After almost two decades in a box, they're not faring so well so I decided to capture a few on "film." Today's image may explain why I am shorter than the rest of my 6' tall family.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Monday, December 12, 2011
Photo Per Day #12: Ornaments
Tis the season to decorate the Christmas tree. As such, it's that time of the year when I open a box filled with my very own, unique ornaments. Ornaments that my loving friends and family created and hung on the tree at a surprise party for my 30th birthday 17 years ago this month. (Sheesh!) You know that you're loved when everyone, bar one, selected the worst possible pictures of me. (It's really not that hard.) Ornaments of me as a baby with food all over my face. Looking miserable as a kid. Kicking my leg in the air at parties (i.e., knickers shot) as an adult. Holding cocktails at parties. You name it, I have it.
After almost two decades in a box, they're not faring so well so I decided to capture a few on "film." Today's image may explain why I am shorter than the rest of my 6' tall family.
After almost two decades in a box, they're not faring so well so I decided to capture a few on "film." Today's image may explain why I am shorter than the rest of my 6' tall family.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I Got Your Number
Happy 50th birthday to my husband! To think that we met when you were 25: that's half of your life spent with me. (The better half?) D'oh!
In tribute to this auspicious occasion, I'm dedicating a song that played on your car tape player during our first date that a) I was surprised you knew and b) you were surprised that I knew. Kismet.
In tribute to this auspicious occasion, I'm dedicating a song that played on your car tape player during our first date that a) I was surprised you knew and b) you were surprised that I knew. Kismet.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Darker Side of Forty
Today. 46. Yikes.
I'm giving myself a pretty birthday song. And if you recognize it, just ignore that you may have first heard it in a Chrysler commercial. It's sweet nonetheless.
I'm giving myself a pretty birthday song. And if you recognize it, just ignore that you may have first heard it in a Chrysler commercial. It's sweet nonetheless.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Photo Per Day #2: Monkey's Birthday
Happy birthday to my little man. May you enjoy your Mötley Crüe Greatest Hits and gazillion video games.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Happy Birthday Scootchie
Our oldest son turns 10 today. Ten years of love, snuggles, tenderness and fascination, on my part, with all of the things boys go through. (Really, who knew the military channel could be so compelling?)
A decade ago while living in VA, we went to dinner at an old friend of the hubby's (who is now a mutual friend). When we arrived, this guy and his then-girlfriend were hammered beyond belief. Whiskey, I believe. While it made for a really interesting/fun night out, mainly because he's a very sweet and funny character, it probably wasn't best for someone who was >9 months preggers and counting (i.e., me) -- especially since they left out the actual serving dinner portion of the evening. I finally asked if there was any food. They fired up the grill, put on a hot dog for me and promptly forgot about it.
I ate a single, bun-less, burnt hot dog. No condiments. No chips. And then I went into labor.
Uber-nerd that I am, I couldn't sleep. Instead, I spent the night tracking my contractions in Excel and calculating/charting the a) length of time between them and b) rate of acceleration. Finally, around 6:30 a.m. I woke the hubby up to drive me to the hospital.
As we drove, my brain went into hyperactivity. OMG: How do they get this thing out of me? Is it too late to outsource? Once we got to the hospital, I was fine. And by fine, I mean that I was weak and exhausted from staying up all night and not eating dinner. Good Lord. Just a few short, strenuous, puking orange Popsicle, drug free* hours later, our little dude was born.
Had I known I was a birthing machine, I would have started younger and put some on the black market. Anything for a buck.
With that said, I'm unbelievably grateful for the past ten years and feel blessed beyond belief. He's a wonderful little man; I'm honored to know him and to be his mom. Happy birthday dude.
*I didn't intend to do labor drug-free. My OB-GYN practice was highly professional but also run by hippy chick MDs (no hip, hip, hip, hip, no hippy chick). Alternative medicine. Doulas. The whole nine yards. Through them, we signed up for the Bradley Method without realizing that it stressed natural birth. First class: show of hands, who's planning to use drugs? Only hand up: mine. Me drug free? During excruciating pain? Yep. I did it. Crazy but true.
A decade ago while living in VA, we went to dinner at an old friend of the hubby's (who is now a mutual friend). When we arrived, this guy and his then-girlfriend were hammered beyond belief. Whiskey, I believe. While it made for a really interesting/fun night out, mainly because he's a very sweet and funny character, it probably wasn't best for someone who was >9 months preggers and counting (i.e., me) -- especially since they left out the actual serving dinner portion of the evening. I finally asked if there was any food. They fired up the grill, put on a hot dog for me and promptly forgot about it.
