attitude

Yeah, I'm 17 months. You got somethin' to say 'bout it.

a little poetry for the soul

I'm going to write a longer post soon (I promise), but for now, I don't want my sad post from a few days ago to be the first thing people see when they come to my blog, soooooooo, go here for a great poem. Thanks, Jean!

Hope everyone is having a super Saturday. We slept in (in shifts, of course, 'cause that's what we gotta do) and did some light yardwork. And tonight, after the kiddo's asleep, we are going to watch


The Office, Season 3


Yeeaaaaahhhhhhhh...

the weight of witness

I've just gotten through Kate's most recent post in which she talks about being a witness to our children's lives, in any kind of weather, no matter what, because that's just what we do as parents:

Our purpose is to bear witness for our children. Graceful or clumsy we walk beside them, hold their hands as far as we’re able. Even when we despair in futility at their path, it is our soul’s contract to accompany them.

Liam died last week, after a laborious month of tubes and tests and hoping and doubting and believing and hoping and finally surrendering.

I cannot imagine losing my child and yet I think about the possibility almost daily. What if? What if? What if? I suppose there should be some solace in the fact that so much is, in truth, out of our control, no matter how much we want and yearn and strive to control. This is the weight of witnessing -- joy, for however long we have it in our grasp, and for seeing pain for what it is and has to be.

It's the scales of justice, always lousily lopsided.

:::

The status quo seems to suit us well these days, and we are spending lots of times indoors to avoid the B.L.A.Z.I.N.G sun, which makes for *interesting* times with a toddler. More of that coming soon, as well as tales from my body pump class. O cruelty, thy name is squat.

bsm: who's your daddy?

Well, here we are -- Monday again. As you have seen, I'm having another dry spell with my writing. It's called: Decide To Repaint and Reorganize Your House and Find You Have No Time To Blog. But the house is coming together, and I promise I will post pictures soon. Happy belated Father's Day to all the superdads out there, especially my wonder-husband. Here's our sprinkler-munchkin with a proud papa lookin' on. I'd write more, but I'mwithoutaspacebar (I wonder why), soI'llhavetocheckinlater. As always, for more best shots, go here.




And a more contemplative one that I just love:

i need new tunes...

Can anyone recommend some tunes for my MP3? I am in desperate need of new music for my workouts, which are hard enough on their own without listening to Beyonce a thousand times. Come on, help a sista out...

the sweet spot

We're still "under renovation" here, trying to finish painting the dining room. It's all trimmed in and will likely be rolled tonight. Last week I moved an old table (actually a $15 garage sale find) down to our living room, and fixed it with a few books and a framed photo and our laptop. It's near our front window, so it makes a great desk without looking like a desk, if you know what I mean. But, it is our child's new favorite spot because of the laptop, of course. And with his recent climbing skills, he is nearly able to get up on the chair, if it's pulled out, on his own. If the chair is pushed in, he screams, and sometimes (sometimes), when it's been a long day, I succumb to his powerful persuasive skills because my ears hurt. Here he is, perched and content, and plotting the great space-bar heist. As always, for more BSMs, go here. I'll hopefully return later in the week with more of my inane mundane ramblings.

buh-bye-ee

the friday funnies: the CVL edition

1. All right. You've waited, you've wondered. Here is how my first encounter with the CVL went (about 4 months ago):

CVL (approaches, location: home furnishings department, Marshall's): Well, hello there, cutie pie (to the toddler, of course)

Me: (Nervous stranger giggle/smile/eh-heh)

CVL (getting down to toddler level,at close range, looking my way with a glazed twinkle in her eyes and an oblivious smile plastered on her face): Are you nursing him?

Me (nervously, weirdly): Yes. (Why did I even answer this?)

CVL: I could tell. Yeah, uh hum.

Me: (Nervous stranger giggle/smile/eh-heh)

CVL: I nursed mine for a combination of 8 years...that's why I'm skin and bones, you know. We were on the road a lot, and it was just easy, we would feed them avocados, and I would nurse them.

Me: (Nervous stranger giggle/smile/nod/nervous stranger giggle/nod/eh-heh/avocados, huh?)

CVL: It's so good for them, you know. And, you know, we didn't vaccinate either. You know, it's when the soldiers came back from the war that they started to vaccinate (blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, going on to talk about some doctor in the area, blah, blah, blah).

Me: (Nervous stranger giggle/smile/nod/which war?)

CVL: But you know it's really the sugar.

Me: (puzzled and out of polite utterances)

CVL: It's the sugar that introduced all these diseases and created the need for vaccines.

