M + M = True Love 4 Ever

Let me tell you about my best friend in the whole-wide-world. Her name is Meagan, and our friendship started in middle school when she invited me over to her house to jump on her trampoline. I peed my pants that day. This only happens when I laugh uncontrollably (or occasionally when I sneeze really hard. Thanks, pregnancy.), so it's really a telltale sign of true friendship. Ever since then, we've been very close. Weirdly close at times. Our freshman year of college, we of course lived together, and we were DREADFUL homebodies. We would go to the dining hall that was adjacent to our dorm, have dinner, grab some ice cream cones, and go snuggle in Meagan's bed to watch Full House reruns. I know. LAME. We were both in quite a pickle because our boyfriends were far away and we thought we were going to simply perish without them. 

We didn't. We're still alive. And, oddly, we're not with those boys anymore. Go figure.

Ever since I've known Meagan she's had some slobbering boy chasing after her. In fact, she always has a boyfriend. But she's been dating the same (lucky) guy for a few years now, and he's the ONLY ONE I've ever liked with her. Not that it matters what I think. But, seriously. We're talking about a great guy here. Mark is funny, sincere, nice, cute, great with kids, cool, generous, truthful, and oh yeah ... a REALLY GOOD GUY. 

So, they're pretty much a "match made in heaven." And we're all kind of wondering when they'll finally tie the dang knot. I mean, Gosh you guys, you're 26 stinking years old. You're not exactly spring chickens or anything. Sheesh.

Last night, Meagan called me and told me a really funny story.

Mark surprised Meagan last night by telling her they were going to dinner at Mallorca, the site of their very first date. So, Meagan was all, "Holy crap, we're going to the first restaurant we ever went to, I'm SO TOTALLY getting ENGAGED tonight!" So, she painted her fingernails for the first time in 11 years so that the sparkly diamond would look lovely on her freshly-painted paws.

I guess they had huge amounts of food and when dinner was over, Meagan's expectant smile turned into her sobbing uncontrollably to Mark about how she thought they would be engaged by now, and how she's been waiting so long for this, and why can't it be tonight, Mark? Why?

So, he comforts her by saying it will happen soon, gets up to go to the bathroom, and when he gets back the server brings over a "complimentary dessert" that's covered in chocolate and berries. Meagan digs in (the next best thing to engagement being, of course, CHOCOLATE) and immediately strikes something hard with her fork. It's a box. With a diamond in it. 

The rest is history. I'm guessing if I would have listened really hard around 8:30 last night, I would have heard her shriek all the way from Cleveland. She's probably still totally HIGH with excitement of becoming engaged, but as soon as she gets around to sending me some pictures of the happy fiancees, I'll post them. CONGRATULATIONS you two!

My only question is, when is the wedding - and - when can La expect a little playmate? 

Meagan, thank GOD you painted your fingernails. Phew.

Fergalicious La

Twinsburg or Bust

La, Aunt M, Bro and I drove to Cleveland (Twinsburg, specifically) for the weekend. Our mission: Visit with family, have fun, drink wine, laugh a lot, oh ... and get Bro castrated. Poor Bro. I thought I would have to deal with a pathetic, whimpering pup for days after the procedure, but much to my surprise, he didn't even know anything was missing in that region (which only strengthens my theory regarding his manliness). He just went right on with his little weenie life. Such a champ. That-a-girl Bro! After the positive outcome of the neutering, I knew the weekend was only going to get better. 

And it did ...

Friday night, we went to Lolita in Tremont with our friend Marci and her mom Georgeann ... It's a little tradition we have. Very fun.

Here we are at my parent's house right before our night on the town. This photo was taken by my charming father, immediately after he told the pregnant one to shut up so he could take the picture. 

Yes, really. 

The evening was special because us girls never get together like this. Our moms were hilarous and the wine was delicious. 

La spent 2 days at Blossom Time in Chagrin Falls with her Daddy, Grandma Dale and Aunt Ashley, which she was very excited about. 