I ate a single, bun-less, burnt hot dog. No condiments. No chips. And then I went into labor.
Uber-nerd that I am, I couldn't sleep. Instead, I spent the night tracking my contractions in Excel and calculating/charting the a) length of time between them and b) rate of acceleration. Finally, around 6:30 a.m. I woke the hubby up to drive me to the hospital.
As we drove, my brain went into hyperactivity. OMG: How do they get this thing out of me? Is it too late to outsource? Once we got to the hospital, I was fine. And by fine, I mean that I was weak and exhausted from staying up all night and not eating dinner. Good Lord. Just a few short, strenuous, puking orange Popsicle, drug free* hours later, our little dude was born.
Had I known I was a birthing machine, I would have started younger and put some on the black market. Anything for a buck.
With that said, I'm unbelievably grateful for the past ten years and feel blessed beyond belief. He's a wonderful little man; I'm honored to know him and to be his mom. Happy birthday dude.
*I didn't intend to do labor drug-free. My OB-GYN practice was highly professional but also run by hippy chick MDs (no hip, hip, hip, hip, no hippy chick). Alternative medicine. Doulas. The whole nine yards. Through them, we signed up for the Bradley Method without realizing that it stressed natural birth. First class: show of hands, who's planning to use drugs? Only hand up: mine. Me drug free? During excruciating pain? Yep. I did it. Crazy but true.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Back in the Saddle
Back in the day, I would go out partying with my girlfriends until the wee hours of the morning and go to work the next day barely missing a beat. Flash forward 20 years: not quite so agile. Friday night I pulled a sober, working, all nighter (again) and just today, six days later, I'm finally feeling okay.
I went through much of the weekend in a coma-like stupor. At a party for my next door neighbor's 40th birthday, I kept drinking Coke -- which I never drink -- just to stay awake. I was hoping to hang with my brother who was in town just for one night but my overly caffeinated body and I promptly fell asleep. Thankfully he ran errands with me the next day (that's what friends are for) and we had a nice lunch together before my much needed Resiliency workshop at Physikos with my beloved Body-Mind Centering teacher.
Yesterday, I popped a million aspirin before coming home on time for the hubby's birthday. (Kudos to me!) I brought him a partially melted ice cream cake (that I buried in a snow bank outside my window at work as a poorly executed, preventative measure) and, per Son #2's whispered request to me during dinner the night before, a six-pack of Stella Artois. My eight year old knows him better than I apparently. When asked how he knew what to get daddy, he responded that he overheard him saying how much he liked that brand at Christmastime. Yes, he not only listened, he remembered. Note to self.
So in the midst of my complaints about my headaches, broken foot (crushed when Son #1 knelt on it), fractured cheek bone (from crashing wave-related injury), workload, lack of sleep, blah blah blah (someone shut her up, please) my girlfriend calls and tells me that she's been in the hospital for almost two weeks with hepatitis and pancreatitis -- and was just taken by ambulance to Upstate Medical Center for emergency gallbladder surgery. She originally called two days ago because we had plans to go skiing/snowboarding this weekend with the kids and was freaking out about letting me down (!) and then again a moment ago because she didn't remember calling me the first time.
What, she can't take her hospital bed down the slopes at Greek Peak? Well, clearly she's aging, too, 'cause in our twenties I think she would have tried it. That's what hospital drugs are for, right?
Dammit.
I went through much of the weekend in a coma-like stupor. At a party for my next door neighbor's 40th birthday, I kept drinking Coke -- which I never drink -- just to stay awake. I was hoping to hang with my brother who was in town just for one night but my overly caffeinated body and I promptly fell asleep. Thankfully he ran errands with me the next day (that's what friends are for) and we had a nice lunch together before my much needed Resiliency workshop at Physikos with my beloved Body-Mind Centering teacher.
Yesterday, I popped a million aspirin before coming home on time for the hubby's birthday. (Kudos to me!) I brought him a partially melted ice cream cake (that I buried in a snow bank outside my window at work as a poorly executed, preventative measure) and, per Son #2's whispered request to me during dinner the night before, a six-pack of Stella Artois. My eight year old knows him better than I apparently. When asked how he knew what to get daddy, he responded that he overheard him saying how much he liked that brand at Christmastime. Yes, he not only listened, he remembered. Note to self.