Me: (Nervous stranger giggle/smile/nod/god, I could use a Snicker's)

CVL: Well, let me let you get back to your shopping. What a beautiful boy. Bye. By-eee (high-pitched cooing ensued as she descended to toddler level again).

Me (putting the picture frame down and scanning for the closest, quickest exit): Oh, yes. Thank you. Take care.

Second encounter (last week):

Me (seeing CVL approaching, OMG, is it really her AGAIN?)

CVL (again, in the home furnishings department, Marshalls): Well, what a cute little thing you are (again, to Eli, of course).

Me: (oh no, here she is again, quick, Eli, cry, do SOMETHING)

CVL: Oh, look at his little shoes.

Me: Nervous stranger giggle/smile/nod/she doesn't remember who we are)

CVL: My kids didn't wear shoes...I breastfed them.

Me: Nervous stranger giggle/smile/nod/wow, didn't know breastfeeding eliminated the need for shoes)

CVL: We're vegans. And I used to say to them (reaching down to Eli's feet), are those to-fu's or little fu-ey toes?

Me: Eh-heh (okay, hello...weird, come on, Eli, cry, for the love of God, do SOMETHING)

CVL (looking towards a painted canvas I was backed up against): Oh, that's really nice.

Me. Yes, it is.

CVL: Oh, well, let me let you get back to your shopping. Bye-eee.

Me: Oh, okay. Bye. (okay, hello...weird).

**I feel I should add that I have nothing against the vegan philosophy. Really, I don't. I wish sometimes I could do it. And I've even tried. And, I also should add that I almost NEVER go to Marshalls, so what are the odds that within the span of 5 months, I would see the CVL twice. Weird. The universe is conspiring against me. I'm sure of it. And, yes, I realize, this wasn't as good as I built it up to be. Oh, well. Life is full of disappointments. You'll get over it.

2. This week SD and I have taken to the slightly manic habit of inserting the phrase "do-dah" after many things that we say. For instance,

It's really hot outside. Do-dah.

or

Are you going to take the trash out? Do-dah.

or

Wanna order Chinese? Do-dah.

or

That diaper was a real stinker. Do-dah.

And it's not just any ol' do-dah. It has to be said with conviction -- as in DO-DAH (emphasis on DO). Try it. It definitely makes daily conversation much more exciting, even though you start to question your soundness of mind.

3. Finally, here's our tiny dancer, rockin it' at the pool on Wednesday. Didn't want to swim. Just wanted to dance. Rock on...

atticus has arrived

I don't have the energy to write about Crazy Vegan Lady tonight. I promise, though, that I will before the week is through. And now, because I've built it up so much, I fear it will never be as good as in your fantasies. Oh, well.

I do, though, want to send out congratulations to Brian, Bethany, and new big sister Mia on the birth of baby Atticus, born on June 4, weighing in at a healthy 9 pounds, 6 ounces (same as our "little" Eli).

And, I have to say, I was quite impressed with Bethany who was emailing friends from her hospital bed last night. At that point after Eli was born, I still don't think I was speaking in complete sentences. Go girl.

All the best to you guys, and we'll be in touch soon!

for kate

I haven't referenced Kate and her boys in a while, but I was just catching up on her blog and felt like I wanted to post something for them, even though I have never (and probably will never) meet them and she may never read this. I'm just continually amazed that she can write so much so often so intensely and so beautifully, all while dealing with the emotions of what her family is going through. I'm so drawn to their story and hope and wish and pray -- and whatever else there is to do -- that their outcome will be more positive than their doctors say it will. There's video on her latest post that will take your breath away. She has received so much support on her blog, mostly from people who don't know her personally. It's remarkable to witness, and I can only hope that all the energy/thoughts/prayers/goodness of spirit sent their way will make a difference for little Liam and Ben.

cool waters

Is it Monday already??? My tired, not-fully-caffeinated body tells me it is. Weekend was productive, but not long enough, OF COURSE. We did, however, get our living room painted, and now I have retracted my previous statement to a friend about wanting to BURN THE ENTIRE HOUSE DOWN. I will post photos once we have furniture back in its place and a few pictures on the walls. Gotta get on that. Stat.

