Pumpkin Soup

This is not as sweet as a lot of pumpkin soups.  It was a HUGE hit with my baby and I am all for getting him beta carotene!

Ingredients

3 cans (15 oz each)  pureed pumpkin (NOT pumpkin pie filling) 
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 large carrots, coarsely chopped
3 celery stalks, coarsely chopped
2 large onions, coarsely chopped
1 leek (white and light green part only), washed and chopped
12 cups chicken stock
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 cup heavy cream or half and half

TO DO

In a large pot melt the butter cook the veg except for the pumpkin until they begin to soften, about 10 minutes. Add stock, pumpkin, cinnamon, and nutmeg and simmer for 45 minutes. Stir in cream and simmer, uncovered, another 5 minutes until warmed through.

Puree the soup with an immersion blender.

I served it with peasant bread lightly broiled with Gouda and thin slices of apples on top (put the apples on after the cheese is all melty and beautiful)

A Fabulous Halloween Story!

This is truly fabulous.  It is not my own story but I love it (and the teller) dearly so I have to pass it along.

My cosmic twin, Ody, is originally from Nigeria.  When he was about seven, his family moved to the US so his dad could go to graduate school (brilliant people make me happy!). 

Shortly after they moved, his parents went to a neighborhood Halloween party, leaving Ody and his two younger sisters home alone.  {I know, I know, nowadays that would mandate a call to CPS but back in the day everyone did this.  Even my paranoid parents would leave my brother and me in our cribs to have drinks with the neighbors.  They would come home after every round to check on us.  Those days are SO GONE now -- sadly}

Anyway, the doorbell rings and Ody answers it ONLY TO FIND GHOSTS, GHOULS AND WITCHES.  Fortheloveofgawd; panic ensues!  He immediately rings his parents who come rushing home and are horrified at the spectacle of goblins running the streets.

His mother sorts out that they going door to door and begging for food.  This is how it plays out in her mind "Here in wealthy America, children are sent out to beg for food while in costume so as to hide their identity."

She immediately starts doling out the staples for these poor children.  Why give candy to hungry kids, they need something more substantial?

Imagine being the child who gets home from Trick or Treating with frozen chicken and a can of green beans!

Why Mothers Drink (And Don't You Dare Judge Me for It)!

This is why mothers drink.  Not that I don't love my baby boy with all of my heart but, seriously, there are days when I am convinced that behind that charming smile (6 teeth!) and adorable giggle -- he is sinister and trying to kill me or, at the very least, break my spirit.

Before you get all defensive about the innocence of children, let me tell you about my experience yesterday.  If this episode is not enough to win you over to my side, well, you are simply not even willing to consider all the facts.

So, Hubby is going to visit his brother in Texas where they will make merriment, go to the beach and go to a Lynard Skynard (yes, I had to look up the spelling, I vaguely knew that there were y's in odd places) concert (and, in case you are curious, yes most of them are dead).  But whatever, it is his trip not mine.  Nary a spa or a shoe store on the agenda.  Just beer, golfing and a dead guy on the drums.

But back to the point...  sorry, I got distracted by something bitter.

Yesterday Colorado had this wicked snow storm.  The drive to the airport in Denver should take a little over an hour; yesterday it took close to three hours ONE WAY.  Oh egads.  Bebe downs his bottle and sleeps all the way up there.  As soon as we are back on the road to drive back to the Springs, bebe wakes up and is not a happy bunny.  He is hungry and needs to be changed.  Have I mentioned that the snow is coming down?  As in, if this were rain, it would be called a "frog drowner" or, as Hubby eloquently says "raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock."  Disgusting comment but it does paint an accurate picture. 

So, this snow is dumping and I am afraid to leave the interstate to pull over and change Baby Sweetness.  Because I am me a.k.a Worst Mother Ever, I don't have a bottle of water to mix with his formula.  So, he downs his second bottle as a mixture of formula and a grapefruit Izze.  He is not thrilled but, hell, any port in a storm and his childhood motto has quickly become "Improvise, Adapt and Overcome."  It is his 'rents first rodeo so we feel that we deserve a bit of leeway on details like this.  {Furthermore, to my credit, I was expecting a 2.5 hour round trip not a 6 hour blinding snow storm drama}.