So in the midst of my complaints about my headaches, broken foot (crushed when Son #1 knelt on it), fractured cheek bone (from crashing wave-related injury), workload, lack of sleep, blah blah blah (someone shut her up, please) my girlfriend calls and tells me that she's been in the hospital for almost two weeks with hepatitis and pancreatitis -- and was just taken by ambulance to Upstate Medical Center for emergency gallbladder surgery. She originally called two days ago because we had plans to go skiing/snowboarding this weekend with the kids and was freaking out about letting me down (!) and then again a moment ago because she didn't remember calling me the first time.
What, she can't take her hospital bed down the slopes at Greek Peak? Well, clearly she's aging, too, 'cause in our twenties I think she would have tried it. That's what hospital drugs are for, right?
Dammit.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Go Shorty! (It's My Birthday)
Yea! It's my birthday! I have no real time to post today so, much like choosing a sugar cereal for myself (our big treat when I was a kid), I thought I would pick a couple of non-birthday-but-just-sweet songs for myself. I can't seem to find a video for John Vanderslice's Tremble and Tear so I chose a classic, Moon River, and a fairly new song with a stupid video, Come Monday Night. 45 years old. Yikes! Bring it on.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Free Range Telephone Poles
How is it possible that I'm back in this office so quickly? Why can't every weekend be filled with fun and candy? Like double cherry pie? Like disco lemonade?
First off, I read a book that the hubby borrowed from the library entitled Year of the Cock: The Remarkable True Account of a Married Man Who Left His Wife and Paid the Price. A total page turner! And by page turner, I mean that you can flip through, without reading, about 100 pages of absolute jibber jabber where this dude is pathologically obsessed with his penis. Constantly standing in front of the mirror, measuring, tugging, etc. and describing it all in exhaustive detail. Thanks but no thanks. While the "cock" reference is perfectly in sync with the Chinese zodiac, I really wish there was a Year of the Douchebag: The Lame but True Account of a Total Dip Shit Who Lost His Mind, Wife, Palms, Young/Hot Girlfriends and Any Sense of Decorum. With all that said, this tale confirms that men with small penises do, in fact, buy Porsches. Ew.
Beyond that, the weekend was filled with taking Son #1 to swimming class and sitting poolside for an additional hour while he played water polo with the other kids, creating cute little Halloween pumpkin crafts (I'm so stinkin' domestic!!), handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters as my ninja and alien boys went door-to-door collecting even more lard-ass-inducing loot, going to church and going on a hike with the Cub Scouts at the Cumming Nature Center where I felt like I was fully immersed in an Audubon painting. Specifically this Hudson River School painting that I stumbled upon but with fewer leaves and more beaver lodges.
What I learned? That prior to the obsolescence of land lines, entire forests were planted to farm telephone poles. And they're breathtaking now.
(Photo from the Finger Lakes Visitors Connection via Ontario County.)
What else I learned? That GPS is completely unreliable. (Note: I already discovered this on my way to D.C. and my way home from Saranac Lake but this time was the worst.) It told me to take a left on a non-existent street. Just trees to the left. Trees to the right. I was also guided deep into a continuous cycle/circle of U-turns. It later led me up a gravel driveway that ended at a house and proceeded to tell me to take a left. My father did that while drunk many years ago and his car wound up in our living room -- so I decided not to follow in his footsteps. I didn't know this family and they might not appreciate it as much as we did at the time.
Anyhoo, nothing says "leadership" and "parenting 101" quite like driving 700 miles an hour on winding, country roads and bellowing expletives while a little scout sits quietly in the backseat occasionally piping in with comments like, "Wow mama! That was a sharp turn!" as he slid sideways. Thank God for seat belts. And for troop meetings that start notoriously late.
All of this leads up to today: Little Monkey's eighth birthday! Stock tip of the week: before the official birthday party next weekend, buy shares of GameStop and all things Tony Hawk. If last night's family party was any indication, there's a whole lot of dollars being invested in these brands.
Once again, happiness prevails.