When I picked her up on Saturday evening, I took her straight over to Des, Alyssa and Diego's place. She got to "crack out" (La's term for laughing really hard) with one of her best buddies that night.

And baby "D" did a very fine job of looking cute. 

On Sunday, La hung out with (read: annoyed the living crap out of) her future husband who is also Marci's son, Anthony. She chased him around the courtyard of our favorite greasy Mexican joint a few times yelling "Ant-o-nee! Ant-o-nee!" and you could just see the annoyance in his eyes. But he put up with her, so that's good.

 

Here she is later that evening, following him around, asking him girly questions ("Ant-o-nee, what is your favorite princess? Is it Cinderella? Or is it Belle? Mine is Cinderella. What's yours? What's yours?") while he blatantly ignores her. 

So stinking cute, those two.

Sunday night, Aunt M and I went to Gamekeeper's with our buddies Meagan and Mark and happened to run into one of M's old beaus, Pete and also Ryan (La's dad). It was an interesting evening to say the least, but also a very good time.

Ribbons and Lace and ruffles. And more ruffles. About to die from ruffles.

La had a package waiting for her when we got home today. There's a package in our foyer almost every day, since we share the entry with 4 other units. Each day, she asks if the package is for her, and each day I say, "Nope." 

But today was her day. It was a gift from Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Joe that has been backordered since La's birthday. I tried explaining that it was for her birthday, and that it was supposed to come in March, but was on back order. La looked at me with a blank stare for a few seconds and then said, "Let's just open it!!!"

So we opened it. And although I saw a preview back in March, when Aunt Kathleen emailed the link to me, I still wasn't prepared for the ruffleage. Holy mounds of fabric. I should have known when the box's label read "Pettiskirt Place." Even Bro was surprised [frightened] by all the tule and lace. He acted the same way he acts when we're out walking and come across a harmless little fluffy white dog: COMPLETELY NUTS IN THE HEAD. Crazy-weenie mode sets in. He's intimidated by "fluff", I do believe. 

Once we settled Bro down and convinced him that the ruffles were not going to devour his little wiener self, we put it on La. The rest is history. I will never get the thing off her body. 

Ever.

Ace.

Photo courtesy of YSU Sports

My little brother is making us proud AGAIN ... Uncle Aaron has been named the Horizon League Pitcher of the Year for 2008. Neato.

Positive Reinforcement. Positive Reinforcement. POSITIVE. REINFORCEMENT.

... These were the words that I repeated in my head while trying to stifle the urge to holler, "GOSHDARNIT LA! JUST RIDE THE DANG BIKE!" 

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Fried Cheese Curds

On Thursday, Aaron pitched against the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee at Miller Park (Where they serve delightful deep fried cheese curds. I love Wisconsin). Lots of relatives showed up to cheer on my little brother and his little team. Exciting! Aaron started with a bang, and it was smooth sailing for the first 3 innings. 

And then inning 4 happened.

 

Now, no baseball event would be complete without my mother making a scene. The “mom scene” is anticipated, actually. 

Good thing she’s cute.

So, here we are at Miller Park, with the retractable roof shut — thus trapping sound waves in and intensifying the noise level — when some guy, who was sitting about 15 rows behind us started talking smack. Which is perfectly fine, because he was wearing UWM memorabilia and was all of 20 years old. College boys are supposed to talk smack at games. Linda, on the other hand, is a Youngstown MOM who’s well into her forties. Baseball moms are probably not supposed to talk smack. It’s an unwritten rule that is obeyed by baseball moms around the world. Except for Linda. I’m rather glad my mom doesn’t play by the rules. Heck, I’m not the one out there pitching my heart out while my mom heckles the crowd. Nope. Just an innocent onlooker gaining considerable enjoyment from the spectacle. Go Linda!