So, bebe is relatively sated {if burpy} from his Formula, Grapefruit Juice, Sparkling Water Smoothie.  It is all in the marketing of the product, you see.  It is not that I am a bad mom, it is that he PREFERS grapefruit smoothies to plain, old, boring formula.  He needs a little zing in his life like everyone else. 

{Please be forewarned, if you are horrified by my parenting skills thus far, you might want to stop reading.  It quickly degrades from here}

All is well until we are 10 minutes from home.  He has apparently burped out the smoothie goodness and is hungry again.  Since he rarely cries, I am kind of panicking.  I rummage through the diaper bag but I have nothing edible except for two lip glosses, three lip balms and a sunscreen {they are all organic so I assume that they are, on some level, edible but I opt out of feeding him this.  Even I won't cross that line; thank you very much}

I rummage in my purse and there is nothing there either.  I normally have a fruit leather thing in there for him but I recently changed purses and it, apparently, did not make the transition.  Well, crap, crap, crap.  AH HA!  A chocolate bar.  BoNANza, all is not lost.  I feel (momentarily) bad about shoving chocolate down a 10 month old's throat but he is, evidently, on death's door from starvation so I quickly justify it to myself.  Here is my pathetic rationale:  1) it is organic and free trade so by medicating my baby with sweets, I am, essentially, saving the world  2) it is dark chocolate with orange peel.  Dark chocolate is good for Alzheimer's prevention and orange has Vitamin C so this is PRACTICALLY health food 3) if he does not stop wailing, I am going to drive us off the road and, for sure, that is worse than loading him up with chocolate, right? 

His car seat still faces backwards so I can't totally see what I am doing.  However, this is not my first rodeo so I aim for his mouth and I hear his sigh of contentment.  All is well.  Couple of squares is all he gets and life is bearable again.

Until we get home and I see what I have created.  For all you math people out there, here is a formula for you:

little chocolate + lotta drool = ONE BIG F-ING MESS

He has chocolate all over himself.  It is all over his face, stuck in his eyebrows, in his ears, up his nose, ground into his hair, down his shirt, in his diaper, in one sock (I have NO IDEA how it got there).  He sees the look of horror on my face and he starts laughing hysterically.  So hard that he is slapping his knees with amusement. 

Note to self:  dark chocolate stains platinum blonde hair.  On the top of his head, he now has a dark spot.  No worries, I know it will fade away within a week.  Sadly, I learned this lesson the hard way.  He ground a strawberry into his hair about a month ago and had a pink splotch of hair for a few days. One person actually asked me if I purposely dyed his hair to match my lipstick.  That dumb ass question did not even warrant a response.

If You Wanted Ethel, You Should Not Have Married Lucy

This was my status on Facebook and it has received a lot of comments... And, yes, for the record, I made it up.  Here is the story behind it.

Hubby and I rarely argue.  Trust me, it is not that we don't find one another BEYOND annoying occasionally, well, sometimes (oh alright, often) but neither of us are much into arguing so we let most of it pass.  And, besides, I am married to a rock star so I should {in theory} have no real complaints.  Sweetness, on the other hand, is married to me so I imagine that he (rightfully) has a laundry list of issues to harp about.  However, to my credit, I am a great cook and double-jointed so I get far more passes than I deserve.  Totally not fair to the domestically-challenged and the stiff but, hey, that is your problem.  Go to a couple of yoga classes and tell me if things don't improve in your marital arena...

That being said, when nerves are frayed, the baby is being, well, a baby and we are both three days past exhausted ... we get a bit short with one another.  The other night Hubs has THE NERVE to harp at me for being me.  Now I will fully admit that I have some annoying tendencies:  I have way too many handbags and shoes, I leave said shoes all over the place, we have mail all over the bar, I have no sense of direction (somehow I can even piss off my GPS with missed turns), etc, etc.

However, Hubs has the gall to act pissy because I am triple-booked and expecting him to save me from myself.  For those of you who don't know me, this is not an uncommon event.  In fact, I am overscheduled so often that it no longer is shocking or surprising to anyone who is even remotely associated with me.  This was not my husband's first time-crunch-rodeo-event so I could not imagine why he was slightly plussed much less angry.  Yes, angry!  "Hullo?  We've met, right?  You can't be surprised by this turn of events."