First off, I read a book that the hubby borrowed from the library entitled Year of the Cock: The Remarkable True Account of a Married Man Who Left His Wife and Paid the Price. A total page turner! And by page turner, I mean that you can flip through, without reading, about 100 pages of absolute jibber jabber where this dude is pathologically obsessed with his penis. Constantly standing in front of the mirror, measuring, tugging, etc. and describing it all in exhaustive detail. Thanks but no thanks. While the "cock" reference is perfectly in sync with the Chinese zodiac, I really wish there was a Year of the Douchebag: The Lame but True Account of a Total Dip Shit Who Lost His Mind, Wife, Palms, Young/Hot Girlfriends and Any Sense of Decorum. With all that said, this tale confirms that men with small penises do, in fact, buy Porsches. Ew.
Beyond that, the weekend was filled with taking Son #1 to swimming class and sitting poolside for an additional hour while he played water polo with the other kids, creating cute little Halloween pumpkin crafts (I'm so stinkin' domestic!!), handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters as my ninja and alien boys went door-to-door collecting even more lard-ass-inducing loot, going to church and going on a hike with the Cub Scouts at the Cumming Nature Center where I felt like I was fully immersed in an Audubon painting. Specifically this Hudson River School painting that I stumbled upon but with fewer leaves and more beaver lodges.
What I learned? That prior to the obsolescence of land lines, entire forests were planted to farm telephone poles. And they're breathtaking now.
(Photo from the Finger Lakes Visitors Connection via Ontario County.)
What else I learned? That GPS is completely unreliable. (Note: I already discovered this on my way to D.C. and my way home from Saranac Lake but this time was the worst.) It told me to take a left on a non-existent street. Just trees to the left. Trees to the right. I was also guided deep into a continuous cycle/circle of U-turns. It later led me up a gravel driveway that ended at a house and proceeded to tell me to take a left. My father did that while drunk many years ago and his car wound up in our living room -- so I decided not to follow in his footsteps. I didn't know this family and they might not appreciate it as much as we did at the time.
Anyhoo, nothing says "leadership" and "parenting 101" quite like driving 700 miles an hour on winding, country roads and bellowing expletives while a little scout sits quietly in the backseat occasionally piping in with comments like, "Wow mama! That was a sharp turn!" as he slid sideways. Thank God for seat belts. And for troop meetings that start notoriously late.
All of this leads up to today: Little Monkey's eighth birthday! Stock tip of the week: before the official birthday party next weekend, buy shares of GameStop and all things Tony Hawk. If last night's family party was any indication, there's a whole lot of dollars being invested in these brands.
Once again, happiness prevails.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Pulling Teeth
Next in the long list of activities we have to strong arm our kids to do (e.g., brush teeth, do homework, clean up toys, take shower), comes Son #1's reluctance to write thank you notes for all of his birthday gifts.
Son #1 (whining): I'm tooooooo tired.
Me: You're not too tired to play with your Legos; you're just too tired to thank your Aunt and Uncle for them. They'll think you're ungrateful.
Son #1 (whining more loudly): I'm not ungrateful. I'm just tired right now.
Son #2 (picking up a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid): It's easy. You just fill in the blanks.
"Dear Aunt Loretta: Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!"
So darned charming, right? And that Jeff Kinney is onto something. I'm looking forward to getting some form letters in the mail tonight.
Just kidding. He can't get off the hook that easily.
Son #1 (whining): I'm tooooooo tired.
Me: You're not too tired to play with your Legos; you're just too tired to thank your Aunt and Uncle for them. They'll think you're ungrateful.
Son #1 (whining more loudly): I'm not ungrateful. I'm just tired right now.
Son #2 (picking up a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid): It's easy. You just fill in the blanks.
"Dear Aunt Loretta: Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!"
So darned charming, right? And that Jeff Kinney is onto something. I'm looking forward to getting some form letters in the mail tonight.
Just kidding. He can't get off the hook that easily.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Mini-weekend: Day 12
Celebrated Son #1's ninth birthday yesterday which he entitled "BBE" for best birthday ever! Legos (exactly what he wanted), gift cards, cash, yellow balloons, a Dragon Fable Dragon Amulet and an EyeClops BioniCam make for a BBE, for sure.
