backwards so that when the body scrubber pulls away the sheet, she stood there quietly for a moment before pretending there was something on the ceiling really worth studying just so she didn’t have to look back down.

Talk about an indecent proposal. I think I should’ve paid her a million dollars.

When I met her back outside after jumping in the shower, she had a glass of cucumber water and said I was speedy. That was a cue to slow it down. I’ve got no nap times to race against, so just take it easy Carolyn.

Ryan certainly was.

He obviously put the thong on correctly.

My spa journey unfortunately did not improve much. I laid down for my facial and she started massaging my shoulders. Yes! This is gonna be great, I thought…. Until she pulled out what might have been the actual sun and shined it on my face. When I squinted my eyes open, the most horrific thing happened. She was lowering a huge magnifying glass down to my skin to “inspect it”.

What the.

Get the frick away from me, woman.

But she didn’t. Instead, she pointed out every blackhead on my face and poke at them as if she were tatooing the Big Dipper onto my forehead. This was followed by an examination of every wrinkle on my prematurely aging face and what I could do to mitigate it.

And the clincher? The cheerleader clap at the end when she excitedly exclaimed, “Yay for facials!!!”

Yeah… let me just grab that thong and drown myself in the hotel pool.

I did feel connected to my mom in that moment, though. I had bought her a facial for her birthday one year and the lady pointed out an oil pocket on her nose. She said, I can take care of that! and brought out a hammer and bopped her nose with it. 4 years later, mom still has the red mark from that bop. And likes to point out my birthday gift to her every once in a while.

But it also didn’t help that my boost in self-unconfidence was followed by an early round loss by my alma mater. Being depressed while pregnant is like 1000 times worse. Ryan had to peel me out of the chair to go back to the hotel. However later that night, after room service (of course) the Florida GC team’s win against Georgetown completely shifted me the other way and then some. Hello mood swings. I thought I didn’t pack you, but there you are.

We went swimming, took long showers, and ate leisurely breakfasts. It was really nice. And at some point Ryan and I started to not talk about children. We teased more, we cuddled more, and laughed more.

And ate more.

On our way home, we stopped in Jimmy John’s and noticed one of their signs that said Yesterday’s Homemade Bread 50 cents. I wondered aloud if that was a fake or real sign. Sure enough, it was real.

And five orphan loaves came home with me.

That would’ve been the topper to the weekend if this hadn’t happened yesterday:

I love cold Sunday afternoon naps, especially taken with a friend I hadn’t seen all weekend.

No offense second child, but I can’t wait for my next weekend away. And it probably will be in 18 months. That’s how long it’ll take to get over that facial.

Stalking and White Elephant, a perfect pairing

Jan8

We had a good visit to Kansas City over Christmas. Ruth was teething, I was prego hormonal, and Ryan drank eggnog and whiskey like it flowed from the fountain of youth. So yeah, we had a good visit. But with that combo, I don’t know if anyone else that saw us had a good one.

After a non-eventful drive up, in which Ruth screamed for twenty minutes, then passed out until ten minutes before arriving to grandma and grandpa’s house during which time we sang christmas carols together. I catch her singing a lot to herself now and the songs, I’m pretty sure, carry notes from Les Mis. The child (and Ryan) have been made to watch clips from the Les Mis 10th anniversary about everyday for the past three months in preparation for the premiere. Ryan has asked Ruth on more than one occasion to try to act interested for the love of gawd because doesn’t she know I’m pregnant and sensitive? But I’ve noticed that he hums and sings it all the time now, so dost thou protest too much methinks?

We sang songs for ten minutes, and arrived happy….. to an empty home. Merry Christmas. My parents were at weekly their bridge club. They have more of a life than me. But that’s good. It makes me glad to know they’re keeping busy. When they got home, Ryan made a round of egg nog drinkie poos (minus me) and we all cheersed to Christmas. Then they breathed fire. By the end of the week, he mastered the ratio.

The next day, Ryan and I braved the mall to pick up some last minute gifts at the American Girl store. The shoppers there freaked me out. An older lady was standing in line behind us with her husband. After seeing the latest snow outfit on a little doll mannequin she squealed and gushed that they needed to get that too. She needs to find a bridge club. Stat.

When we got home, my sister had arrived to spend the night. So we took the opportunity to stalk my parent’s newish neighbor. A single (we think) chiropractor (found out by another neighbor) who lives with his sister (this fact has not been verified.)
He comes out to sit on his porch for a cigarette a couple times a day which lets us peer through the window and analyze the situation. Apparently he breathes in and breathes out, from what we gather. I’ll need to use the binoculars next time to double check that. As we discussed various ways Amy and I could casually approach him (you know: giving a christmas card, Wiley going poo in his yard, asking for a smoke), another neighbor walked up to his door with a package in hand.

Scandal! What did she think this was anyway? Christmas? Whatever.

That night we played Taboo, girls against boys, and said that the losing team had to introduce themselves to the chiropractor. When we lost, my mom said sternly that she was not going to introduce herself. We suggested that maybe if she did, she’d get cookies every once in a while. This was not well received.

The next day we laid around until the White Elephant party at my aunt and uncle’s house. Don’t let this relaxed face fool you.

Because this is how Ruth was most of the night:

Every party has one, so Ruth decided to be the pooper that night. Literally. Three times over… because that’s what happens when you only pack one diaper thinking it’ll be plenty, thus causing you to mooch off your cousin’s daughter who is 8 months older than your own.

We took an opportunity to get some group shots. My brother and his wife must not have shown up yet. They were en route from Arkansas. We’re always amazed at how fast they can get there. It’s been a long time since we’ve made a non-stop venture.

And the girls… one of which recently got a new haircut. At a get together not long before, literally no one commented on the cut. Finally someone said, “Carolyn you got your hair cut!” and me, literally unable to not be self-deprecating said, “Yeah, it’s my official mom cut.” And they said, “Yeah….” with voice trailing off and then changing the subject.

What. EVER!!!! It made me laugh.

After Matt and Des did arrive, an interesting thing happened. Des had brought some of her dad’s moonshine, bulgarian-style. That’s cool and all, except when it’s in a Fanta bottle. Except when a niece asks for some soda and pours Fanta for herself then takes a swig. You’d think Ryan had poured it for her because she breathed fire for a bit herself. Merry Christmas Elayna!
Can you find a culprit leaning against the wall? This was after the Fanta label had been peeled off in hopes of less confusion. I’d still think it was coke.

Ruth was only happy (and by happy, I mean, not crying. A scowl thrilled me to no end at this point) when she was in one of her grandparent’s arms. Here she is with her grandma, great Aunt Mary, and cousin Kaylee.
…not happy unless in my arms,
or in a cousin’s arms. Or with food.

Whatever it takes. Just please stop crying and pooping.
So after some chit-chatting and catching up, we dug into the meal. Homemade meatballs and pasta. Mmmm! Aunt Sue is the only real Italian. The rest of us are just wannabes.

Next up was White Elephant, which is always fun. But there was yet another sad story. First it was Elayna getting chest hair from the Bulgarian moonshine. Then my nephew, Will, during White Elephant.

It was his first year to participate and was really excited.
He watched us open our gifts, analyzed them, decided not to steal any and so decided to choose a present to unwrap.

He looked over the presents carefully then chose one.

What luck! He’d unwrapped an X-box (or something like that)!!!! He’d been wanting one and he looked at his mom with so much happiness. Lisa whispered that he might want to open the box, because things aren’t always what they seem in White Elephant land.

And what did he find inside the box?

A six pack of beer.

He was sad, but from the looks of it, his dad was happy.

Maybe next time someone will bring an X-box, Will. Don’t give up.

Next up, Christmas, bad singing, and a Jamaican relative.

A Bookworm Holding Court

Dec9

I’ve sunk down into the depths of a stomach bug and re-emerged a lighter, more cleansed version of myself. There’s nothing worse than that moment of sickness when you think the rest of your life will be spent laying on the couch, moaning with nausea. I pictured holidays, birthdays, Ruthie’s wedding, with me in the exact same position, the couch being the only thing moved. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a couch as the first pew with me grabbing my stomach and hurling in between vows.

But then one night you actually have a full night’s sleep, and you start to hope.

Well, it’s over. And I’ve spent the last two days giving make up kisses to Ruthie for the ones I had to sacrifice in the name of hygiene. She’s learned a new tactic for deflecting them though.

It’s the ole “hold a book in front of my face” technique. I’m so happy she’s reading, that it doesn’t dawn on me I just got denied.

This particular refusal was brought to me by a Mark Twain classic: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. I left her to it, which may have been a mistake, because apparently she thinks King Arthur is real and that people still act kingly.

…as demonstrated when her friend Blanche came over one day.

I saw them talking in front of Ruthie’s new favorite chair… that conveniently looks like a throne.