So, I am launching into the logistics acrobatic event in which I excel:  "Okay, I will take the baby to my Board meeting while you sign your client stuff.  Then, we can meet on the side of the road in front of Garden of the Gods and you can take the baby to his gym class.  I will pick him up and go to my lunch meeting while you do your AFA stuff.  While, you are there please go by the commissary and get those dried mushrooms, a lemon Fanta and some YoBaby - the squash kind, full fat."  Meanwhile, I will take the dog to the groomers and see the travel agent about my India tickets.  By the way, have you renewed your passport?  You need to do that, I want us to go to London en famille for Spring Break.  But back to today -- while I am driving to Denver, can you call..."

At this point, I get {rudely} interrupted and Hubby has the nerve to say {in an exasperated tone to boot}:  "How is it that your scheduling crises always become my logistical nightmare?  I have ONE THING on my calendar today."

CAN YOU IMAGINE?  To this I responded "If you wanted Ethel, you should not have married Lucy."

Post hoc ergo propter hoc

I am in my accounting class which, for the record, I LOATHE.  And please do not tell me "You are good in math, you should like accounting."  Post hoc ergo propter hoc.  For those of you who did not have the pleasure of a Classical Catholic education including Latin, that translates to "after this, therefore because of this" -- a logical fallacy. 

And, besides, it is not the mathematical side of it that I hate (and, once again, I do not have a degree in addition.  Thank you very much). 

Accounting is not math.  If it, were I would dig it.  Accounting is its own animal and I hate that beast.

Tonight is great because we are talking about present value and future value.  Seriously?  We have to explain exponents to adults?  This is making me think that I am Wyle E Coyote, Accounting Supergenius. 

And the girl who is asking the most ridiculous questions is playing Farmville.  Yes, I realize that I am blogging rather than paying attention but at least I already know everything there is to know about exponents and compounding interest.  Trust me, this is not being egotistical.  It is a basic tenet that mathematicians know 'pert near everything about exponents. 

Momma Day at the Farm

I love the fact that I live in a place (Colorado Springs) that has a communuity-supported organic garden -- Venetucci Farm -- in its midst. 

We went out there today and looked at the chickens, petted the horses and laughed our diapers off at the piglets.  For the record I am TERRIFIED of birds (please don't argue with me about this, it is my fear and I am entitled to one phobia) and these birds were free-range.  I photographed the moment so that when bebe is 14 and screams "I hate you!  You have never supported me," I will be able to calmly whip out the photos of me holding him in the midst of heirloom chickens so he would have that experience.  Take that, future drama king, I loved you enough to deal with feral chickens.  .

After the photo shoot, I threw up from nerves behind the barn but that does not count against me, does it?

Yahooooo!

I have a million things to do today.  I might have time to write a real entry later but just in case I don't...

A huge yahhhoooo and boNANza to a dear friend of mine (you know who you are) who just told me she is pregnant.  with twins.  I am so beyond happy for her, I am kind of beside myself with the wonder of it all.

She and her hubby will be the most amazing parents ever.  I envy those babies. 

Just a public thank you to the universe from me.  Well done, universe, spot on!

Weird - Ass Ad

So blogspot puts ads on my blog (so far earning me 4 cents today, I kid you not). 

I just happened to look at the ads and one is for crossdresser shoes.  The tagline is "Women's Shoes For a Man's Foot!" 

I write what I think is a sweet and witty story about my baby boy wrestling with the dog over salmon and the ad that best gels with that is a transvestite shoe store?  Really?  This is worse than the ad for machetes (delivered!) when I wrote about a riot in Africa.

Sadly, I am not making this up.

The Doggy Smack Down!

I hope this baby story translates to "paper" well.  If not, I can console myself with the fact that it is hilarious in person AND one of my favorite mom-moments yet.  Now that it is written somewhere, I will (hopefully) remember it and be able to regale him with it years from now. 

For those of you who do not know, sweet bebe favorite things on the planet thus far are me and his daddy, the dogs and eating -- and not necessarily in that order.  The babe loves, Loves, LOVES to eat.  And we have yet to find a food that he does not enjoy (well, except for a cider and onion soup -- I don't hold that one against him, though, we all found it to be gross).  Honestly, the bebe eats sushi, porterhouse with black truffle sauce, zucchini  and cress soup, yakisoba, miso, curry rice... you name it, he eats it.  (And, yes, worriers, we do feed him good stuff like broccoli, yogurt and hummus but all babies eat that so why recount it?)