So, back to inning 4: UWM starts scoring. The ump makes an “iffy” call and deems one of Youngstown’s players safe when he may in fact not have been ‘safe’ per se. Guy-in-back starts grumbling loudly about how it was an unfair call and how the ump needs to get some glasses, etc, etc.  My mom WHIPS AROUND in her seat with hands on hips, glares at “dude” and proceeds to shake her head violently from side to side yelling, “WELL TOOOO BAD.” I was totally prepared for her to follow that line with “And you know what?! Na-na-na-na-boo-boo, stick your head in doo-doo!”

Dude stopped talking smack for a little while, while some other group started chanting a Tibetan Monk-sounding ditty that went something like "HEEEAAR COOOOMMMME THE PAAAANTHERS" ... which provoked Grandma Fern to mutter "Oh shut up" under her breath.

Then Youngstown scored, and the crowd of my relatives went crazy: cheering, high-fiving, turning cartwheels, etc ... and dude shouted right at us: "GO BACK TO YOUNGSTOWN!"

What? Come again? Go back to Youngstown?

Oh no he didn't. 

Every single person sitting in our group is from Wisconsin. A proud herd of cheeseheads, if you ever saw one. I could see the wheels of rage spinning in my mother's head. But it wasn't she that ended up dishing out the comeback. My uncle Tom (6 beers into the game) stood up and yelled, "I live in West Allis! (Stellar comeback) And you know what? Every one of us is from WISCONSIN!"

And then he sat down. The game continued. Youngstown won. The rest of the game was spent trying to keep La from breaking an appendage as she GALLOPED through the stands and trying to keep Aunt Heidi from having a premature heart attack (I don't think Heidi bought my "don't worry, La is very coordinated" spiel). 

Then later we went to P.F. Chang's where La got the best chocolate milk in the whole wide world. Life is good.

'Tis Spring (and aint it about time?)

Spring has officially sprung in Chicago. It's lovely. It's more than lovely. It's ENCHANTING. I feel like throwing my hands in the air and dancing in the street and rolling in the grass, all the while shouting WINTER IS OVER!

The above photo was taken right next to my building in a delightful little alcove overgrown with vines and sprinkled with tulips and ferns. All indigenous to downtown Chicago, of course. Check out the lilacs La and I found on our way back from Bed Bath & Beyond about an hour ago. I bought a blender, then picked some lilacs (from a corner not occupied by a home ... I didn't steal). Oh happy day!

I promise my next posting won't be as annoyingly sappy as these last two. I'm starting to gross myself out.

But, then again, IT'S SPRING! IT'S SPRING! Oh how I love SPRING!

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

It was the best Mother's day I've had so far. Just me and my baby girl hanging out in the morning, taking it easy, followed by a Target/Trader Joe's trip in the afternoon with Aunt M. 

La kept saying "Happy Mother's Day" all day long and telling me that I was her favorite mom in the whole wide world, and that she was so happy that she picked me for a mom (I haven't clued her in on the whole "luck of the draw" thing ... I'm thinking someday I can use it to my advantage: "What La? You're mad at me? Because I won't let you leave the house in that piece of fabric you call a skirt? Well, you're the one who PICKED ME for a mom, so deal with it!").

I can't believe how quickly she's growing. It seems like just yesterday she was a bald little munchkin, running around in diapers ... and now she's such a woman (aside from all the tooting and burping she does). Look at that little ladybug!

My baby girl is growing up! I don't know who I'd be without her. I'm so lucky to be her mom.

Double Header ... and then some

Today we drove to Valparaiso, IN to watch Uncle Aaron and the YSU Penguins play ball. Wow. It was a nail biter. Aaron pitched an excellent game against the Crusaders, allowing only one run. His team won, scoring 2 EMERGENCY runs at the very end of the game (VERY nerve-wracking. We all had our panties in a bundle. Except for La, who had her panties in a puddle). Now Uncle A's record is 6-0. Hot DOG! They lost the second game, but that's okay. During the two games, we sort of befriended the wife of the head coach of the OTHER TEAM, so we were actually relieved that she could go home and have a pleasant evening with her husband, rather than endure an hour-long soliloquy about how preposterous it is that a team called the Crusaders could not beat a team named after waterfowl that cannot fly.