Awww, I thought, Ruth’s showing her how the fabric on this throne was made by a local weaver.

And then she had Blanche help her up.

Okay, I thought. She’s showing Blanche how to sit on thrones.

Followed by: Oh. My. Gosh. RUTH. It is NOT a throne. You can’t make people bow down to you. I mean, at least let her be a lady-in-waiting.

Poor Blanche. If this is a sign of how Ruthie plays with other kids, I’m in for a long, scary road.

As I discussed with the girls about equal opportunity in the work force, Ruthie gave me the once over.

And I looked down at myself.

Why am I wearing a bright pink satin nightgown?

While Ruth debated about throwing me in the stocks, I begged for her forgiveness of my garish clothing.

She agreed that I’d be spared if spaghetti were served.

And so this is how an Arkansas Housewife survived Queen Ruth’s Court.

PS, sorry for the such granulated photos. They were taken on my phone and I apparently don’t know how to let in natural sunlight to help mitigate it.

Socialite

Mar7

Not. But for a second this anti-social girl was getting into the swing of things. Like, having face-to-face conversations with multiple people within a short span of time. It was weird, like I had friends or something.

Like S. Who was one half of the duo during our Emily Post, “Can I offer you a cigarette after the salad course”, test. She passed. She would’ve passed even if she’d declined too, but got extra points for being a good sport. You can read about it here.

Ruth and I met up for lunch at the darn near cutest little restaurant. Heirloom is its name, great food is its game. They try to use as much local organic food as possible. That, along with bread baked in a flowerpot, water in the cutest carafe, and the nicest owners around, it made for a memorable lunch.

Wanna know what else was memorable? Trying to nurse Ruthie in front of a guy at the picture window while holding down the jacket/nursing cover in 300 mph wind. Yeah, that was awesome. I’m sure he got a show.

But, being handed a travel guide by the owner that dear S created made up for it. I told her she should autograph it and give it back to the owner. That will be worth money one day!

My other favorite part was admiring their vintage mid-50s home with pretty much everything still in tact.

The little stove stole my heart. But then Ruthie threw up on their kitchen floor and it was time to go. We know how to make an exit.

We also had some family over where we watched about 3 million youtube videos trying to find the scandal on The Wizard of Oz set, along with finding compilations of other scandalous images in various Disney movies. I was already biased against Beauty and the Beast to begin with, but these other clips just helped me spread that gag reflex to the other ones.

No, instead I’ll have her watch something more wholesome. Like, The Real Housewives.

I have a love affair with Fridays. They’re my go-to day for inviting people over. You can stay up late, sleep in the next day and still have the rest of your weekend. It’s amazing.

We’ve been lucky with most of our dates, in that we end the night eager to set up a second one to hang out. Other couples, well one in particular, decide that in order to avoid going out with us again, they need to move. Like, to Florida. Like, in two weeks after said dinner. Hopefully it wasn’t because I served our food on old-school cafeteria plates, because I consider these my china. It doesn’t matter the reason, because whether they want us to or not, we’re going to be popping up in sunny FL for a beach date.

One couple, however, I was extremely nervous about meeting. “Meeting” because we never actually met in person. Long story short, J is a blogger at Hotchabyrd, and we have a mutual friend. The friend suggested she read my blog. So she read it, left a few comments that made me laugh hard gut laughs, and then we slowly worked up the courage to set a date. As we live in the same town, it shouldn’t have been a big deal, right?

Wrong. I was terrified. This girl is funny. Real funny. And funny people make me nervous.

So we agreed on a sushi night with my native american sushi dishes (wrap that one around your brain) and vintage sake cups.

They were my only source of solitude throughout the process, those cups. Well, if I act like a dork, and she is appalled, at least I have my sake cups was my mantra throughout the day leading up.

When they arrived, her husband gave me a big hug. This gave me the courage to attack his wife as she walked through the door. I poured us some sake, we cried as it burned down our throats, and then began talking.

And talking.

In fact, the conversation lasted for 6 hours straight. Not bad for a first double date.

We hit on some of her “Things to talk about in case it gets awkward” list (even though it didn’t get awkward). My personal favorite, “Enjoying being AWAY from other people.” I don’t think we discussed that one. But now I wonder how it would’ve been brought up if that was her last ditch effort for a topic.

[In the middle of complete silence] So, don’t you just hate being AWAY from other people?

[pause] Yes. Please go.

I mean, how do you respond to that?

Anyway, we did some of our talking on the deck.

Her husband riffed gently on the guitar as we warmed our feet by the fire. It’s why I want R to learn the guitar, if only for that background music.

I even felt comfortable enough to do my “Take a photo of me while I act like I don’t know what you’re doing so I can prove that I indeed exist” stance.

That one is crucial to me. If I can act my unnatural natural self around you, you’re in.

And they were. Totally in.

All I know is that by the end of the night, J broke out house shoes she brought in case she felt comfortable, we’d planned a weekend trip, I shared the most random of random personal stories usually reserved for date #250, R fell backwards in a chair and got stuck in the corner, D serenaded us with his musical talents, and we all agreed that a good time was had.

[raising a glass] Here’s to blogs and their aid in making new friends.

Just don’t drink sake with that toast. It’ll burn.

Hanging with the In-Laws

Feb17

We had a great weekend with my in/out-laws. R took Friday off and we took our time driving that morning, stopping at Ropp’s Bakery (an amish/mennonite farm that sells the best donuts around), and taking a different route than normal. I drove most of the way because I’ve found that if R is trapped in the passenger seat he’s more likely to have a conversation with me. Otherwise, he drifts off into his own world while driving.

When we arrived, Ruth (as always) attacked her family.

She was happy to be out of the car seat and in her grandma’s arms. I was happy to be there too, because our visits normally revolve around one major thing: FOOD. There’s a plethora of snacks that I really shouldn’t eat, but do. This weekend I tried to hold off as best I could…

until they ordered BBQ for dinner.

Hello, ribs. Is this seat taken?

I literally could not stop myself from sucking every last bit of meat off that bone. It was bloody. I’m pretty sure I was a T-Rex in my past life. Probably the best BBQ I’ve had in a long time (not counting the homemade ribs my mom made that are de-LICIOUS).

And the carcass on my plate proved it.

Ruth was in shock and watched my every move.

Ah, drooling in the face of ribs.

She really IS my daughter. I knew it.

We also read bedtime stories.

and laid beside her as she struggled to fall asleep.

5 months must have brought out the full moon in her, because for a baby that went down pretty easily (despite a few rough moments here and there), she has begun to fight naps consistently. Arms locked in the upward dog position, screaming bloody murder.

The first few minutes are cute. And then frustrating. And then draining. Doesn’t she know we’ll be here when she wakes up, ready to play?

Mornings though, are the best. Despite going down with a grimace, she always without fail wakes up with a smile.

At breakfast, grandpa showed her how to let birds land on her finger.

When R was younger, after watching a bird land on Mary Poppins finger, he decided that he was going to catch a bird too. He stood outside with his finger in the above position for a very long time, waiting for a bird to hang out with him.

So serious. It’s both funny and sad at the same time. I hope Ruth has a little of that in her.

The weekend was spent relaxing, watching old movies (think pre-1960s) which R and I have become obsessed with, having passionate rants about this subject or that (like my FIL’s article for a newsletter that was butchered by the editor to the point that it made him sound like an idiot – or so the story goes.. we’ve yet to lay eyes on said story.), organizing the newly finished basement, looking at J’s cross-stitched artworks, ogling over primitive-style decor in magazines, napping for both adults & babies, and generally hanging out.

Our last day we went to church and R’s mom joined me in the cry room for most of the service. It’s located in the back with a big window looking into the auditorium so you feel like you’re still actually a part of the congregation, unlike the one at our local church where I feel quarantined in a small, windowless, florescent-lit, white-walled room. This one was a breath of fresh air.

And after the preacher made a joke about having to always listen to “the same lame stories at family get-togethers”, J and I started giggling really hard. So hard in fact that we glanced down at sleeping Ruth and she had her eyes wide open staring at us. We couldn’t stop laughing and she couldn’t stop giving us a confused stare.

But it’s those same worn-down stories that we’ll be telling when we’re grandparents too. And you’ll be happy we did, Ruthie, because they’ll give you comfort when we’re not here anymore.

Trust me.

Comb My Hair, and other New Year’s Resolutions

Jan1

Let’s get real. I don’t comb my hair unless company is coming over. And, really, if you’re not English royalty then all you’re getting is a finger run-through before it being thrown back into a ponytail.

Someone must have snuck into my room while sleeping with a straightener, because this photo is about as good as it gets. My hair, that is. They must have also straightened R’s mustache as well. Yuh-ikes. I’m going to add “Trim my freaking ‘stache” to his resolutions.