I also went to Son #2's classroom where the kids sang songs and read stories to all of the moms for Mother's Day. I hung out with the only other two moms that I know from that class. One is a virologist and graduate school professor who had to reschedule her 2:00 p.m. class. The other is an OB/GYN who had to reschedule all of her patients that afternoon. It was so stinkin' cute that it's worth it. Some other mom blew into the classroom over 15 minutes late and timed perfectly to interrupt her son's story. Instead of quietly taking a seat, she stopped him midsentence and loudly proclaimed "Hi honey, I'm here" to which he quietly responded, "You're really late." She then began to laugh and tell him to carry on as if she had blessed him (and all of us) with her almighty presence. I can understand the tardiness; God only knows what happened. The shameless manner in which she descended upon us, however, was somewhat loathsome.
My favorite part was the faux People magazine cover where my picture was drawn, colored (yes, I have a large beak) and labeled as "Most Beautiful Mom of 2009" and Son #2's story inside talks about how I love to garden. Garden! If I didn't see the abysmal state of our "garden," I might think that the kids had another mom on the side. A more farm fresh version of myself. Maybe one who wears an apron and prepares organic meals. Now that would be beautiful!
I also went to Son #2's classroom where the kids sang songs and read stories to all of the moms for Mother's Day. I hung out with the only other two moms that I know from that class. One is a virologist and graduate school professor who had to reschedule her 2:00 p.m. class. The other is an OB/GYN who had to reschedule all of her patients that afternoon. It was so stinkin' cute that it's worth it. Some other mom blew into the classroom over 15 minutes late and timed perfectly to interrupt her son's story. Instead of quietly taking a seat, she stopped him midsentence and loudly proclaimed "Hi honey, I'm here" to which he quietly responded, "You're really late." She then began to laugh and tell him to carry on as if she had blessed him (and all of us) with her almighty presence. I can understand the tardiness; God only knows what happened. The shameless manner in which she descended upon us, however, was somewhat loathsome.
My favorite part was the faux People magazine cover where my picture was drawn, colored (yes, I have a large beak) and labeled as "Most Beautiful Mom of 2009" and Son #2's story inside talks about how I love to garden. Garden! If I didn't see the abysmal state of our "garden," I might think that the kids had another mom on the side. A more farm fresh version of myself. Maybe one who wears an apron and prepares organic meals. Now that would be beautiful!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Young Us Now Us
Happy birthday Grannie Annie!
As a tribute to your (insert age here) years on this planet, we wanted to thank you for your love, support and guidance in making us who we are today . . .
Hard to believe how much we've changed.
With love, your little kiddies.
Note: Idea clearly stolen from YoungMe-NowMe.
As a tribute to your (insert age here) years on this planet, we wanted to thank you for your love, support and guidance in making us who we are today . . .
Hard to believe how much we've changed.
With love, your little kiddies.
Note: Idea clearly stolen from YoungMe-NowMe.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Twas the Day Before Christmas
And all through the RAC, not a treadmill was stirring . . . so, would someone please tell me why the gym is closed on Christmas Eve?
Anyhoo, before the Christmas carnage begins, highlights of my soon-to-be-a-distant-memory birthday include:
Anyhoo, before the Christmas carnage begins, highlights of my soon-to-be-a-distant-memory birthday include:
- A cannot-stop-shoving-food-in-my-mouth-because-it's-so-good meal that my brother-in-law made complete with tenderloin that could melt in your mouth
- Awesome presents from gorgeous sweaters to a trendy salsa/chips bowl, from iDogs to iPods, from wine to kahlua, and from furry purses to giant, fluffy pillows -- once again, spoiled rotten -- and one donation made in my name to the Smile Train which somehow tempers the greed a little and, for which, I am grateful
- A fun-filled dinner at Tastings with my girlfriends where I had a beautiful and delicious (red and rimmed with gold sugar) fruitcake martini: two things that remind me of my Uncle Ed who I love and two things that, when mixed, prove that the whole can be greater than the sum of its parts
- A birthday card that addressed the manly "why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" question with its feminist counterpoint, "why buy the pig when you just need a little sausage?"
- Getting my Christmas bonus . . . ahhhhhhhhhhhh
- Leaving work on time for two whole days in a row; OMG, 44 is empowering! I feel like Oh Mighty Isis. What's next? Commanding the forces of nature?
Monday, December 22, 2008
Twenty Two Times Two!
Yea! Today's my birthday. My acupuncturist was telling me that 44 denotes a powerful year in numerology. She also mentioned how Barack Obama will be our 44th president. Coincidence? I think not. I'm looking forward to brandishing my new found strength by dominating the world this year, too!