Here's the team!

Whoops ... I mean, here they are (it's easy to see how one can become confused)! Go Penguins!

La met a look-alike friend at the game (Crusaders head coach's daughter). It was sad to leave, because they had developed such a friendship after game 2. Isn't it funny how easy it is to make friends when you're 4 years old? We practically had to pry them apart to leave the field.

Then we came back home to Chicago for a big impromptu sleepover, complete with grandparents. Dinner was fantastic ... Mexican. Yum. The ice cream was La's favorite part. And grandpa's.

It was a good day.

A Pot for Mama.

La made this pot for me at school for Mother's Day. Hers was the prettiest pot of all. And I made sure to tell her that her pot kicked all the other pots' butts. 

Fleur-de-thieves

Tonight I came home from work, rounded up the kids and set off for Aunt M's where she cooked dinner for us (very delicious), and I painted the infamous crusty window. Pink Magnolias (M's idea). I think it will fit in superbly at Aunt M and SB's new "shabby-chic" place. Hung from rusty chains in front of their dining room window, so that the light can stream in through the paint. Lovely.

I want one.

Should have stolen two of those bad boys. Darn.

One Man's Trash ...

Though the clouds were ominous and the weatherman's words were foreboding, La and I bravely ventured out of the house last night to meet up with Aunt M and friend Kate (soon to be Aunt M's roommate), whom I adore to pieces, who's right up there in the ranks of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, who shall now be referred to in my blog as "Sunshine Bear" (SB). Because that suits her better. 

Little ray of sunshine. 

To brighten my day.

Anywho ... We met the beloved SB and aunt M for some outdoor Mexican. Yes. Outdoor. We decided to live on the edge. Take some chances. So what if the forecast called for torrential downpours? SB was there. Who would rain on her sweetness? And guess what? It turned out to be a GORGEOUS evening, topped off with margaritas the size of our heads and a cute waiter. 

La took this lovely picture of the two of them:

Now, I don't know if you're aware, but Margaritas the size of your head sometimes cause you to do strange and wonderful things. It was roughly 8:00 pm and we were all chatting and walking back toward Aunt M's place. 

And then I saw it. 

It was nestled next to a dumpster in a gated enclave between two old buildings. It was calling to me. It was a stack of ancient, beat-up windows, probably from 1908 or thereabouts, with lovely chipped paint covering perfectly rotting wood and awesomely-cloudy, dirty glass between the panes. The artist in me cried out. FOUND OBJECT! FOUND OBJECT!

I had to have one of those windows so I could transform it into a work of art and display it on the walls of Aunt M and SB's new vintage-shabby-chic apartment, almost like a stained glass window, maybe hung from rusty chains or nailed into the wall with railroad spikes. Oh the thought of it! Thrilling! 

I SWEAR that the two of them were JUST as excited about the idea.

The problem was the iron gate. With sharp spindles on top. So, Aunt M, being her sensible self, rang some doorbells on neighboring buildings to see if someone could let us in. Nothing happened. So, in the partial light of dusk, with people walking by, I began to scale the gate. I almost got over the top of the gate, but one of the spikes ground its way into my hamstring. Ouch. Then a thought came to me. It came in the form of my father's voice lecturing about how irresponsible it would be to hurt myself while scaling a gate after drinking a giant margarita ... And in front of my daughter ... good thing he didn't see me do a backflip off of a swing at the park the other day. So I climbed down. 

Plan B: I proceeded to jam my arm into the itty-bitty gaps between the bars to see if I could turn the doorknob on the other side of the gate (which was protected by an additional metal box, further hindering my chances of opening the door). My hand fit and part of my arm, but not enough to reach the knob. Then I tried La's arm. Hers fit perfectly, but alas, was not long enough to reach the knob. We were about to walk away defeated, but I gave it one last try, contorted my arm a different way, and somehow REACHED THE LATCH. The door swung open and cheers erupted throughout the crowd (in my head).