Look at our daughter. She makes me smile from the inside out. I’m a little nervous about having a second, because this girl is chill and I don’t think we’ll get the same thing twice. How she came to be so laid back from both of our uptight characters, I’ll never know. I’d like to think it started with the somersaults I had to do in the pool at 37 weeks to get her to turn head down.

Speaking of her, do you know what was the top post of 2011? Ruth’s official introduction: Nice to Meet You, she said. My personal favorite post of 2011? It was a tie: The debut of my baby bump and my home birth! A friend asked the other day if that experience made me leery or eager for another one. And like I told her, on the day of I swore I’d adopt the rest of my kids, but almost every day since I’ve been daydreaming about going through it again. It was both the hardest and most powerful thing I’ve ever accomplished. Click here to read about people staking out in our yard to see my baby bump. And here for when I relived the scene from Coming to America and had a hot tub in my bedroom (aka, my home birth).

As for next year, besides routinely combing my hair, I would also like to:

create a family tree for my mother’s side. My dad has this great tree framed and I’d like to recreate it, if possible, by the end of next year. With the help of my family, of course.

learn how to sew. I snagged my grandma’s sewing machine out of my sister’s loving hands and would like her to know it wasn’t all for naught. Hopefully I’ll be able to make something better than a trapezoid baby blanket.
buy 75% of my clothes at goodwill. The other 25% will probably be from Eddie Bauer. Ryan is aware that I run around behind his back with Ed, and fully approves. We have an open relationship.
make an effort to get ready in the morning. See above: combing hair. This also includes breakfast. Yes, we skip occasionally.
create a weekly meal plan. R and I talked, we’re going to go simple with our meals, with maybe one fancy dinner every now and then. I don’t know why I feel guilty if it isn’t a Cheesecake Factory knockoff with a bajillion ingredients, so I need to get over this. Soups, tuna patties, meatloaf.. These are all good. And easy. And cheap.

My Aunt S and I starting the ancestral process. Remember those long sheets of printer paper? I’d love to make a Happy Birthday sign from it again.

make sourdough bread. The thought of reducing ingredients in staples (ie: bread) makes me happy, like in this instance: store-bought yeast. I can do this, despite my anxiety.
run a half-marathon. October. I can do this. I’ll probably have to wear a hat with a piece of chocolate cake dangling in front of me, but I can do this.

Ruthie is intrigued. I hope she’s as obsessed with the past as I am. I’ll give you five seconds to try and find my parent’s newspaper stash. Go.

Pay off our car loan and some (if not all) of my school loans. We have paid off R’s undergrad and graduate loans, along with one car loan in the last few years. Selling our house, then living in a dorm room and now a shack has helped. We literally smell how close we are to having zero debt. I remember Dave Ramsey calling those school loans “pets” that we pay on a little each month. It’s like we just assume it will be a monthly expense. R and I are working hard to eradicate that cloud over us.
lose this baby weight! I gained a whopping 55 lbs and have only lost 30 so far. 10 of those went straight into Ruthie’s thigh rolls which I love. But the ones still on me… not so much.

…starting the branches…

And lastly, I would like to grow more in my spirituality and give God the thanks He deserves. I sometimes congratulate only myself on accomplishments or achievements made. He is the rock that has helped me and He is who I need to give the glory to. Upon waking in the morning, I should open my eyes and immediately thank Him for another day in which I can become redeemed.

That’s my list. I have several more, but am afraid of getting overwhelmed. Come April 1st, we’ll see how well I’ve done in the first quarter.

I hope everyone had a wonderful New Years and best wishes in 2012.

Dodging Thanksgiving

Dec1

It was my family’s turn for Thanksgiving. R and I switch on and off for the big holidays. This year it is Thanksgiving with my side, Christmas with his and next year it will switch. We stole that idea from my sister, have jumped on their schedule, and have so far really liked it. No wondering about hurt feelings for missing a get together or trying to squeeze road trips to see everyone for everything. It has been a relaxing ride for sure. And it’s also nice that neither of our parents are so controlling that they throw a fit on our “off” years too. What a headache that would make. Thank you guys!

Speaking of thanks, was Thanksgiving not on the most spectacular gorgeous day of the year? We had the windows open during our meal and went outside for most of the afternoon. Perfect.

This is the one shot I took of us during the meal. The other opportunities came while I was shoving mashed potatoes in my mouth. Let’s not sugar coat this, it was a scary sight… as if I had morphed into T-Rex with a big mouth and short arms. And considering that my arms couldn’t reach from the table, around the corner, and into the kitchen to spoon out some more gravy, then yes, they were definitely too short.

After I rolled around for a few hours on the couch, clutching my now too taught stomach, we decided to go outside and enjoy the beautiful day…

…with a game of dodge ball. No one was spared.

Not even grandma. Her darling grandson wound his arm up….

and launched it at her.

We don’t discriminate, you have to give us that. I don’t care if you’ve just left after an extended trip to Shangri-La, you best get your agility on. (Did anyone get that reference? Lost Horizon is the first full book I’ve read since Ruthie joined me. It was an accomplishment.)

I felt like a kid again, playing dodgeball. In third grade, it was a daily staple, except we used soccer balls. So if you couldn’t dodge, you were in a world of hurt. The air was crisp and I lost track of time.

That is, until I heard a tap tap tapping on the window above. My mom was standing there holding Ruthie who had just gotten up from a nap.

Sigh. Okay, I can learn to have fun from this vantage point too.

PS. Things are slowly (and quickly) changing with little Ruthie. She is taking consistent naps throughout the day and I am feeling more and more like a normal human being… To the point that I am missing that chubby little face at my side all the time. I personally think she’s figured out this is how I can give her more kisses…because the first thing I do when she wakes up is smother her in them.

Happiness. 🙂

Picnic

Oct18

Ruthie was gracious enough to invite us on a picnic outing over the weekend. The weather was absolutely gorgeous. We packed up a lunch and then about 15 other bags full of random things that were never needed. It’s trial and error right now, trying to figure out the least we can get away with while towing a 5 week old.

I was intent to stay on that blanket for as long as possible. Could you blame me? Check out the color of that sky. Perfect.

I was in charge of getting lunch together while R played with Ruthie. Egg salad sandwiches, cheese and crackers, apples, celery with peanut butter… oh and a jumbo sized bag of Tootsie Roll pops. I fear I have an addiction.

At some point in my teenage years, I must have run into a dealer on the street who opened up his trench coat and revealed hanging tootsie roll pops. “The first one’s free, girlie.” And the rest is history. I’ve been waking up at odd hours of the night to eat them and then disposing of the evidence so R doesn’t know. Not like he’d care. In fact, the only person who is going to care is my dentist. I have my first appointment since having Ruth in a few weeks, and I think there’s about 300 cavities living in my teeth. Two of them found love and have since started a family.

So with a pop in my mouth, I started to spread the egg salad.

And then something flutter by me and landed nearby. Oh, just a leaf… Yay Fall, I thought.

And then I looked closer.

And then I looked at R.

No.

Please, God, no.

The dreaded booger sucker and R was knuckle deep with it.

“Sorry, it’s just not working,” he said. “It won’t suck them all the way in. So I have to find some way to dispose of them.”

And by disposing of them, he means attaching them onto leaves and then throwing them into the beautiful gentle breeze.

So that it can drift its way right next to my lunch-making station.

I looked at the leaf again and dry heaved. They say that, as a mother, you don’t get grossed out by your kid’s excretions. Well, whoever they are, are wrong.

Fricken disgusting, Ruth. Use a kleenex.

That booger sucker must have also sucked out Ruth’s energy because she immediately zonked out.

So what did we do on a wonderful day outside? Watch a dvd of course. We’re crazy about Mad Men and had a few episodes left to watch. Ruth didn’t mind. Next time, we’ll fly a kite we swear.

You see? She really didn’t care. Look at her mouth. When it’s all pushed out like that, she is happily dreaming away.

Probably dreaming of better skin, from the looks of it. We’re in week 3 of baby acne and it took zero seconds before R brought up the classic pizza face commercial below.

We still love you, Ruth. You’re a beautiful before photo of a Clearasil model.

After our romp in the hay with Mad Men, R pulled out our financials to work on for next month. As soon as he said, “finan…” he heard snoring and looked around.

What.

It was Ruth’s fault.

Tango with Arañas (minus the rose)

Sep7

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…. well, I’m still shamin’ on you because no way am I gonna let an 8-legged creature make me feel bad. You got me once in college when I stepped on your furry back, thinking it was a sock on the ground. And you almost got me the other day too. But you didn’t. No, not this time. Hah, not this time ole buddy ole pal.

But I still reacted in a way that would’ve puzzled even the most talented of horror film actors.

It was the first of a series of beautiful mornings, so the hubs and I woke up early to eat at Einstein Bros. There’s only one in all of Arkansas and, yes, we drove 20 minutes to wine and dine there. I had a coupon, surely that offset the gas? I didn’t care, actually, because in KC we literally lived within walking distance of one and, man, do I crave those shmears.