So, a couple of nights ago I make one of his favorites:  salmon on a bed of steamed spinach.  We eat this brain-food-meal at least once a week and bebe CHOWS down on it.  Seriously, he eats about 1/3 of the amount of salmon I eat for dinner (yes, at 10 months of age.  Have I even mentioned that I have the coolest. baby. ever.  I dread trying to fill him up in high school but, for now, I am happy to have an eater on my hands.  Picky eaters make me tense). 

So baby is in his high chair and the beasts appear in case anything gets dropped or shared (bebe is more than happy to lick all the sauce off of a piece of penne, eat half of it and give the other half to his main squeeze, the bulldog Delilah).  I know, I know, it is disgusting to have dogs near the table but with the status of my house lately, I assure you, this is the LEAST of my hygienic worries.  So Humphrey and The Divine Miss D are in their places, salmon is warm, spinach is steamed, bib is on -- all is right with baby's world.

So, we are eating dinner and I am chatting away with him.  {Side note, sweet bebe normally babbles non-stop.  I know, I know, it is SHOCKING that I would have a child who talks early and often -- three words so far (mama, dada and, of course, dog  but I WAS FIRST, I WAS FIRST, I WAS FIRST.  Not that I am excited about that or anything).  However, during meal time bebe maintains radio silence.  Talking gets in the way of eating and he allows nothing to delay him from his yummies.  Nothing.}

So he is eating salmon and looking at Humphrey.  For the uninitiated Humphrey is a 150 pound, long haired something or other.  Possibly a Malamute.  Maybe part wolf.  His breed is not crucial but his temperament is.  He ADORES the baby.  Sadly, I would trust him to babysit long before some humans I know. 

Baby, unwittingly, has some salmon on his fingers.  He leans over to pat Humphrey and the salmon comes off on the dog's muzzle.  This is COMPLETELY unacceptable because, though he loves the dog, bebe loves salmon more.  Way more.  No Sophie's Choice for him.  Salmon to win, place and show, baby.

The baby sees that some of his dinner is on the dog and goes ballistic.  I mean totally apeshit.  Like nothing I have ever witnessed.  He grabs the dog with two hands (to prevent the beast's escape) and quickly deduces that he does not have anything to grab the morsel with.  So, he is frantically licking the dog and trying to get out of his chair for more leverage all while wailing (I swear it was something about starving children in Africa).  I have NEVER seen the baby more hysterical or panicky.  From totally mellow child to a screaming mimi; the transformation was unreal. 

Meanwhile, the best-natured-dog-ever is trying to avoid losing an eye or an ear to this onslaught but he is too afraid to budge.   You know in his doggy brain he is debating "Should I move and save myself from the hysterical kid who is screaming in my ear, licking my face, ripping out hair and tugging on my ears?  Or should I sit here and look like the good dog while calmly plotting the death of all of these losers?  Why did they pick me from the pound -- there was that nice elderly couple who had their eye on me too.  Old people watch tv too loud but they don't lick dogs.  What did I do to deserve this?  Is this karmic payback for licking myself during their dinner party or having gas on Christmas?" 

Sweet bebe finally inhales the salmon and calmly repositions himself to enjoy the rest of his meal.  The dogs have no idea what has just transpired but they want nothing more to do with this scene so they scurry off under the bed.  When an infant can manage to not only put the hurt on a 150 pound dog but also proceeds to teach his sidekick a lesson in the process...

Last Bastions of Me

I know, I know a totally dramatic title but it was all I could come up with.

So, in continuing the thoughts from yesterday -- if you feel like (or ever felt like) your life was out of control, what were the last bastions of your "normal self" you refused to give up, even when you felt like you were walking chaos (I often refer to myself as "chaos in heels.")

Since having a baby and losing control of my life and time, I have:  Stopped flossing regularly.  Cleaned out the fridge only once (in 10 months, insert 'ewww or egads' here).  Not checked out a library book (they expect them back in a timely manner).  Sent e-cards for people's birthdays, even significant birthdays.  Bought eggs at Target (only once, I am normally faithful to Whole Foods' organic Omega-3 eggs but I was desperate one night).  Had chipped toe polish.  Faked an orgasm so I could go to sleep 10 minutes earlier (I normally recommend against this practice since it sets a dangerous precedence.  However, Hubs is a rock star so I feel I am safe).  Put in only enough gas in the carto get me where I need to go because I am running too late to possibly fill the tank all the way. 