We proudly carried our shining treasure back to Aunt M's apartment with grins on our faces (where it will surely sit for the next month while my artistic vision dwindles). 

You know it's been a good day at school when ...

... you drop your daughter off looking something like this:

And you pick her up looking like a cavewoman having a bad hair day:

The latter photo makes me want to reach into my computer screen and straighten her hair out with a comb and some spit. And then chop it all off because mere spit and a comb will not suffice.  As grandma Fern would say, Ee-gads!!! 

(grandma, I know what you're thinking. You have visions of fine-toothed combs dancing through your head. But just so you know, I will not allow La to enter your presence looking like this. I have enough emotional scarring from what you put me through as a child. Remember? Me: HUGE perm. Very ugly. Lots of tangles. You: VERY fine comb. HOURS OF TORTURE). How come I didn't know about conditioner (AKA: Cream Rinse for all you Fern's out there) until I was 12 years old?

Too Busy to Remember to do Squat

Yesterday, I was thinking of my crazy life and all the non-work related things I need to do this week, and cross-referencing my to-do lists in my head: Remember to give Bro his heart meds for the month of May, remember to bring tennis shoes to school for La, Oh ... and sunscreen, drop off movies at video store, pick up juice boxes, cancel Cable Guy, Install software on home computer, Buy dog food, Pay bills, Transfer funds (very important for the well-being of my checking account), Find a dentist that takes La's insurance, Design a masthead for Sass and the City, Pay the dog walker, Pay the daycare, Pay La's fitness instructor (yes, she has one that comes into her school once a week), Buy birthday cards, Clean my house, Order a one-way ticket to a faraway land ... stuff like that.

While I was mulling over these items in my head, I decided I should jot some of this stuff down to make sure I had a fourth list to cross-reference. So, I reached into the proverbial "junk drawer" in the kitchen and pulled this out:

I had forgotten entirely about this special gift. It's a notepad. To help me remember to do stuff. Because apparently I'm no good at remembering to do things. In case you can't see it clearly, it says: "Oh God! I'm so bloody blonde sometimes!" My uncle Mark and aunt Karen thought it would be funny to give me this for Christmas last year. It really made me feel warm and fuzzy all over. They made the "gifting" experience even better when they told the story of how they stumbled across the notepad. They apparently both saw it on a gift shop counter, then looked up at each other, and simultaneously said my name. 

I'm honored.

Crafty

This morning La and I raced to school. La won. 

Then tonight we had fun making these lovely flowers out of paper and pipe cleaners. La said she was going to save the ones she made and stick them in her wedding cake someday when she marries Nehemiah (her best friend from Cleveland). I said that was a great idea. 

So sweet.

One millisecond after she said that, she chucked her precious flowers she was saving for her wedding on the floor and ran into her bedroom completely panicking because she thought she had forgotten to pause Shrek while we did our craft. Priorities.

Speaking of Funny-Looking Birds That Have Wings But Cannot Fly ...

Last night, Grandma Lin called. She asked to talk to La. I overheard both sides of the conversation due to the fact that Grandma Lin raises her voice by about 100 decibels when she's on the phone. I would have been able to hear their entire conversation even if I walked into the other room. And I'm deaf in one ear. But, I digress. 

Here's how their little chat went:

La: Hi gramma. Can you send me a present?

GL: Sure! What would you like me to send you?

La: Ummmm. Hmmm. (pauses to think) ... A Peacock!

GL: A What?

La: A Peacock!

GL: What do you mean?

La: I mean I want a Peacock!

GL: Give the phone to your mom.

(La hands phone to me)

Me: Hi mom.

GL: What is she talking about?

Me: I don't know. Maybe she wants a little toy figurine of a peacock or something.

GL: Where has she seen a peacock toy?

Me: Don't know.

GL: Well (raises voice another 100 decibels) YOU MUST FIND OUT! Maybe she saw it at school. You need to scour her school in search of this peacock she speaks of! I have to send it to her! She'll be heartbroken if I don't!

Me: I'll try.

I no longer wonder why La is so spoiled.