Before leaving, we went out back to try and make nice with our four-legged friends. If there’s one animal that God surely put on this planet to provide for us, it’s the cow. All they do is eat and sleep; and we are lucky enough to enjoy it’s juicy bounty of meat & milk without danger or much effort. I love them.

But they weren’t lovin’ on us that morning, so R turned to leave.

And nearly walked into this garden spider. It is so hard to show how big it is, but I do have witnesses who saw its sister. This one was tucked neatly behind the rabbit hutches, safely out of my line of sight and my foot arches. So I bravely laughed in its face for trying to scare me, and called upon its ancestors in a ceremonial dance of triumph over it.

It just sat there. I took that stance as fear, wanting to stay as still as possible in the shadow of such an angry human. Little did I know that fear was not what I saw, but arrogance.

It knew what was about to happen. And just sat there. Staring at me. Laughing on the inside.

I was still tap-dancing my way through the Shack, sauntered out the front door, and started down the steps. Oh happy day! Tra-la-la-la-la…

And then I saw it. Backyard spider’s big sister had spun a web halfway down the steps. Across the steps. On top of the steps. In fact I think it actually created steps on its web to lure me onto them. I don’t know how I kept my front-heavy body from toppling over it, but after a quick blackout session, somehow I ended back up on the deck.

And then grabbed my breasts and stomped my feet like a 3 year-old, all the while letting out a low guttural growl.

Really?

Is that how I react when confronted with my fears? Grabbing my chest? What exactly is that going to do besides protect me from becoming an Amazonian woman. Please, I’m not looking to fight with bows and arrows anytime soon. And stomping my feet? I guess at this stage in the pregnancy, it might actually cause a big enough tremor to topple an enemy, so I’ll let that one slide. Barely. Really, a low growl? The only time that actually works is if someone is coming near my plate of food.

R must have felt the minor earthquake and came outside. I no longer could talk, but pointed and grunted at the spider’s trap. He chopped off one end of the web, allowing it to fall back away from the steps.

If I could’ve hopped over the railing to the car, I would’ve. But instead had to walk the far side of the steps, white-knuckling the wood all the way down.

Halfway into our bagels and shmears, I forgot about Big Sissy the Spider.

And then we came home to find her missing. I refused to walk any further until the spider hunt was over. It didn’t take long, because guess where she ended up? Right next to my deck chair, where I’ve shared many laughs and thoughts and fears and innocent moments this past year. Right. next. to. it.

I shook my head slowly and glared at her. How dare you. Little did you know that I’m a mama bear now and will do anything to protect my … deck chair? You got that right, Big Sissy. My deck chair. So you best back that thing up.

If, in that moment, I could’ve become an amazonian woman and cut off my right breast to shoot it with a bow and arrow, I would’ve. But then R touched my arm (which made me jump because I thought it was another sister spider) and read to me about the garden spider. One insect they eat are grasshoppers. And since our front yard has become the latest Hedonism Resort for those jumpy creatures, I reluctantly agreed that it should stay.

So here I am, having to endure this big spindly thing mere inches from my favorite sitting spot and watch it eat its prey. After it’s done, it drops the carcas to the deck. So not only am I an undertaker to these mummies, but also a counselor to those still living. I sat and watched a grasshopper stand off to the side staring at the latest casualty. Was it a family member, a friend? I don’t know, but it sure looked grief-stricken.

Now let’s all hold hands and sing ‘Circle of Life.’ I’ll karate-chop you if you lay a fake spider on me though. Just a warning.

Bluegrass, Carnivores, and Cankles

Aug22

R and I had a great day on Friday. He took the day off, which quite honestly surprised me, to hang out together. I was always so protective of my vacation time, only wanting to use it for something special. So for him to use it as an excuse to run around with little ole me? I was flattered.

And we had fun too.

Just as much as bowling with my nephew and nieces the weekend prior.

It had stormed all week, including the day they arrived, so we popped into the local bowling alley.

They were really impressed.

The alley is quite fancy as you can see. I told them I took them there so they didn’t feel so uncomfortable after hanging out at the luxurious Shack. You need to bring yourself down to your guests’ comfort level, you know. And the Shack really just sets the bar way too high.

Before I knew it they were off to my brother’s house the following day. It was a whirlwind of movies, pizza, guitar playing, chalkboard drawing, and There Was An Old Lady That Swallowed a Fly singing.

L later asked if they wore us out.

That’s not a loaded question or anything… But yes, I was exhausted (I sat my big bum on the couch the whole time – how could I be so tired?) and thankful there was a only a singleton in my belly and not triplets.

So R took Friday off…and we had to start the day off right.

I had leftover buttermilk that needed to be used soon, so made some pannycakes. Easy since I’d already mixed together a big batch of wheat pancake mix a while ago and stored it. Now I just have to add an egg and milk for a batch. This, with leftover ham and scrambled eggs. Happiness.

Right now, I am literally eating as if I were in high school again: Non-freaking-stop, without the metabolism. Or the sports. It’s to the point that I imagine peeing as my workout regime and get very excited when it’s been a particular busy day in the bathroom.

So I polished off my plate along with whatever R didn’t eat and headed out. We first had to stop and pick up a craigslist purchase which R is so proud of, and which I will write about later.

After that pit stop, onwards to Eureka Springs.

They were having a Bluegrass festival! And the best part? It was free.

I packed our lunch in a cooler which R lugged for a mile until we found a seat. The park is right in the middle of downtown, and is not so much a park as it is a paved square with lots of benches.

We found one in the shade facing away from the stage, looking onto the street. This was fine, because is there anything better than people watching? Or people falling? One person tripped on their way up to give the band a tip and I could not stop laughing. Later I felt bad, but not after I got a good gut laugh out of it.

Sorry, can’t help it. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Ask my mom, she’s taken the brunt of it before. And, yes, I laugh when I do it too. Settle.

R dug around the cooler to see what was for lunch. Then dug around some more. And then dug around some more.

“Uhm, where’s the meat?”

“Oh, it’s tomato & spinach pasta with a side salad of tomato, mozzarella, & basil. Great for a hot summery day, yeah?”

“I guess so.”

Folks, I’m married to a carnivore. Meat has to be somewhere on the plate otherwise the meal is incomplete. (Side note: I have made a great black & pinto bean burger that has gotten two thumbs up. Hurray!) But to be honest, for the most part I’m the same way. Especially since reliving my teenage youth, I can’t get enough of meat.

So we ate what we had, all the while R’s stomach grumbling for more protein.

I tried to divert his attention by looking at our surroundings. Eureka Springs has a great downtown, with winding roads and old store fronts.

We enjoyed watching the myriad of people walking by as well as those driving.

And then I noticed that everyone in a car would pause in front of me and Ryan to look up at us. Our bench was set higher up than the street, on a wall, allowing me to look down my nose at everyone figuratively and literally. It was perfect.

Or so I thought.

Until I realized that the very comfortable position of putting my feet on top of the cooler allowed every passerby full viewing up my skirt.

If they’re gonna be all up in my business, at least bring along a razor. You know my fear from last week’s post.

I scrambled to cover myself up and frantically looked for an excuse to get up. The bathroom in the hotel next door was starting to look might fine.

And that’s when I found it.

The stairway to heaven. No, not this stairway.

The stairway that led to this view. Complete, I might add, with misters.

I quickly plopped our things down and grabbed some seats while R bought us drinkie-poos. It’s always so lovely drinking my O’Douls in front of everyone’s glaring stares. Oh settle down, people, it’s non-alcoholic.

[Side note: For all my pregnant mama friends, the best non-alcoholic beer I’ve had to date is… wait for it… Busch Light. Can you believe that? I felt like I was in college again! After I had gained the freshman 15 of course.]

This was the best part of our day. We relaxed and talked and got misted upon. I could have sat there for hours, but R’s stomach was grumbling louder than ever. And there’s only one cure for that.

Ribs, baby.

I sat back as R attacked his plate. It was straight up Jurassic Park and I was (finally) the slim-necked herbivore with my plate of greens watching T-Rex go to town.

In less than 5 minutes dinner was eaten, and we were headed back home.

I rested what used to be my ankles on the dashboard the whole way back.

Great, great day. We were asleep by 8pm.

Nothing better.

How you must enjoy my cooking disasters…

Jul27

So sorry, suckers – this one turned out!

I swear, if I could eat soft pretzels every day, I would. And now that I have a few extra hours in the day, I decided to make some of my own.

Mix 4 tsp yeast and 1 tsp sugar with 1.25 cups water.

Be sure to spill the mixture right before taking a photo. It puts you in a good mood.

In another bowl mix 4 cups flour, 1/2 cup sugar and 1.5 tsp salt. I also threw in some flax seed to make me not feel quite as guilty when I eat 5 pretzels in a row.