On an unrelated note, if you're sick of online shopping and want a few minutes of browsing fun, head over to Sleeveface which describes itself as "one or more persons obscuring or augmenting any part of their body or bodies with record sleeve(s) causing an illusion."
Inspiring, right?! Makes me want to create a photo of my own to submit over the holidays!
On an unrelated note, if you're sick of online shopping and want a few minutes of browsing fun, head over to Sleeveface which describes itself as "one or more persons obscuring or augmenting any part of their body or bodies with record sleeve(s) causing an illusion."
Inspiring, right?! Makes me want to create a photo of my own to submit over the holidays!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Farm Fetid Kitchen
Son #2 wanted Thanksgiving dinner for his birthday and the hubby obliged with a fabulous turkey, homemade stuffing and the most delicious, creamy, summer squash soup ever known to mankind. With meals like that at home, why venture out?
To have fun with your girlfriends, that's why! To celebrate birthdays. To de-stress. To catch up. To try new restaurants. To drink martinis. And to write blog postings . . .
Step aside vomit-inducing meal across the street, welcome Farm Fresh Kitchen! As stated on their website, "We believe meals can taste divine and still be good for you too. Really -- it can be done." Just not at their restaurant -- something they failed to mention.
Oh, where to begin? Maybe a laundry list will suffice: the rolls were stale, the pumpkin martini didn't taste like pumpkin, my quarter-sized tuna credo tasted like it spent the better part of a day rotting on the pier, someone dumped a liter of salt in the couscous, and the gnocchi was pure mush. On a minor note, we got a different bottle of wine than ordered; however, it was fine. Thankfully our waitress took the tuna off the bill and gave us a free dessert (for the birthday girl at the table).
But at $48 per person, not remotely worth the investment.
Oddly enough, the place was empty. I wonder why.
To have fun with your girlfriends, that's why! To celebrate birthdays. To de-stress. To catch up. To try new restaurants. To drink martinis. And to write blog postings . . .
Step aside vomit-inducing meal across the street, welcome Farm Fresh Kitchen! As stated on their website, "We believe meals can taste divine and still be good for you too. Really -- it can be done." Just not at their restaurant -- something they failed to mention.
Oh, where to begin? Maybe a laundry list will suffice: the rolls were stale, the pumpkin martini didn't taste like pumpkin, my quarter-sized tuna credo tasted like it spent the better part of a day rotting on the pier, someone dumped a liter of salt in the couscous, and the gnocchi was pure mush. On a minor note, we got a different bottle of wine than ordered; however, it was fine. Thankfully our waitress took the tuna off the bill and gave us a free dessert (for the birthday girl at the table).
But at $48 per person, not remotely worth the investment.
Oddly enough, the place was empty. I wonder why.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Monkey Turns Seven
Happy birthday Monks!
Son #2 is on the couch wearing a blue robe (that's covered in basketballs, footballs and soccer balls). He's wearing a Clone Trooper face mask, holding his drum sticks, and singing the Ramones, "shoot 'em in the back now."
It doesn't get much better than this. You just never know what to expect with kids.
Speaking of which, while trick-or-treating the other night, I warned the kids, "Do NOT say anything bad about the candy anyone gives you." Why? Because last year an old man was handing out Necco wafers and all the kids were saying, "Ew." To his face.
This year all went well until we got to one house where Son #1 didn't say "Thank you." I asked, "Dude, did you even say thanks?"
"No, she smelled like Subway."
Subway. Eat Fresh. And stink up the house, apparently.
Son #2 is on the couch wearing a blue robe (that's covered in basketballs, footballs and soccer balls). He's wearing a Clone Trooper face mask, holding his drum sticks, and singing the Ramones, "shoot 'em in the back now."
It doesn't get much better than this. You just never know what to expect with kids.
Speaking of which, while trick-or-treating the other night, I warned the kids, "Do NOT say anything bad about the candy anyone gives you." Why? Because last year an old man was handing out Necco wafers and all the kids were saying, "Ew." To his face.
This year all went well until we got to one house where Son #1 didn't say "Thank you." I asked, "Dude, did you even say thanks?"
"No, she smelled like Subway."
Subway. Eat Fresh. And stink up the house, apparently.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Good Luck
I went to Good Luck restaurant last night with the girls to celebrate Christine's birthday. One word: must go! Oh, did I say one word? I meant two. It's a large, open, industrial space in the old Fabrics and Findings warehouse at the Village Gate with a bit of a French country community ambiance thrown in.