Our toddler was CHALLENGING this weekend, to say the least. We have entered the desert of limit-testing. Oh happy day. Here he is blissfully filling his swimming pool with cool waters, some of which also managed to assemble in puddles on our back deck and in our yard. I wonder how that could happen? Challenging, I tell you. For more best shots, go here. And come back later this week for tales of the CVL. You won't want to miss it!

the friday funnies

1. Our living room walls are now trimmed in a beautiful bluish-greenish-grayish hue that, in the morning light pouring in from our eastern-facing windows, looks bright sky blue and horrid next to our sofa's faded green slipcover. SD says at least the conversation we had from 9 pm to 12 am the other night was good, right down to the relationship between barbie dolls and gender equality/inequality in our society (we're deep thinkers, okay). And I say, yeah maybe the next one we have re-painting in a different color will be even better. Worst part: before we decided that the color would not work, we purchased another whole gallon of the rogue color. I HATE to admit it, but I think I need Ty Pennington, minus whatever crack he is on. On second thought, I think I want the crack.

2. SD looked like a bizarre amalgam of Rambo and Robocop wrapped in ace bandages and ice last night after his soccer game. He played twice this week, so the HURT is on.

3. Yesterday as I was preparing supper, I found a toddler-sized t-shirt in our freezer next to the chicken nuggets.

4. Today, I met up with the SAME Crazy Vegan Lady (CVL) I saw in Marshall's about a month ago...in Marshall's AGAIN, and she told me the SAME story about how she breastfed her kids 'till they were 18. Well, not really, but stay tuned...more on this later, because it's oh-SO-worth elaborating on.

5. Yesterday, my genius younger sister (sorry, I'm too lazy to link her photo) sent me her latest Photoshop creations:

Personally, I think I look HOT in the second one, which makes up for the black eye in the first. And who needs Pitt when you've got SD. Hubba, hubba.

almost funky

Well, hullo there. I am hanging my head in deep (deep) shame as I type this because I am a bad, bad blogger. Honestly, I had high hopes after my last post. I was going to run the race, fight the good fight, try to write a blog everyday. And, well, I think we all know how that turned out.

Shameful.

But let us not dwell on this sad fact. Holiday weekends throw me off. In my wacky world, it was Monday today, and I had my usual list, some of which I made while huffing on the recumbant bike at the Y. I'm telling you, people, it was multi-tasking at its finest.

If I would have posted a BSM, it would have been a photo of a wine glass atop a paint can, because last night, I was sipping wine and priming the chocolate brown walls in our dining room to be repainted. Yes, we are painting... AGAIN. SD and I are a productive/destructive duo, if that makes any sense. We get these harebrain ideas, and, worse, we run with them. Ideas like priming our dining room walls at 9 pm on a Monday night. Ideas like ripping cabinets off the wall. Others that I can't think of because it's late, and I have brain-drain. You get it, though. Think GRAND ideas. Impressively enough, however, we usually manage to pull them off -- for the most part.

So, here WAS our idea/inspiration for the living room. Funky, huh? Almost. We love it, but I splashed a sample of aqua paint on our living room wall last night, and it doesn't quite coordinate with our couch's olive green slipcover. Wah. Back to the drawing board/canvas/square one. You get it.

What else? Oh, yes..finished Season 2 of The Office. Pam loves Jim. Jim loves Pam. Pam loves Jim. Jim loves Pam. Pam loves Jim. You get it. And, yes, I know, it's only Season 2, and things happen in Season 3, and well, let me just have my moment of glory, okay? In other words, don't rain on my Dunder-Mifflin parade.

Okay, that's it for tonight. I have a whopping two new photos (of the kid) posted on Flickr if anyone's interested. I've really got to get on it. Chop chop. And video. Sheesh. What's that. I take them, but I don't post them. Yeah, yeah. I'm on it.

Maybe I need new vitamins...

on writing, bird-killings, and other fancy things

My sister-in-law, who will probably want to kill me for linking this picture of her at Eli's first birthday party, recently told me she wants a daily blog from me. You know, come to think of it, I want a daily blog from me, too. I wish I could be as prolific, as on-top-of things as some of these champion bloggers out there who post (substance) almost every stinkin' day. How do they do it? I'm simultaneously envious and admiring. Some of them just have the gifts of gab and smarts and fortitude and discipline (god, how I need more discipline) and whatever else it takes to post every goddang day. I remember when I was working as a public relations writer at a university and having to do press releases how hard it was for me to just churn something out in 10 minutes or so. I mean, how hard should it really be to announce that there is going to be a demonstration thingy of a fire rescue mission at the School of Fire...oh, I forget what it was called, but they had demonstrations all the flippin' time? And Lubna, their in-house PR person would always call me up, and I knew, by the smell and fluttering tone of the ring, who it was and what she would say:

Gen-ee-fur...? Loob-na, with the Fire Prevention...blah, blah, blah. Vee are hav-eeng dee-mon-stration tomorrow. Can you write press release and send photogree-fur?