Mix everything together and then dump it on the table.

Kneed for 8-10 minutes. Oil up a bowl, roll the dough around in it and set the bowl in a corner for an hour. I put a damp towel (not terry cloth) over it to keep it moist.

Then look back at the mess you made and sigh. Oh well, you have an hour.

And you can also chug the water bottle your midwife gave you, complete with a bright orange KEGEL sticker on it. She makes me giggle.

My mom gave me that Indian Cookin’ cookbook. She included a note that I check with my local park ranger to make sure these are safe. One recipe said to sieve wood ashes into an iron pot of boiling water. I might pass on that one.

It’s been an hour! Hurray.

Punch down the dough. If R had been home, I’d let him do this. It’s like licking the cookie dough spoon to him.

Roll out pieces of the dough to your desired length and turn into a pretzel.

In a bowl, heat up 4 cups of water and mix in 1/2 cup of baking soda.

Dip the pretzel in the mixture and place on a parchment lined baking sheet. Once the sheet is full, sprinkle salt on them, then pop into a 400 degree oven for 8 minutes. I was baking banana bread at the time at 350, so let them sit for 15 minutes and they came out fine.

Better than fine, actually!

I brushed melted butter on them and have since been restraining myself from chowing down.

Happy Baking!

Judgment Allowed.

Jul25

Take a guess which one of us had what for breakfast the other day.

Hey, at least I got some greens in so early in the morning!

Tub o’ Spuds

Jan21

I was offered to split a 50lb bag of potatoes with a co-worker, not really knowing what 25 lbs of spuds really looked like. Let’s see, I said to myself… an average bowling ball weighs about 12 lbs, so put two of them together and there you go Carolyn! You can for sure handle two of those and get a 300 in the yummy meal league.

The potatoes were loaded by C into my car during the lunch hour. So when I plopped down into it at the end of the day, I wondered why exactly my body immediately tilted to the right.

Then I looked over at the passenger seat.

It was Attack of a Thousand Killer Spuds. And I was about to commit the fatal flaw of every female in a horror flick: sitting and screaming until they devoured me. Apparently I’ll have to eat my way out of this to survive.

Bring it on.

I took out 13 of them there taters to make twice-baked potatoes. Most of them to be frozen.

This is not for the faint of heart…

…or for people with OCD.

But if you can handle the war against killer potato innards, then forge ahead. You won’t be sorry.

Who could be with bacon, sour cream, and cheese. Pretty sure that’s the basis of happiness.

After all was prepped, I took one last glance at those little guys before their journey to the baked heaven.

3 pans of twice-baked potatoes and later, 3 more pans of french fries.

I’m sure I made a dent in the tub, right?

Right?

Gulp.

Wrapping Up

Jan11

From here on out, it will be current or semi-current updates. But this is what we get for me taking a small sabbatical.

Hands down, my favorite part of christmas this year was playing student in Miss E’s class. If this girl doesn’t do something where a crowd of eyes are staring at her, then there’s no hope for any of us. She’s a natural performer.

Setting up shop in front of the fireplace

Reviewing the class rules: 1) Be quiet while teacher is talking. 2) Raise your hand if you have a question. 3) Tell the teacher if you need to use the bathroom. 4) No interruptin’

I thought she added the accent on #4 for my benefit since I’m further south than she is. And when I did in fact interrupt, at least she didn’t try to please the Arkansas in me by saying “Oh C, you’re a mess.” You remember my disdain for that phrase… here.

K had #2 down pat, and R needed a tutor for this subject apparently.

My other favorite parts of the day? Here’s just a few:

Helping prep the food with mom in our aprons.

Gut laughs during our White Elephant party with the cousins, aunts, & uncles.

And last but certainly not least, passing around the sick baby doll and giving him shots in the rear.

And the winner is…

Dec6

What happens when you mix two girls, one of which is due soon, and two dueling chicken restaurants in Pittsburg, KS? Honestly?Mostly heartburn. But at least there’s laughter along the way.

My friend, J, and I met up at Fort Scott, KS to enjoy one last get together before baby H is born. We were coming from opposite directions so this little town seemed a good midway point. I found a hotel right smack in the middle of downtown, in which all streets were bricked.

You know that made me happy.

We pulled up to our hotel, waved at the owner and hopped out.

Move it, J. I know you’ve just driven a couple hours and need to relax, but we’ve got some eating to do… and Momma Carolyn is hungry.

Here was the plan:

This is not for the faint of heart, my friends. You need to train diligently for this type of assault. No sit-ups, no portioning, and definitely no dieting. Eat grease, nap, and conveniently forget where you put the scale.

I’ve been in training for this night it seems since the day I was born.

But first, we had to check out the barracks.

And this was our first test. Could we walk in to a multitude of patterns on the bed and the wall without losing focus? J held up well. I, on the other hand, had to sit down and put my head between my legs for a second.

Luckily I only wear solids, otherwise J would’ve lost me in there.

We didn’t waste any time, but headed to our first destination: Chicken Mary’s.

Before I get into our analysis of each restaurant, can I point out that J only has two months to go before she’s due (not to mention the fact that she’s wearing horizontal stripes!)? Don’t make me cuss, J.

She looks like me after Thanksgiving dinner. So I was more than happy to shove fried chicken in her mouth.

I don’t have as many photos of Chicken Mary’s as I do Chicken Annie’s, so I’ll give you a brief description. We walked in and me, being a bundle of nerves, walked up to the check out lady and asked her seat us. She pointed us to the right person who graciously led us to a corner table. The room was busy and it felt cozy. Country decor, candle on the table.

The waitress, whose name we did not write down (oh yes, folks, we took notes) advised us to *not* drink the tap water. She looked horrified at our suggestion that we could.

J loved the potato salad, stating “It has a dill taste.” This is of course after she took a nibble and rolled it around in her mouth like a Top Chef judge. I could only taste potato. The applesauce was sweeter than Motts, which we later found out had cherry mixed in.

We loved the thigh, to which we agreed, that once you go thigh you just can’t go back. The fried skin on all pieces were perfect: crunchy & greasy, or, how we justified it, “juicy.”

Then it was off to Chicken Annie’s.

We walked there from Chicken Mary’s as they are literally side by side, and appreciated the brief reprieve from grease. I spotted a windmill and it instantly got a plus sign in my book.

We entered into a more open floorplan, which made it seem less busy. I had no confusion as to who was the hostess. She took us to a corner table as well, however this one was not yet ready and the cooks in the kitchen yelled at someone to come clean it. Open floorplan, remember.

I guess Annie would’ve yelled from the kitchen too. Authenticity? check.

Our waitress, Carly, instantly sat down with us to discuss the menu.

She said to J, and I quote “You can drink it. I like the water, but I’m weird.” Chicken Mary’s – no water. Chicken Annie’s – yes water.

We’re getting somewhere.

We devoured our meal and discussed:

J thought the potato salad was greasier, with more of saur kraut taste. I could only taste potato. The applesauce was plain. The chicken skins were not extra crispy and the white meat surprisingly ended up being juicer than the dark.

By the looks of my hands, it appears that I was slowly turning into a chicken myself.

Let’s take a look at a few more comparisons:

CM – no stuffed chicken in lobby. CA – chicken proudly displayed.
CM – smaller butter, but no trans fat. CA – HUGE, but with hydrogenated oil.
CM – no arcade corner/living room. CA – yes, in which we both dilly-dallied.
CM – total $12.45 CA – total $9.39 (however, I did buy a lottery ticket at CA and won a dollar, so make that $8.39)
CM – only lettering on sign. CA – lettering and a chicken that spoke.

The verdict?

Chicken Mary’s won on the actual chicken dish. Chicken Annies? Ambiance & Creativity. Who can beat looking eye to eye with the animal you just enjoyed.

Did you think we ended there, though?

Heck no! We took our wild and crazy selves, back to our 20-toned room for some dessert. Chocolate on graham crackers, cheeze whiz style.

J asked if I could make her one. Little did she know that my chocolate to cracker ratio is about 300 to 1.

She didn’t touch it.

Afterwards, we watched TV and knitted for a couple hours. Looks like I was trying to knit a spider web of sorts.

But it didn’t take long before we fell asleep into a grease-induced coma.

The next morning we hopped on a guided tour of Fort Scott.

We were the only ones on it.

The announcer said that if we had any questions, to feel free and ask him. I did several times and he never answered. Ah, I felt right at home, Fort Scott. Or shall I call you Scott from now on?

The town has got some real beauties of architecture. I was so engrossed with it that I didn’t realize how stupid it was to not have a lid on my steaming coffee. Several third-degree burns later, I was still enjoying the views.

It was a quick trip; we only stayed a night and left before noon the next day. But like every time I hang out with J, it’s never the amount of time, but the quality. I so enjoy her! Can’t wait to make these trips a trio with baby H.