That being said, there are some things I can't bring myself to sacrifice yet.  Some of mine are:

1) I still change out my handbags more than the average bear.  Not as much and I used to (twice a week) but I still do it at least once a month.  Pathetic for me given my obsession but better than once a season or year (egads!).

2) When I put my shoes away, I still take the time to stuff the toes of them with tissue paper. I hate to see people with wrinkled leather or, worse, toes that roll up.  Ewwww!  However, I let them pile up by the door until it resembles a really trendy Stonehenge.  THEN I put them away, stuffed toes and all.

3) I wear mascara every day.  I am from Texas.  No further explanation necessary.  {And, no, I do not consider lipstick to be make-up, why do people always ask Texas girls that?  Of course we wear lipstick to the gym, we consider it to simply be a sparkly version of Chap Stick}.

4) We still eat organic and (mostly) made-from-scratch stuff.  The food industry today is what the tobacco industry was fifty years ago.  Processed food scares the bejesus out of me.

Do you have any last shreds of "I refuse to give this up even if I am on the Crazy Train?"

Signs of a Struggle

Does anyone else ever fear that if a government agent showed up at their house unannounced that their children would be taken away?

Now don't get me wrong, we don't abuse sweet bebe (even though he woke me up this morning with an extra wet zerbert on my ear -- loud, sticky and wet!  BoNANza, the baby trifecta!).  And God knows he eats better than anyone else I know (even on my most frazzled days, I still find time to make him homemade hummus -- organic, of course).  And he definitely has the best wardrobe going (is that a CPS offense -- "poorly dressed in hand-me-downs from year's gone by Old Navy clearance?"). 

However, our house is a total wreck.  As in, if we were to go missing and the police searched the joint, in their report it would say "signs of a struggle."  There is mail and paper everywhere.  I have half-opened birthday gifts all over the place.  The Economist is piling up (btw, if you are a subscriber, you can download The Economist and someone will read it to you.  I know, I know, this is supremely lazy but, since bebe, I don't have time for a bubble bath with wine and The Economist -- the guiltiest of pleasures for geeks.  So now I have someone read it to me while I commute to graduate school.  I am pretty sure that this soliloquy is too long for a parenthetical reference but I can't be bothered to edit so you will simply have to adapt.  Apologies to really retentive readers.  Get a new blog if you are offended by entire sentences and thoughts consisting of "seriously?" and "boNANza."  It is free, what do you want for nothing?). 

But back to my train wreck of a life...  I still have not written thank you notes for bebe's Baptism gifts (his Baptism was in July.  I actually used to pride myself on my thank you notes.  Cute monogrammed paper (I am Southern; we heart monograms like no one else) with a heartfelt and humorous thanks.  Perhaps an enclosed newspaper article about something I found witty or interesting.  Now I am lucky to toss off a "thanks for the stuff" when I run into you at the farmer's market.  It is not that I don't have the best of intentions but to find five minutes, my stationery, a pen and stamps at the same time -- well, that is simply not possible of late).  Yes, another large parenthetical statement.  But how I love the word "parenthetical."  Say it out loud with me ... it is a crowd pleaser.

I have paperwork for my trip to India all over the place.  There are gift certificates from silent auction items (that expired years ago) languishing in drawers.  We have not been able to walk in to the office in over a year.  Honestly, our office is the definition of "leap of faith."  You have to leap over a pile of random stuff and have faith that you will find solid footing upon your landing.  I did this once while 9 months pregnant, landed on glossy (read slick, not solid) magazines, skidded across the room and plowed into the glass door of what is perhaps the world's largest armoire.  Seriously, I feared that the baby and I were doomed.  I, honestly, don't think I have been in the office closet since -- too harrowing. 

Hell, I used to read.  For pleasure (not accounting texts or Good Night, Moon -- does anyone else find that lady and her cat creepy?  I have changed over to Suess for bed time cuddles, that Moon lady gives me the sheemies).  I used to read at least two books a week.  Now I am lucky to get that done in a month.  Once again, my mantra of "what has happened to me?"

Has this happened to anyone else out there?  I would love to hear about it if so...

My Personal Bucket List

In honor of my birthday last week, I have decided to publish my personal Bucket List. Yes, I know, it seems like an obnoxious way to honor a birthday but since, according to my brother, I am "halfway to dead," I might as well make a list of the important stuff I want to do with my time left.

I don't know about you but I seem to fill a lot of my time with the minutiae of life and then seemed shocked that another week/month/year has passed.

Bucket List (still to do):

1) visit India
2) visit China
3) visit Tibet
4) write a book
5) run a 10k
6) learn to surf
7) scuba dive
8) visit Vermont
9) own a horse
10) speak another language (or four) fluently
11) learn to sail with a compass and geometry rather than electronic gauges
12) climb a 14er
13) vacation on a houseboat (a la the Bobbsey Twins)
14) live in DC
15) walk the Cinque Terre
16) Machu Picchu
17) Carivale in Brazil
18) Visit New Zealand (thanks Rob!)
19) spend a full week in Lyon eating and cooking
20) go truffle hunting
21) own a Chanel suit
22) re-read all of Any Rand's books (as a "real" adult I am sure they will be different than they were in graduate school)
23) serve on a corporation's Board of Directors





Things That Used to Be on My Bucket List (But I Have Already Done):

1) live in a foreign country (Done: Greece, Italy, Belgium, and France)
2) visit Africa (Kenya, Rwanda and Tanzania)
3) have a baby (the ever-so-perfect bebe boy)
4) start a blog (duh!)
5) learn to cook properly
6) practice yoga
7) have a bulldog (Mugsy and Delilah)
8) have a sheepdog (Moses)
9) drive on the Autobahn (not as exciting as I thought it would be)
10) learn to make sushi (the gift that keeps on giving)
11) serve on several Boards of Directors
12) shop at the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul
13) cruise the Greek Islands (well, not all of them -- that is a lot of cruising!)
14) fly in a helicopter (once again, not as exciting as I thought it would be)
15) ride horseback down an Italian beach
16) win Lifetime Achievement Award for Volunteerism (over 4000 hours to Junior League)
17) know how to make a soufflé, crème brulee and spring rolls (yes, from scratch)
18) ski the Alps and the Rockies
19) be someone's Fabulous Auntie Mame
20) visit Ireland, Italy and France (I think I have been to 60 countries or so)
21) be quoted
22) say a prayer at Notre Dame, St Peters, Westminster and a Buddhist temple
23) cooking classes at Cordon Bleu in Paris
24) have friends from all over the world
25) own an Hermes and a Dior bag (1H and 5CD)


I would LOVE to hear your additions and recommendations!  {And, yes, I reserve the right to add/delete/edit my BL at will.}

My Hubby the MetroSexual

Sweet hubby makes me laugh.  He actually said recently "You know, doll, I think I am pretty metro-sexual." 

I was shocked that 1) he even knew that word and 2) that he would EVER think of himself as metro.  Seriously?  The man has worn pants bought from Home Depot.

However, I was trying not to be cruel so I asked him "And what would make you think this, honey?"

"I am wearing brown shoes."

Sadly, he was serious.  "I bought you those shoes against your will.  I am not sure that this counts as metro."

"Nope, I am decidedly metro.  Trust me on this one."

So I ask him the following questions:

"Where do you get your haircut and how much does it cost?"
"On base, eight bucks including tip."
"A metro man goes to a salon and pays over $50 for a haircut."
"You gotta be shitting me, fifty bucks?"

"Okay, next question.  Would you ever get your hair highlighted?"
"Uhhh, is that the stripy stuff girls do to their hair?"
"Yes, the stripy things.  Would you ever do that to your hair?"
"Guys can do that?"
"Point made.  Next question"

"Would you carry a man-bag?"
"Why would I need a purse?"

"Do you like Michael Buble?"
"Who?"
"Once again, point made."

"Would you prefer a glass of champagne or a bottle of Shiner?"
"Do you need to even ask that?"

I love this man with all of my heart and I am honored to have him as the father of my baby boy.  But metro he isn't. 

It Is My Birthday Today

so no time for a huge post.  However, here is some cool stuff:

** got flowers last night from bff (they are gorgeous!) with the sweetest card ever.  I adore you more every year too.
** Sweetest Hubby ever brought me pink roses.  He chose pink because he wants me to know that I am still youthful and girlie in his eyes.  Funny part of that is that the roses are coral.  I swear he is color-blind but somehow the AF never noticed it.  {Speaking of, my fave OPI nailpolish EVER was Shoot Out at the OK Coral.  I so love their names}
**  got a facial this morning (best hour ever)
** had Japanese for lunch with Hubby and bebe.  I have the coolest 9 month old ever.  He ate miso, sushi and yakisoba.  The universe knew what it was doing when we were gifted with low-maintenance, happy eating baby. 
** talked to T&O who called from London.  Madly in love with them.
** talked to my brother who declared I am "half-way to dead."  The boy should write greeting cards.