God love Lubna. She was really such a nice lady who was just super dedicated to promoting all the goings-on of her fire center. They were damn lucky to have her.

But, I digress. Although I loved the diversity of topics I was able to cover and that I did get to write the occasional feature story, I always felt under the proverbial gun, no doubt due, in part, to my unceasing perfectionsitic nature to have the perfect word used in the perfect way, in the perfectly wrought sentence. I've since let a little bit of my neurosis go, but I still don't know if I would be comfortable in that minute-to-minute journalist-type job. I am too much a thinker by nature for that. Sometimes, to a fault.

But blogging without deadlines is great, because I do or I don't, and even though I put pressure on myself to do it, because it's so refreshing and such a satisfying creative outlet and a great record of our family history in all it's gloriously mundane glory, I know I don't have anyone waving a calendar of do-this-by-such-and-such-a-date over my incredibly shrinking brain.

And, of course, there is the toddler, whom I infinitely adore and who gives me more inspiration than anything to write (and attempt to do it well). But, you know, he has needs, as he should. And I want to meet those needs with energy and joy and willingness. And so the great circus act begins of trying to be the best mom I can be and also carve out pockets of time to reflect on all the minutia of our life that mostly we only care about but that I feel the need to share with anyone who will read and listen. I've found nap times work best because before bed I'm usually dog tired and indulging my reality TV obsession, which kills off brain matter by the nanosecond. But nap times are usually when I should be cleaning all the messes that crop up as if by cruel magic and tending to other more pressing things like scheduling dental appointments and scrubbing the crayola off the window sill, but the flesh is weak, and sometimes (like now), I cave and indulge in a blog. It could be worse -- I could be indulging in ice cream, which would seriously compromise my upper-arm-circumference reduction program.

Speaking of minutia, here's a little bit, which, I'll admit, is kind of gross, but, what can I say but that it's our life. While wrestling the small one in our bed last night after his bath and before settling him down for sleep, here's what my husband says to me:

I think I need help.

Me: Really? With what?

SD: I can't stop biting my fingernails.

Me: I'm really sorry to hear that.

SD: I know. Me too. I just can't stop. And now they are deformed and they bleed (which is really romantic, by the way).

Me: Well, if it makes you feel any better, it's probably similar to why I have a sick obsession with guillotining all the weekly breakouts on my face (I told you this was gross, and, no, I did not use the word 'guillotine' in that moment...it's called embellishment, people).

Enter toddler, preparing for a swan dive in the direction of the wall behind our bed -- with, I might add, a wreckless abandon and an unbridled enthusiasm no child should have at 8 pm when it is time for him to go to bed and time for his parents to have a drink.

Incidentally, I have other nervous habits, like running my fingers through my hair. It's a wonder I don't have thinner hair. Once, when I was a teenager in church with my family, an old aunt of mine who was at the same mass, came up to me afterwards and scolded me for twirling my hair because she said it distracted her terribly and she could not concentrate on her mass. Wow, didn't see that one coming. And I'm sure I'll spend an extra five light years in purgatory for it. But that's what old aunts are for, I suppose. And she is deceased now, and honestly, I miss her saucy, slightly acerbic retorts.

It should also be known that I peel my fingernails and fidget.

:::

So, I'm trying like mad to work on my 13 Ways of Killing a Woodpecker (modeled after Wallace Stevens' 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird), as per Jean's suggestion, but I just can't seem to wrap my pea-sized brain around that poem yet, which has caused me to resort to looking at literary criticism, which I probably haven't done since trying to read some dreadfully boring work like Rob Roy in my senior year of an undergrad British lit class. But now I'm a liar because I so had to do it when I taught the dreadfully indecipherable Scarlet Letter to uninspired high school sophmores. It was in the curriculum so I had to. I know what you're thinking -- I have lead a scandalously interesting life up until now.

I could do, How Do I Kill Thee, Let Me Count the Ways and model it after Elizabeth Barret Browning's poem, which has a much easier structure, but that just seems so cruel considering what the content of the original poem is. I'll have to think about it.

In the meantime, here are some possible ways to murder a bird who hammers away incessantly on your rooftop, particularly when your toddler has decided to sleep in late and you are thanking God and trying to do the same:

• with a shotgun (the obvious and least creative, of course, and which would have to be borrowed, which would be a brow-raiser of a request);
• with a broom (again, sort of obvious, and probably not long enough to reach the roof, but I do have immediate access to one and know how to use it);
• with a cast-iron skillet attached to the end of the broom stick (I haven't exactly fleshed out the details of this yet, but it's more creative than the first two and might provide more of the length/height I need);
• with fireworks (which are probably illegal in my neighborhood because of all the trees, but again, kind of creative; however, this method might be slightly difficult to time, especially with the bird's capabilities of flight, but the 4th of July is coming up)

Okay, so this is all I have at the moment, and the toddler is stirring, so I'll have to to think on this some more later. In the meantime, I'd be happy to hear any other methods you might suggest. I guess that would sort of make you an accomplice if you did, in fact, suggest something that I decided to carry out, but I promise I won't be a snitch.

hitched!

This week's BSM is an easy one! We drove to Louisiana this weekend to attend my friend Jessi's wedding. I've known Jessi since college but haven't seen her in almost five years -- not since my wedding! It's just crazy (and unfortunate) how life takes you in different directions and you lose touch with people who have, at one time, been an important part of your life. It's always nice to reconnect. The wedding was lovely, and they're heading off to Jamaica for the honeymoon. God, I'm so wishing I was her right now, particularly because I need a tan -- desperately. Congrats, Jess and Sam and best wishes for millenniums of wedded bliss. As always, for more super shots, go here!

coaxial kerflooey

I have just cuddled our boy to sleep after reading to him all about the inner workings of a cement mixer, and now I am propped on pillows, with wine, a box of vanilla wafers, and a few of the books I plan to rest my eyes on tonight before I decide to call it quits for today. SD is having dinner with an old friend who is in town for a couple of days, and, well, I would be just finishing up my Wednesday night dose of American Idol results if we had a working television in this house, but (lucky for you), I'm blogging instead.

The television in our bedroom died a week or so ago, meeting its fate at the hands of our toddler who pressed its buttons one time too many. But it was old, so it's not so sad. However, the downstairs tube, which is not-so-old went wonky on us the other night, at which time SD determined it was the cable that had gone kerflooey after excessive jiggling by, who else but our very inquisitive and tactile toddler. So, today, after successfully remembering and pronouncing coax cable (try saying it fast 15 times), I purchased one, and ripe with delight just thinking of what I would able to restore to our home with a couple of quick twists and some minor thrashing of wires, I hurried home to begin the magic. I felt proud. I felt brave. I had purchased a coax cable, for heaven's sake. And it didn't work. Damn.

So, now, we, as in my consultant (husband) and I, think it may be the cable box because it better damn well not be our newish flat-screen TV. All this means that tomorrow I will have to call our beloved cable company, curse the automated menu for at least ten lousy minutes (silently, of course, because, um, TIR...toddler in room), and hope that someone can work a flippin' super miracle and bring me a box in time for the season finale of Grey's Anatomy. I know, I could watch it online the next day, but, come on -- NOT the same.

Therein lies my plight, people. Now, I'm gonna go read my books. Wah, wah. But let me just leave you with this parting morsel of knowledge: cement and concrete are not the same thing (gasp). I know, SHOCKING. And this, I learned from Tough Trucks: The Mixer, a Scholastic books publication.

The answer to your question is yes.

Yes, I am drinking from a glass, but the bottle is right next to it on my nightstand -- you know, in case I need refills.

better-late-than-never BSM

Well, folks, it's been quite a weekend here. I rang in Mother's Day sprawled across our bathroom floor, stricken with a nasty little 24-hour bugger. It's remarkable how philosophical one becomes at the base of a toilet bowl. Unfortunately, my husband and father-in-law got their own versions of it later Sunday morning. So, we've been in recovery mode here today. Luckily, Eli is showing no signs of it, so let's hope it stays that way. This weekend SD's parents visited, and we drove down to the Houston Zoo. Took tons of pictures, but I think my favorite was of the lovely-lined zebras! So here it is for my BSM. And there's even a little diagonal action in there for you, Tracey! Eli loved seeing all the animals, especially the goats in the petting zoo. I wish for the patience and fortitude of those goats. For more zoo pix, check out our Flickr page. And as always, go here for more BSMs, even though it's almost not Monday anymore! Happy week to everyone, and Happy belated Mother's Day to all the fabulous, hot mommas I know!

infertility

I am feeling intellectually and creatively barren these days. Mama mushy brains here. Originality eludes me. For starters, I've only been promising my friend Jean for months now that I will write a poem for her to lay her fabulously poetic eyes upon and offer some critique. Because, though I never have thought myself much of a poet, I see the poetic everywhere everyday. We all do, right? Because life is so naturally poetic. The challenge is just to write it down, despite the inner critic who chides, "You can't." And then, god, there's the vocabulary. In fact, I'm shocked I was able to come up with chides. Had to mine for that one in the depths of my pre-mother lexicon. And, wow, lexicon. Whence did that golden nugget spring? Perhaps I am not as devoid of brains as I thought.

Actually, now that I've pondered this for the three-and-a-half minutes it took me to write the above paragraph, I think it's the reality TV that has shot me off into a state of mindlessnessness, landing me in my current wasteland of dull ideas. Kerplunk. I think this because last night as I was climbing the stairs to go to bed, all I could think about was how brainless Billy Ray Cyrus is and how much American Idol sucked last night. But I should really give myself some credit for swearing off The Bachelor this season. I think it's a real sign of personal growth for me. I mean, I am 30 now.

Perhaps, though, I should take a lesson from my toddler boy. For weeks now, he has been on verbal strike, refusing to speak and wow us with any of the words he was quite close to perfectly articulating weeks ago. Gone, like...and you see, I can't even make a proper metaphor for this. Shameful. I suppose I could've said gone with the wind, but, God as my witness, that's just pathetic, and, hullo, unoriginal, babe. Anyway, SD and I were reading and learned that sometimes this happens to toddlers when they are concentrating on learning other skills, and that once mastered, the former skills return to merge with the newly-acquired ones. So, maybe, I have reverted to my toddler-brain and just can't juggle all my genius balls at one time. Yes, that must be it. After all, packing a dishwasher, laundering snotty sofa cushions, sucking up a carpeted ocean of goldfish -- all require significant concentration and skill, my friends. It's no wonder I can't write a poem.

And then there's the goddamn woodpecker on our roof. If the above skills weren't enough to construct an artistic dam, the restraint required to keep myself from mudering a bird is.

Maybe I need another theme week here? You know, like Fashion Week, because I think we can all say it was then that I reached the pinnacle of my genius.

Even in a rut, however, I count my blessings, every one of them. I have been drawn to this story on one of my new favorite blogs, written by Kate, mama to Evan and most recently, little Ben and Liam who were born prematurely with numerous complications, and who are struggling, day by day, to breathe and to live. Makes me realize how lucky I am to have a healthy, bustling, breathing, living boy, who is, by far, my (and his dad's) most creative and pleasing accomplishment.

I could really drone on and on because our boy-child is napping, and I am enjoying this unedited confessional of my artistic guilt. However, motor-skill refinement from behind the kitchen sink beckons. And soon, so shall the child. And the damn bird.

budding diamonds

Last week as I was browsing the MANY photo blogs I have bookmarked in my favorites menu, I found some great shots of wedding rings in flowers at Jen's photography blog. So, since I (a) am photography obsessed these days, (b) received some beautiful flowers from my husband for my birthday on Friday, and (c) adore my wedding and engagement rings, I figured I'd try to set up some similar shots. Here's my fave that I'm using as my BSM. Did a little tinkering in Photoshop with the overlay function, and, voila! I had a super-dee-duper, ultra-relaxing 30th birthday weekend. Thanks to my hubby for letting me sleep in and have some "me" time. Thanks to our boy for being so gosh-darn adorable and sweet. And, my gawd, thanks to Brian for getting us obsessed with The Office. Our lives will never be the same ;-) As always, for more best shots, go here! And happy Monday to you.

out with the old

Well, there it went: my 30th, come and gone. With the help of some cheesecake, a thin-crust pizza, chocolate eclairs, a bold red wine, and the first season of The Office on DVD, I crossed the threshold into the next decade of me. And so the collagen depletion begins. But looking on the sunny side, "30 is the new 20, you know," according to my very wise 19-year-old sister. And, you know, I think she is right.

In celebration of my new digits, I redid my blog header, as I'm sure you have noticed. And I gave myself a brand-spankin'-new title, which was long overdue. Happy Birthday to me. So, without further ado...welcome to the gloriously mundane life of me. My plan is to follow what many other bloggin' babes have done and to create a new tagline and design each month. I said that's the plan, but you may want to breathe while waiting because, you know, even though the mundane is glorious, it's just damn busy sometimes. All I'm sayin' is, it's always best not to expect too much. Now there's a positive sentiment.

Thanks to everyone for their birthday wishes and love. It's GREAT to be twenty again.