Just in case you were wondering..

Nov29

Here are some dos and don’ts of deciding to camp while attending a dance workshop on a blistery cold & windy weekend.

Yeah, go ahead and pack a really yummy healthy lunch. Some no-knead bread, a jar of carrot juice, maybe even some avocados.

And, sure, why not make a cozy fire to sit around.

Yes, of course use your new cast iron skillet skills for supper that night. You know, the ones you learned at this class. Only, try not to get a flat tire.

But do not.

I repeat, Do Not….

only pack skirts to wear, because you want to “look cute”. You will freeze your ass off and you’ll also get such a bad cold that it will threaten your Food Network getaway with a girlfriend the following weekend.

Just in case you were wondering, that is.

Garlic Chicken Alfredo Pizza

Oct17

2 posts a week, this is going to be my goal.

Just returned from a weekend with the sisters, the sister-in-law, and the mother and had a great time. More on that later. At one point, we talked pizza, and how we make it. Carolyn likes her some pizza, ya’all. Well, I realized that I’ve never posted about the yummy chicken alfredo pizza night a few weeks ago.

I’ve finally found a way to make a thin crust that will allow me to eat twice as much pizza without feeling guilty.

It’s called: Rolling Out The Dough.

Here’s the dough recipe, if you’re interested:

1.25 active dry yeast
1 cup warm water
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp oil
2.5-3.5 cups flour

Dissolve yeast in warm water. Add salt, oil & 2.5 cups flour. Mix in your mixer at medium speed and add rest of the flour 1/2 cup at a time until dough clings to hook and cleans side of the bowl. Take out the dough and knead for a couple minutes, then place in greased bowl, turning to grease all sides of dough. Cover, let rise in warm place (I put it on top of the dryer) for about an hour. Punch down dough, divide in two, and then roll roll roll.

This makes two pizza crusts.

I take a couple handfuls of chopped garlic and spread on dough.

And then drizzle with olive oil. Put in preheated oven at 400 and bake just the crust for about 10 minutes.

While that is baking, I like to boil (yes, I said BOIL) a few chicken breasts. After cooked, chop it up while defrosting some frozen spinach.

When the crust is ready, pull it out, put on the toppings and then pour 1/2 bottle of Garlic Alredo Sauce on each pizza. Do it.

Put it back in the oven for another ten minutes….

And voila. I was too excited to take photos the night of our dinner, so this is my breakfast the next day. YUM.

Fly me to the moon.

Oct4

It really backfired on him, this surprising me with a trip and planning out the major details thing. Because, before, I would do all of the planning and never knew of this state of being called “laid-back.” I just thought that was a synonym for lazy.

Um, no. It’s not. In fact, it’s a synonym for happy and hungry. Because that’s what I was the whole trip.

I knew something was going down, folks, I’m not gonna lie. Everytime I suggested we do something over last weekend, my question was deflected. And R is normally not a planner. So for him to continually push aside someone else’s pre-packaged idea raised red flags.

So did his question to me, “Carolyn, if we were going to go to Hot Springs, what make-up would you bring? No don’t just point them out, pile them up at the end of the counter and leave them there.”

Hmm… so I”m taking it we’re going to Hot Springs. (This shows that I didn’t think R planned ahead even to formulate a hypothetical situation.)

I went to work and R planned to pick me up with our muffler that happens to have an engine attached. When he pulled around, I squealed, “Hot Springs or bust!” and he smiled. All the way to the airport.

I love our airport. It’s so tiny that Economy parking is a car lot away from the main doors. We get excited over things like that.

But he still wouldn’t tell me where were going until the tickets were in my hand. And then they were.

New England! I squealed (again). We had been wanting to go up there for a while now, and this was just perfect timing….with the leaves and all.

Because I was in that particular state of being (happy – not hungry this time) and everything R did made me giggle. He took advantage, too. Like when decided to change his watch forward an hour by comparing the airline map with the view out the window to determine when the exact time changed.

I think I was delirious.

But I especially loved looking out the window and seeing the moon below us. I don’t think I’d ever seen that before on a flight. Both Sinatra as well as Hey Diddle Diddle came to mind. And after the chicken bacon foot long sandwich I put down prior to take-off, like I was actually training to jump over the moon, I thought the latter was more appropriate.

By midnight we had arrived, and we still had an hour to the B&B. The owner, E, said to come whenever, that’d he’d wait up for us.

When we arrived, there E was. He opened up the door to our very victorian room and I was greeted with a Birthday sign, a bouquet of handpicked flowers, and sherry!

My nasal pitch got so loud, E had to close the door. As he bid us goodnight, he said he had another surprise tomorrow.

I’m liking this place already.

The next morning we ate a big breakfast, wandered around the grounds, got chased by a pit bull, and then I unpacked my suitcase that R lovingly put together. It weighed no less than 65 lbs and literally had my entire closet it in. Out of the 5 skirts and 7 shirts he brought, I decided on an outfit and searched in the pockets for my razor.

Where. is. my. razor. (!!!)

He managed to pack up the entire Shack and somehow leave one crucial device behind. And considering I hadn’t shaved since 1872, I was in desperate need. I went back down to the living room and tried to find one from that particular year, but they must have just run out.

Seems that even though their legs were covered up by layers and layers of stockings and bloomers and skirts and who knows what else, the Victorian ladies still shaved their legs more often than me.

My first plan of the weekend included a trip to the nearest Walgreens and a shaving in the car. I’m pretty classy.

It was gorgeous out, so R and I took advantage. We went to an open-air museum with a nautical theme. I’ve discovered I’m not a big boat buff. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I really like them while I’m in them, with a floppy hat and a glass of wine. Looking at them and reading about the history of boats, ummm not so much.

So I spent the majority of the time trying to scare R staring at him stone-faced through various windows until he’d catch a glance. Problem is, everyone else looked first before R and I suddenly became known as that weirdo Shining lady.

R spent his time creeping me out by analyzing a doctor’s office shelf. Seriously, what was all that used for. Wait, I don’t want to know.

For lunch, we headed back to downtown Mystic, Connecticut and decided to go to none other than…

Mystic Pizza! I tried to channel my inner Julia Roberts, but could only squeeze out her 1980s bushy eyebrows.

Oh well, I’ll take what I can get. And the pizza was fantastic! I love when something is not so over-hyped that the food takes a beating.

But hold on!R had another outing up his sleeve. We drove to Newport, Rhode Island which has now become my new favorite place to visit.

He had heard of a “cliff walk” that bordered the ocean. It snaked its way in front of the mansions and estates along the shore.

We picked up a couple small bottles of vino and slowly walked along sipping our drinks, holding hands, and wondering what it would be like to (clean) live in those beauties.

Outside one estate, we heard some people rustling in the bushes.

R found an opening in one and went through. I followed closely behind to find…

a couple escapees! It was the butler and the maid making a run for it. Okay, no it wasn’t but they really did want to climb over the fence to join everyone on the Cliff Walk. R and I laughed so hard because the husband was not shy about lifting up her leg to hurl her over. So R stepped in to help.

Do you think she made it?

Stay tuned.

Beware of Freckles.

Sep15

We were supposed to go to this a month ago. But it didn’t happen.

It was a Dutch Oven Workshop at a nearby state park. We woke up early on a saturday morning, actually put on work-out clothes and did a workout (as opposed to putting on work-out clothes and then heading to a breakfast joint for bacon and white gravy), boiled up some hot coffee for our thermos, and hit the road.

Literally 2.5 miles into the drive, R asked me to hand over the thermos for a quick drink. I laughingly said, “Maybe you should watch the road. Remember what happened the other night?” and then, feeling guilty, I gave in and gave him the lid for sip. He took his eyes off the two lane country road and..

BALUMP.

The tire popped.

I sat there sitting in the nearest driveway telling myself to schedule a massage asap or there was going to be a warrant out for little miss carolyn.

You see, a few nights prior we had visited some friends for dessert and on the way to their house another incident happened. A “I’m glad no children were riding their bikes along the sidewalk” type of one.

A right-hand turn into their neighborhood caused R’s head to slightly face me. In doing so, the freckles on my legs caught his attention. And if any of you know R, you are quick to realize that he cannot do more than two things at once. So why not test this theory while driving a one ton piece of machinery, shall we?

He saw the freckles and proceeded to lean over to point out each of them with this right index finger. He repeated “freckle, freckle, freckle, freckle”.

And I looked up at the same instant our car hit the curb, and then hit the grass next to the curb, and then the sidewalk next to the grass next to the curb.

R was still pointing out freckles. It wasn’t until I screamed that he jerked the car back onto the road.

Now our already dirty, no-muffler-because-it-still-runs-fine-and-we-don’t-like-spending-that-extra-money-on-that-car car makes a weird scraping sound anytime we make a left hand turn. Great.

Thank you melanin.