Their tapas-like menu boasts "food to share" which makes the whole dining experience interactive and fun. The food was fresh, flavorful and light -- and it just kept coming. We shared two bottles of wine; the charcuterie plate; leeks with lump crab; shrimp, bean and goat cheese crostini; warm arugula with bleu cheese and roasted figs; and heaps of funny and/or tear-filled stories about our kids, jobs, lives, sex, faith, parents in nursing homes, etc.
But one of the best parts of our evening was our waiter: Storm. He was the most articulate and knowledgeable waiter I have ever had the pleasure of meeting not to mention likeable and funny. He had no fear of making solid recommendations and sharing with us what foods were locally sourced, how they are prepared and plated, what spices are used, and so on. (As a contrast, I often hear the "I don't know, I've never tried that" response to my inquiry which makes me cringe. Really? Because isn't knowing about the food your job?) I really hope he's compensated well because he's worth his weight in gold.
One more thing. Unlike Label 7 (a.k.a. Mustards) our local tapas-style eatery in the village, which has to-die-for rich, creamy, yummy foods and attractive space, this place was also packed to the gills but otherwise noiseless. At Label 7, you cannot hear your friends seated at your same table; at Good Luck, you cannot hear others at the table next to you. Although, last night, that would have come in handy as the man next to us unwrapped a dress for his birthday gift. Uh, what's with the frock mister?
Next time, I'm ordering one of their original cocktails. For the girl who never knows what drink to order and continually pesters bar staff to create something original, I cannot believe I didn't try the Johnny Walker black cat tea or the Knock on Wood (Appleton Estate Rhum, apricot brandy, lime and brown sugar). As Clarissa sang to Rudolph, "there's always tomorrow."
Their tapas-like menu boasts "food to share" which makes the whole dining experience interactive and fun. The food was fresh, flavorful and light -- and it just kept coming. We shared two bottles of wine; the charcuterie plate; leeks with lump crab; shrimp, bean and goat cheese crostini; warm arugula with bleu cheese and roasted figs; and heaps of funny and/or tear-filled stories about our kids, jobs, lives, sex, faith, parents in nursing homes, etc.
But one of the best parts of our evening was our waiter: Storm. He was the most articulate and knowledgeable waiter I have ever had the pleasure of meeting not to mention likeable and funny. He had no fear of making solid recommendations and sharing with us what foods were locally sourced, how they are prepared and plated, what spices are used, and so on. (As a contrast, I often hear the "I don't know, I've never tried that" response to my inquiry which makes me cringe. Really? Because isn't knowing about the food your job?) I really hope he's compensated well because he's worth his weight in gold.
One more thing. Unlike Label 7 (a.k.a. Mustards) our local tapas-style eatery in the village, which has to-die-for rich, creamy, yummy foods and attractive space, this place was also packed to the gills but otherwise noiseless. At Label 7, you cannot hear your friends seated at your same table; at Good Luck, you cannot hear others at the table next to you. Although, last night, that would have come in handy as the man next to us unwrapped a dress for his birthday gift. Uh, what's with the frock mister?
Next time, I'm ordering one of their original cocktails. For the girl who never knows what drink to order and continually pesters bar staff to create something original, I cannot believe I didn't try the Johnny Walker black cat tea or the Knock on Wood (Appleton Estate Rhum, apricot brandy, lime and brown sugar). As Clarissa sang to Rudolph, "there's always tomorrow."
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Happy Burfday!
According to Wikipedia, today in 1958 the trademark Velcro was registered and Vice President Nixon's car was attacked by anti-American demonstrators in Caracas, Venezuela. According to BrainyHistory, Jordan and Iraq formed the Arab Federation on that day, too.
What's not in Wikipedia is that my sister was born on this day in 1958, as well. According to my abacus, that makes her 50 years old! Closer to 100 than she is to zero . . .
So happy birthday little Susie. And happy birthday to Stevie Wonder, Stephen Colbert, Harvey Keitel, Bea Arthur, Dennis Rodman and Andrea Klump (German terrorist)--none of whom are as awesome as my sister.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Birthday Meltdown
Today is Son #1's eighth birthday! Holy moly! Happy birthday dude.