Sadly, now I am in Accounting Class which  I wanted to skip but really could not since next week is the mid-term. 

I have decided that I need the pink enamel cupcake charm from Tiffany to celebrate Scotch and Cupcakes... fabulous idea, no?

My Husband, the Test Pattern

My husband, Ken, has a million amazing characteristics and a few horrid ones. Of course, I focus on the "awfuls" and publicize them to the www. What are marriages for if not public humiliation? To his credit, his flaws are all superficial ones, nothing horrid like being a bruiser or having poor table manners.




That being said, the man has no sense of style. Not that many white, American, heterosexual guys do... but he is appalling beyond what is acceptable for his ilk. And, if you think I am being {needlessly} critical, let me plead my case:



He was going to go to the gym wearing red sweatpants (why he even has red pants, I don't know) and a green sweatshirt. When I told him he looked like one of Santa's colorblind, little helpers he got all cranky with me.



His favorite, lucky hat is missing half the bill because the dog chewed it. This does not stop the fashionista from wearing it unless the sun is really strong and he feels that he needs more sun protection.



He has, on more than one occasion, bought pants at a hardware store. Who knew Home Depot sold pants?



So now I hope you see that the following story is not simply me being mean nor was this incident simply an anomaly.



Ken worked at NATO HQ for the SACEUR Wesley Clark. At this time, the ruckus was going on in the former Yugoslavia so Sweetness was working a million hours a week. He was also on television all the time (seriously, it was a daily occurrence for months) as an extra in the NATO saga.



I am working in Milan and, upon getting back to the hotel room, pop on CNN to see what is going on in the world. I see from the corner of my eye this test pattern thing. My first thought was "how could someone leave the house looking like that? Is he blind? What kind of pathetic creature... Has his wife stopped loving him? Fortheloveofgawd, what happened here?"



Upon closer inspection, I realize that the "pathetic creature" is my beloved. OH DEAR GAWD! Let me explain his outfit: light gray suit (fine), sage green and black striped Bugle Boy shirt (this was about 10 years after Bugle Boy stopped being remotely cool. I have no idea how that shirt made it through so many moves) and a cheap silk red tie with water stains on it.



Sadly, this was not one of those times that he was only "coast to coast" for a few minutes. Nope, the world had to witness this color/pattern debacle for TWENTY FULL MINUTES! Oh the horror!



I am going to make my fortune on Garanimals for Adult Men.

Randomness

Anyone who says "There is no such thing as a stupid question" has never answered my phone.

I was telling someone that I hope my son is not one of those dinosaur kids.  Not that I don't dig natural science but I am not so into dino and friends.  She totally nailed me with her response "If your child is into dinosaurs, you will go get a degree in Palentology to make him happy."  Pathetic but true.


When my niece was a baby, we called her the bag lady.  She had to tote a bag with her everywhere she went.  And not a cute Furla or Valentino... Noooo, baby girl had to carrry either a paper gift bag or a plastic shopping bag.  Well, bebe boy has to carry a wooden block with him everywhere he goes.  Bag Lady meet the Block Head.

I once told my husband after an argument, "A divorce sounds like too much paperwork, I would simply kill you instead.  And make it look like an accident.  Sleep well, honey."

Remember how we used to mock the guys wearing khakis at clubs?  Now we are married to them...

My brother's friend is in a Fantasy Football League. Not blog worthy except for the twist. For their draft to be official, it had to be witnessed by a garden gnome.

Need Some Help There, Sailor?

Since it is 6.30 on Monday night and I have not posted since Thursday... a quickie but an AWESOME quickie (insert your cheeky comment here).

Warning: if you easily offended by sex and sexual content, this is not the posting for you.


So, several years back some friends of ours were doing the Artificial Insemination thing or some kind of fertility testing. Regardless, the point is that the clinic needed a semen sample.


Our friend goes into the room and a hot nurse enters the room. She has porn in her hand; he is pretty excited about this whole prospect. Hot nurse and porn? BoNANza! {Side note: how gross is used community porn? I can't get beyond that concept.}


The nurse asks him "Do you want to do this the old-fashioned way {here she indicates the porn} or do you want me to help you {here she indicates her other hand}?"


My friend is BESIDE himself? Hot nurse, porn AND a hand job? He is now pondering becoming a professional sperm donor. Double boNANza!


"Uhhh, if you would like to assist, that would be great."


"Okay, if you can lean over a bit so I can be behind you," Hot Nurse purrs.


He leans over and is beside himself with excitement. At this point, unbeknownst to him, she whips out a huge needle that she shoves into his testicles to extract her sample.

My friend 'pert near came unglued. In a very high-pitched voice he screams "THAT was your idea of helping me along! I thought you were offering me a hand job."


She says in a silky voice directly into his ear "I know you did."

What Color Is Your God?

Running late today and I have to get to the University of Denver so just a quickie...

Yesterday I am at Whole Foods. I LOVE Whole Foods, it is like a very well-lit, well-organized crack house (well, organic crack -- that is good for you). I have been known to weep in their cheese section. Sad, no?

Okay, so... let me reiterate I love Whole Foods but not the crazies that find me there. There seem to be three kinds of people who shop there: foodies, health-conscious types/hippies and crazies. I am a combo of the first two with perhaps a dash of crazy. Just enough madness to keep things interesting.

That being said, yesterday bebe and I bebop in there en route to a play group (does this make me a suburban yuppie mom or what?). This woman points to the baby and says "Is that a baby?" I look at her asusming she will further explain the question.  With no answer forthcoming, I tell her "No, he's a hermit crab." This stuns her but does not prevent her from following me around asking a lot of odd questions (why do people think it is okay to ask a total stranger about circumcision, bowel movements and the like?) She also made very loud proclamations about how beautiful he is and how she can see that he has a great aura about him. Fabu, lady, please move on. Bebe, thankfully, snoozed through this staccato... alas. Why could he not have sneezed yogurt on HER? Nope, that pleasure was reserved especially for me to add fun to my morning.


Side note:  do not think you can simply wipe yogurt out of your hair and all shall be well.  Nope, all it does is dry crunchy and fruity-smelling.  When you try to brush it out 1) it hurts and 2) it leaves pink dandruff-esque things all over your cashmere. 

But back to the story....  I finally ditch the Crazy-Woman-Who-Is-Unable-to-Differentiate-Basicpecies and Crazy Part Two (CPT) appears.  Seriously, is it my perfume or 99 cent chicken day that is making these peole flock to me?

CPT: God wants me to talk to you and for you to come to church with me.


me:  This requires more details.  Did God reference me specifically or was it more of a "the next person to buy a nectarine?"


CPT: {completely unfazed and undeterred} you specifically


me: Then what is my name?

CPT: I am sorry, I am not privy to that level of information.


me: Seriously? God has different levels of security clearances? And you are only cleared to bother people in produce?

CPT: So do you want to come to church with me or not?


me: Not. Thank you.


{Is ending this pow-wow going to be THAT easy?}


CPT: Why not? God wants you to!


{My hopes for an easy getaway are dashed}


me: Alright, lady, focus on what I am saying because I am only going to say this once. I have three basic tenets for religions that are considered acceptable in my book. Not that I will follow them but for them to even be considered a viable alternative.  First, does it preach violence and hatred? Against "non-believers" or groups that it does not like? As in "How does your religion feel about Muslims and homosexuals?" If it doesn't embrace both of these groups, I am not interested.

CPT is stunned into silence.


me: Tenet two: Does you religion insist that I go door-to-door to convert people? If so, not interested.  I hated selling Girl Scout cookies {and everyone loves a good Thin Mint but it still made me uncomfortable}.

CPT: We are all obligated to share the Good News when the spirit moves us.


me: Oh boy.  Furthermore, Tenet 3... and this is a biggie. Do you accept evolution as a scientific fact or merely an opinion propogated by pagans?


CPT: My preacher says evolution did not happen.

me: Your religion has failed my pre-test. Thank you for inviting me but I must take a pass.

CPT: You would dare to defy God and His wishes?

me: God, no. You, yes. Please don't assume that God is talking to you. It could me that you need more fiber in your diet or you need to change your meds. My God is not a homophobic, science-averse, door-to-door salesman.