So our flat tire happened on the way to the first class and they offered to move us to the second one the following month.

And here we are. Only two other couples attended: one from South Africa, the other from Texas. We slipped into the back and I spied the menu on the board.

Ahhhhh yeaaaaah. (Side note: Does anyone else remember the show were two guys would rub their bums in chocolate pudding while saying Ahhhh yeaaaaah? Or am I the only one who gets that visual every time.)

Well, anyway, if pudding had been on the menu, I probably would’ve had to reenact that skit for the class, so let us all bow our heads in thanksgiving that it was not.

Each couple paired off to do a dish. R was stuck with me even though when asked if we all wanted to stay with our spouses, he responded without glancing “Is she watching me as I answer? Then, fine.”

‘Preciatecha, R.

(Remember? That was the first Arkansas slang I heard when we moved down here. ‘Preciatecha. Another since moving to a smaller town: “So-and-so is a mess.” I’ve discovered this can be used as an insult or affectionately. With the wide range of uses, you can imagine how often it’s thrown out there and for some reason it takes all that I have to swallow a low guttural growl each time it’s said. I know what you’re thinking….. I’m a mess.)

R and I tackled the Charley Bread which was a basic corn bread recipe with a can of creamed corn added.

Hello!

Mama hasn’t been fed this good in a looong time! And by long, I mean since about 8 that morning. Each meal seems like eons since the last…and my mouth was beginning to water, especially every time they opened the peach cobbler lid to check on it.

R checked on our bread and it was coming along nicely. We used the stacking method of heating the dutch oven which threw the time to cook it off. So it ended coming out around the same time as dessert. No one complained.

And then we all sat down for our picnic in the woods. R and I chatted it up with the park ranger, because he graduated from K-State too! What a small world.

It was a good class, I’d take another one. We ending up buying a dutch oven from them and we’re so excited to put it to use.

If anyone has any tips or recipes, I’d love to have them!

(Fill in the blank)light

Sep13

Most everything ending in light just hits the spot. Maybe not blacklight, though. It shows all the fuzz on my shirt and highlights my not-quite-white teeth.

My parents came into town this weekend and we took in a lot of them. Lights, that is.

Candlelight at the Shack.

Then sunlight brought an arts festival and neighborhood garage sales at which we girls found some real gems (more on that later)! We came back to mom & dad’s RV and drank some cold Budlights, along with individually packaged frozen margarita pouches. On the back of them it was boasted “Great for while you’re on the go!“. Hmmm….

Later that evening, we sat around firelight and played trivia pursuit. I got about 1 out of 300 questions correct, and it was because someone else thought it was their turn and answered on accident.

Then we stared through the moonlight at constellations, helped by the app on my brother’s phone.

All in all, a good time. The only light thing that didn’t take place was my waistline. Chocolate icing and graham crackers, I love you.

Sushi

Aug29

Last week we went over to some friends’ house to learn how to make…..

SUSHI!

I was ecstatic. R was hungry.

I met L through her friend S. I tutored S in english grammar, U.S. history, etc. I use the word ‘tutor’ loosely because she was very advanced in learning the language.

S was also the one that suggested going to King Sauna in Dallas, but neglected to mention that I’d spend half the night naked amongst other women. You can click to read about that… here.

L’s husband laughed when I mentioned that little nugget of info and agreed that that might probably be the most important aspect to have told someone.

I think S was playing one on me.

So L laid out the ingredients, sliced for each roll’s individual flavor:

cream cheese
cucumbers
sprouts
avocados
spicy tuna
crab meat

And then she cut the seaweed wraps. My mouth was starting to water at this point.

I was close, so close!

After watching L make a a couple rolls, I gave it a shot. Her daughters were not impressed.

I got a little wild with the sprouts. It was like my hands could. not. stop. putting. on. sprouts. Everyone made a mental note which roll was mine.

And then I made R make one too. He gets kinda stressed out in the kitchen, so I figured it would be safer if he was in front of company while learning. If it were just him and me, he’d be huffing and puffing until I “put him down.” Or at least that’s what my sister called it when she put her kids to sleep.

We had a good conversation with L & K. L is also being tutored in esl and to hear her struggles with the language made me feel closer to her as I was going through a similar experience re-learning Spanish.

She is an extremely outgoing person, and to not be able to express herself easily, makes her sad. It’s almost like losing a limb, the inability to communicate well.

From the time I first met her until now, I have so much improvement in her conversational skills. I’m so excited to get to know her better and force her to be my friend. Her major in Korea was Pottery which means she’s a creative spirit and hopefully won’t find my oddities, well, odd.

But above all, we have a new item on the menu, now! (And it all comes back to food anyway, doesn’t it.)

Jane Austen Festival, Part Two

Jul15

On our way to Louisville, mom asked me to try on The Dress. She’s had this puppy since the late 60s when she wore it. So with a groan, I grabbed it from her knowing it would end just like when we tried on The Wedding Dress: A tug here and tug there only to get it over my knees. Man, she was a twig.

So I grabbed the thing, went in the back of the RV and threw it on, all the while trying not to be thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other. Afterwards, I noticed that all of the windows were open to the road.

You’re welcome drivers of Interstate 277.

So you already know the outcome: Lots of letting out.

Whatever. Women were fuller back then anyway, right. Right?

Once arrived, we suited mom up in her (Bavarian maid?) outfit and headed over to the festival. We didn’t have long to explore the grounds because we’d signed up for a reticule class.

It should’ve been called the ridicule class, because my gawd I have no skills in sewing or embroidery.

At one point, mom asked something to the effect of “Can you not even tie a knot?”. And I replied that she had had almost 30 years to teach me.

But no, I can’t tie a knot with thread, thankyouverymuch, so please just do it for me Bavarian Maid. And after you’re done, go bring me some tea.

After the class, we wandered around the property slowly due to mom’s back. But this gave us ample time to throw myself on unsuspecting people trying to enjoy their day.

Oh, you’re relaxing in the shade and eating lunch? Well let me join you!

Click

Oh, you’re seconds from going on stage to do a runway show? Well let me join you!

Click

Oh, this is an all-male club? Well, then I’m definitely joining you because it will make the boys on my husband’s side annoyed.

Click

Oh, you’re trying to have a pleasant walkabout with your husband? Let me join you!

Click

And it went on and on and on…. No one escaped the tornado that was Carolyn (and her maid).

Later, we toured a refurbished home on Locust Grove.

Mom couldn’t make it to the top floor, and how she would’ve enjoyed this tour guide! She was so serious and engaging. “…oh now this is really interesting!” and so on and so forth.

After the tour was over, mom asked what time our tea was to be served because she was quite hungry. Wondering why I wasn’t on par with her hunger level, I remembered having found her near some peculiar-looking larger than life plants.

So we headed to the tea room for lunch.

On both days we had interesting companions.

On day one, we sat with a quirky lady (and you know how much I love quirkiness) from Chicago as well as her sister.

The next day we found some kindred spirits. A mother and her daughter had come to share the day together.

We first toasted to Jane Austen, clinked our glasses, and then cried. No seriously. We teared up. It started when J asked if we watched the series Cranford. Not two seconds after she got the word out, mom and I squealed. And then promptly teared up.

It’s hard to explain. But when you meet people who have the same exact interests as you and love it to the same degree as you, it just makes you feel connected to them.

After tea, we had another class to attend. But the sunny skies and green grass called out to me. So I parted ways with mom and set off on my own. I could’ve walked those grounds all day long, it was so relaxing.

And then I stumbled upon a firearms display: shooting several different styles from that era. Very interesting!

I got up in this presenter’s face for a photo, but I’ll save that for a later time. It has something to do with a husband of mine.

Anyway, all-in-all we had a good time. The weather was perfect (considering it rained all the way up and all the way back from KY) and there were interesting presenters. I wish mom’s back had been better and we’d done a couple things differently, but like I said, it was fun.

It’s even spurred me to find other regency-era events in my area, possibly to partake in? We’ll see. And then so will you.

Mother’s Day

May18

We had a nice Mother’s Day. We ate at a quirky Indian restaurant in Eureka Springs while a lady we could’ve sworn was Janis Joplin belted out gospel music.

After a few awkward moments of verbal tug-of-war, R and I finally won the honor of paying for the meal. It’s a lot more fun for the giver when the givee just gives in without a fight.

In R’s family, it’s a different kind of tug-of-war. There’s no discussion of who is paying. You just have to pull an undercover sniper attack on the waitress to get the ticket before the other person does.

Afterwards, we went on a tram tour of the the city. The docent (thank you for the vocab, mom) was cute. Maybe I just liked her white hair, I don’t know, but I did chuckle a lot.

We drove by countless Victorian homes. The entire downtown is in the National Register of Historic Places in America.

I’m glad these two appreciate it as much as me.

We made a quick tram tour stop at a church with cool statues of the stations of the cross.