Last night, I came home to have dinner with the family (as most normal parents do) and put the kids to bed before going back to work until 2:15 a.m.
Son #1 wouldn't fall asleep and I finally had to say, "Hey birthday boy, I have to get to work so that I'm not there all night long. But just think, next time I see you, you'll be eight!!!"
Bad idea.
He burst into tears exclaiming, "I don't want anything to change. I don't want to turn eight. I didn't accomplish what I wanted to accomplish for seven yet."
(Huh?)
"What did you want to accomplish for seven?"
"Lot's of things. I had goals for seven."
OMG. Since when? This is the kid that prefers video games and watching Naruto over pretty much everything else except perhaps chess. The kid who would prefer to watch Iron Chef and learn how to cook than play outside. The kid who loves to swim but can't be bothered to learn any proper strokes. The kid who, at seven, refused to learn to ride his bike until almost the last day of the summer. What goals?
After much hugging and cajoling, I got him to calm down and go back to his room. And there, hanging in a bag on his door, were the parts of one of his unfinished (or should I say "un-started"?) projects: making a Webkinz wishing well out of a paper towel roll, string, etc.
Let the waterworks begin anew. "That was one of my goals. I wanted to make that when I was seven and now it's too late!" Yes, little man, it is.
Now, thanks to Outlook and a husband who had to deal with additional sadness after I left for work last night, I now have a 9:00 a.m. "craft date" with my son scheduled and confirmed on my calendar for Saturday morning. And Son #1 and I agreed that we would begin a list of "Things I Want to Accomplish While I'm Eight" to ensure all of his goals are met this year.
I guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.
Last night, I came home to have dinner with the family (as most normal parents do) and put the kids to bed before going back to work until 2:15 a.m.
Son #1 wouldn't fall asleep and I finally had to say, "Hey birthday boy, I have to get to work so that I'm not there all night long. But just think, next time I see you, you'll be eight!!!"
Bad idea.
He burst into tears exclaiming, "I don't want anything to change. I don't want to turn eight. I didn't accomplish what I wanted to accomplish for seven yet."
(Huh?)
"What did you want to accomplish for seven?"
"Lot's of things. I had goals for seven."
OMG. Since when? This is the kid that prefers video games and watching Naruto over pretty much everything else except perhaps chess. The kid who would prefer to watch Iron Chef and learn how to cook than play outside. The kid who loves to swim but can't be bothered to learn any proper strokes. The kid who, at seven, refused to learn to ride his bike until almost the last day of the summer. What goals?
After much hugging and cajoling, I got him to calm down and go back to his room. And there, hanging in a bag on his door, were the parts of one of his unfinished (or should I say "un-started"?) projects: making a Webkinz wishing well out of a paper towel roll, string, etc.
Let the waterworks begin anew. "That was one of my goals. I wanted to make that when I was seven and now it's too late!" Yes, little man, it is.
Now, thanks to Outlook and a husband who had to deal with additional sadness after I left for work last night, I now have a 9:00 a.m. "craft date" with my son scheduled and confirmed on my calendar for Saturday morning. And Son #1 and I agreed that we would begin a list of "Things I Want to Accomplish While I'm Eight" to ensure all of his goals are met this year.
I guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Something for the Girl with Everything
Yea! Today is my 43rd birthday. And it's a Saturday and I don't have to work. In fact, with the exception of one half-day meeting, some prep time and some catch-up work, I have off until January 2. Whoo hoo.
I plan to sink into the couch for days in my pajamas eating bushels of Fritos and drinking egg nog (with alcohol). And I also hope to finally take advantage of the gift cards I got a year ago for an enzyme facial at one local yoga studio, breathe, and a massage from another fabulous little studio, Blue Lotus.
I also won a $500 gift certificate last spring from our local Ethan Allen that I cannot wait to use. Not sure it will buy anything outright but it could put a little dent on this!
Everything is going my way. Happy Birthday to me!
I plan to sink into the couch for days in my pajamas eating bushels of Fritos and drinking egg nog (with alcohol). And I also hope to finally take advantage of the gift cards I got a year ago for an enzyme facial at one local yoga studio, breathe, and a massage from another fabulous little studio, Blue Lotus.
I also won a $500 gift certificate last spring from our local Ethan Allen that I cannot wait to use. Not sure it will buy anything outright but it could put a little dent on this!
Everything is going my way. Happy Birthday to me!
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