And then we saw the fudge store. Enough said.

I found some overgrown stairs and immediately climbed them. Poison oak be darned, I’m finding out what’s up there.

Houses.

And people looking through the windows wondering who this chick was with red splotches on her ankles.

Note to self: don’t wear sandals while traipsing through unknown foliage.

We visited one of the many springs in the town and then headed home. We were exhausted! Two full days of exploring, but oh it was worth it!

Can’t wait to explore the many other areas of Arkansas, possibly with some newcomers to the state? More details on that later.

Tim Tams

Feb17

We found a way to watch LOST live on our computer. Normally we have to wait until it’s been uploaded to the site, which takes about a day. I’m not telling the name of the site because I don’t want it to be found. It’s my little secret island, if you will.

Immediately after we found it, I exclaimed that now all we need is chocolate! Here’s how my brain works:

celebration = chocolate, sadness = chocolate, fright = chocolate, paranoia = chocolate, explaining how my brain works = chocolate.

Then R smiled. He asked me to wait a few minutes because he was already working on something. After I turned from the clock’s minute hand, I looked to see what he had made.

Two cups of hot chocolate with a plate of cookies! Awesome.

But these weren’t just any cookies. These were Tim Tams. And you best include a pause after saying its name so everyone can bow their heads in adoration.

R studied for a semester in Australia and these apparently are the sacred cookies of Down Under. Everyone loves them. Up until recently, it was hard to find them in the U.S.

There’s a catch however: there’s a correct way of eating them. I even found a bunch of youtube videos later demonstrating it.

Let me list out the steps.

1. Bite off both ends.

2. So that it looks like this, but less blurry.

3. Then, dip it into your drink (we used hot chocolate) like a straw. Suck on the cookie until you just barely taste the liquid.

4. Once you feel it, pop the cookie into your mouth followed by an optional gulp.

It. is. heavenly.

The cookie just melts into this silky chocolate mess. Oh my, go out and get some… like, now.

Sugar with a Handle

Feb16

When a sugar bag has a handle on it, you know you’re going off the deep end. I don’t care.

We went almost two weeks without bread because I made up excuses as to why I didn’t have time to bake it. There is nothing so disheartening as knowing you can’t even make a measly sandwich if your stomach growls. Not even a PB&J. When I was craving grilled cheese and soup while sick last week, R ran to the store to buy a loaf.

I’ve never heard so much hissing and yelling in my life. He expressed over and over how much he wished it were the bread I usually make. I didn’t show it, but boy did that make me feel proud of what I had been accomplishing in the baking department.

After that episode, I made sure I’d have enough supplies for the upcoming months. Partly because I need to get a little more farmwife in me (i.e. discipline), and also because we are setting a strict lunch routine.

Everyday we are going to have the same thing to eat, with a little variation in ‘type’. A sandwich, yogurt, vegetable, string cheese, and maybe a dessert. I don’t use sugar in my bread, honey instead, but we do like our banana bread and chocolate cake, so I stocked up for that maybe factor. We will make the lunches the night before and not worry about it in the morning.

Little things. We’re learning.

But this menu requires bread, folks, and a steady supply of it.

So I got started.

This time around, though, Miss Carolyn got wild and crazy. She added oats. Yes, that’s my partying side when it comes to bread. One day I’ll even attempt sourdough starter.

Can I get three snaps in a Z-formation, please?

But for now, I’ll stick to my sometimes awkwardly shaped, whatever flour I have on hand, bread. Don’t let R’s yawn fool you, it really is exciting.

My Kind of Medication

Feb13

I really wasn’t in the mood to go out and about tonight. I’ve been sick the past few days and a night of watching movies and laying around sounded ideal. However, we had spent the majority of the morning organizing our dorm room sized apartment and decided a Sam’s Club trip was necessary.

So I bundled up my snotty nose and off we went, half hoping they’d be serving their samples like our last Date Night there. Along the way, R caught a sign for Chick-Fil-A and murmured how nice it would be to stop there. But free is free and we knew we could count on ole Sammy.

As we piled up our cart, something was blatantly missing from the store. There were no hair nets around! And you know what that means. No samples, people.

R took that opportunity to drop a giant hint that if I loved him we’d go to Chick-Fil-A. And, for once, I agreed; instead of dragging him somewhere that I wanted to eat.

And boy did it pay to be unselfish! We walked in and noticed a sign stating there was a ‘Pre-Valentine’s Day Dinner’. We looked at each other, then ordered our food.

As we turned the corner with our tray, we saw an entire room filled with fresh flowers, lit candles and tablecloths! So we sat down in our little nook and even put napkins on our laps.

A few minutes later, two dressed-up people walked in…

…and they started performing for us! They sang Italian ballads sprinkled with American music like Stand By Me, which of course made me well up. Love that song.

R asked me to wipe my tears away along with the booger in my left nostril.

It was such a nice surprise and gave a me an extra boost of energy, which was needed because across the parking lot was a Barnes & Noble. And we all know the pull books have on me and R.

So we popped in and within 5 minutes, heard the sound of instruments.

I weaved myself among the shelves of books and finally found them. A saxophone quartet! Complete with chairs to listen.

R went off to buy some coffee and I sat there, the lone person in a chair, listening. I closed my eyes and let the music work over me.

One of the players asked if I played, and I said, “No. I just appreciate.” Which is going to be my motto from now on.

I don’t act or sing or play an instrument. But I appreciate those who do. And even if I’m the only one in the audience, I’ll still clap heartily to show them how much.

Two performances in one night. I’m going to bed with a smile on my face. And this time it’s not because of Nyquil.

Popsicles

Feb12

I was at a thrift store the other day and found some old popsicle forms. Man, I had to snatch them up!

These were the fancy kind with a little spout from which you could sip the drained juice.

So I ran to the store and bought some grape juice and filled those buggers up. If there’s one juice that instantly brings me back to my childhood, it’s grape juice.

Then I popped them into the freezer where they fit nicely amongst stew, chili, and vodka.

Lovely.

Later, I indulged in the fruits of my labor (literally), while watching Intervention.

Please do not look at the smudge marks on our computer screen. Thank you.

R and I need to be intervened on how we interact while taking photos. I asked for one measly shot of me holding the popsicle and this is what happened. It’s not pretty.

Catalina Island en route

Feb3

Well, we ended up getting out of Arkansas last weekend. It made me kind of suspicious that the only flight not cancelled was ours. The tickets were extremely cheap… and so apparently were the people calling the “go ahead and give it a go” shots. I mean, almost every other flight was cancelled. Every. Other. Flight.

But did that stop us?

Hail no. (Literally)

Neither did our snow packed car stop us…

…or the almost zero visibility on the roads. If I had to stick my head out the window and get pneumonia, by golly we are getting to some sunshine! Keep driving R!

We finally dragged our soggy feet into the airport. I have a thing about packing light… trying to scale back what I take to the point that I’m on the verge of wearing the same thing everyday on a trip. Okay, it’s not that bad, but I did refuse to wear a jacket because I didn’t want to lug it around for five minutes walking to and from the airport.

I was a literal snowwoman (excuse the political correctness) when I finally stumbled through the doors. It was ugly. And wet.

When my eyelids eventually unfroze themselves, we saw our friends T and R, and immediately gut laughed.

It’s not unusual to run into people we know as we come from a small town, but this was getting ridiculous. They were waiting for their friends to return from China with their newly adopted baby.

Recently we ran into T&R at a local pizza place too. They were there for a birthday party, and were early, so we sat with them until our pizza was ready to go.

A birthday party… no big deal right? Right. Except for when the pizzeria has literally two tables inside and both were being used for the said party goers that hadn’t showed up yet. When they did, T&R were put in an awkward situation of introducing us to everyone as if we had come along. And of course, R ordered the most labor intensive pizza in all of Italy, so we waited forever to make our graceful exit. By this time everyone was wondering who this chick was with no makeup on and why she was standing in line for the pinata.

So we show up at the airport and who is having the welcome home party? Oh, just the same people from the pizzeria.

Lovely.

What luck to join them for again! I thought I might as well take photos of them since we’re basically a part of their lives now. T joked that R & I will be in the background of all their photos. And if we see the couple on the street, we’ll bring up memories to them and they’ll wonder why we know such intimate details.

Embarrassing. But it was nice to see them with their new baby. R & I have talked about adoption a lot and my idea of our future family is changing to include that option.

Until then, we’ll continue to buy cheap tickets on scary icy flights.

But we landed! Oh yes we did and had a quick night’s sleep before heading out to Catalina Island with my brother, his wife, and their friends.

We were backpacking for the night and it was part gorgeous, part LOST-like. If you don’t watch the show you won’t get the references, so you best start watching reruns, like, now. You won’t regret it.

If you do watch the show, I probably really like you.

Stay tuned!

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this:

Like this: