Shwollen Wipsh (or – Swollen Lips)

I got a call at work today from La's school. They said she fell on her way to the park and busted her lip open ... OUCH. The teacher on the phone told me that she was fine and that I shouldn't worry (me? worry? psht.) ... But when I picked her up this afternoon, I saw the extent of the damage. Her bottom lip was swollen and bloody and her upper front teeth were black and blue at the gum line. 

NOT. GOOD.

Poor thing. 

She had oatmeal and pudding and soup for dinner tonight. In that order. I don't think she'll be biting into an apple anytime soon.

Speaking of soup ... 

Aunt M and I made delicious cream of asparagus soup tonight from scratch. Then we brought the soup into the realm of HEAVENLY BLISS by topping it with homemade parmesan-crusted croutons (made from rustic bread from the farmer's market) and a soft-poached egg. BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE ... I don't know if you can handle this ... BUT THEN ... we sprinkled the top with rosemary from Penzey's Spices.

OH, SWEET, SWEET, DELICIOUS JOY.

Even La couldn't get enough of it. And the best part is that it was 100% fat-free.

(just kidding about the fat-free part. We put a whole 8-oz container of heavy whipping cream in the stuff and topped it with parmesan. I'm lucky I made it home without any arteries clogging.)

ROCK STAR (at least to the 54 residents of Twinsburg who still read the newspaper)

My little bro made the paper today. I'n that cute? Check it out!

Running a Tight Ship (or not)

Some folks might call me a TEENSY BIT of a pushover. I'm not really what you might label a "rigid" or "controlling" sort of mother (which I think is FABULOUS ... contrary to what others may feel). I operate under the idea that in order for my child to develop as a creative, unique, strong individual, she must learn who she is all by herself. And if that means letting her put a feathered boa and grass skirt overtop her winter parka to go grocery shopping with me on a snowy winter day, so be it. La functions beautifully under this sort of government. 

Sure, I have rules. La is not allowed to say mean or hurtful things, she must treat others with respect, she has to eat her veggies (I have proof in the video below), and she has to help me clean up her toys (usually). Stuff like that. She's a great kid. Her teachers simply love having her in their classroom.

But lately, I've been feeling  like she needs a bit more structure. I don't want to bruise her sweet little free spirit, but I would indeed like to curtail all the shameless burping and tooting she does in public.

I think etiquette lessons would be a bit overboard, but maybe a ballet class would do the trick.

I've been thinking about enrolling her for a while now. I didn't really come up with the idea myself. La puts on her tutu and dances around the house all the time, twirling gracefully, just spinning and spinning until I myself get dizzy. Then she suddenly stops all that nauseating spinning – dead in her tracks – and looks me straight in the eye without a single wobble and says, "Oh, mommy. I wish I could have ballet lessons!" 

And then my heart melts. 

It's just that ballet is SO INSANELY AND OUTRAGEOUSLY EXPENSIVE here in Chicagoland. I've been searching online and finally found a place that is relatively cheap (less than $20 per class), and it looks like it is rigid enough (yet fun enough too) to whip her loudly-tooting derriere into shape. Their website looks like it was designed BEFORE the dawn of the world-wide web (read: it STINKS), so I was thinking I could even work out a little swap. Like, hey, I'll fix your gross website if you give my kiddo free ballet classes.

I'll let you know how that conversation goes. 

I was browsing through the photos of the children in the classes, and they looked so ... formal. I guess ballet is a pretty formal art-form. Then I read the description of how the little level-2 ballerinas are supposed to come to class:

For ballet, plain black leotard, short, cap, spaghetti or tank sleeves. NO criss crossing, aerobic or halter style straps. No high cut or aerobic cut legs. Pink tights. Pink shoes that fit like a glove with elastic straps sewn on. Hair up in tight bun (tight pony tail, very flatly put into bun, use lots of pins, hair net), minimal bangs.

Yikes! I guess there are no grass skirts allowed, La.

If I had been enrolled in this class when I was La's age, I would have been kicked out the very first day on account of the "minimal bangs" rule. My bangs stretched across my forehead from ear-to-ear and started at the crown of my head. Yes. I was ALL BANGS. And so was Aunt M. I remember my mom accidentally cutting M's ear while giving her BANGS a trim. Since when are bangs located anywhere near one's ear? I'll tell you when. In 1986 (see below).

So, I think we're going to give the ballet thing a twirl (ha). She won't start until the fall, so we'll have lots of time to find the perfect ballet slippers. And we'll make sure that they fit like a glove. We wouldn't want to be reprimanded by the ballet police on the very first day.

Dinnertime.

The following conversation took place 40 seconds ago:

Me: What do you want for dinner, La?

La: Peanut Butter and Jelly!

Me: That's not really a dinner food. What did you have for lunch at school today?

La: Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Me: Then you CERTAINLY cannot have Peanut Butter and Jelly for dinner tonight! I think you should have some peas.

La: I was just kidding.

Me: About what?

La: About having Peanut Butter and Jelly for lunch.

Me: Oh yeah? Well then what did you REALLY have for lunch?

La: Peas.

Oh the trickery. And at such a young age. 

Growing Up Way Too Fast

La is sitting next to me right now watching Bambi. Thumper just delivered his famous "If you don't have nothin' nice to say, don't say nothin' at all" line. 

La should take his advice. 

I'm a little worried about La watching Bambi because although we've owned the DVD for years, she's never actually watched it before. I remember the tragedy that ensued the afternoon Grandma Fern and Grandpa took Aunt M and I to see it. I was a little older than La and M was only 2 or 3 years old. It was the first time we had been to the theater, and we were absolutely THRILLED to be there.

Until Bambi's mom got shot.

Quite the buzz-kill, Disney. Yeah. Good job. 

If you haven't seen the flick, or just don't remember, Bambi's mama totally gets shot about 20 minutes into the movie. And it's not just a little shot to the leg. She totally DIES. Why does Disney ALWAYS do that? It's like it can't be a Disney film unless someone dies a tragic death. Back in 1986, M and I sobbed uncontrollably for the remainder of the movie, and I believe we had to be escorted off the premises before the film was over. 

I hope La's reaction is a little better than ours were.

----------------------------------------

So, I've been having this achy feeling lately about how quickly La is growing up. I scooped her up in my arms yesterday and told her that I wish she could just stay little forever and for always. I still feel like she's a baby, even though she clearly is not. I just REALLY don't want her to grow up. 

Is that normal?

I took this picture on Friday before we left for work/school. When I look at her each day, she still seems so little and sweet and babylike. Then I take pictures of her and she looks like THIS sassy little bombshell: 

The above photo was taken yesterday at Nordstrom, just after Aunt M had her makeup done. La couldn't stand it that M was in the makeup chair and she wasn't. So the nice tattooed woman with the plugs in her ears put some clear lipgloss and peach blush on La after she was finished with M. 

Like I said. She's just growing up way too fast.

OKAAAY. Bambi's mom just got shot. And even though I've been typing and not really paying attention to the movie, tears are welling in my eyes. Need to go hug La. I have a feeling that the waterworks are swiftly approaching for the both of us.

Just Plain Irritating.

I am completely in love with my neighborhood. People are friendly, buildings are gorgeous, Lake Michigan is only 2 blocks away, there’s tons of shopping within walking distance. But there are two things that could use some serious improvement: 

1. The public library (which I will gripe about in depth at a later date)

2. The local grocery store (which is the sole topic of this lengthy post)(oh, and, if you're not in the mood for unyielding complaining, you need not read on)(and if you are in the mood for unyielding complaining, you have big problems)

I was quite spoiled by many of the amenities that suburban Ohio life offered when I lived there. In Twinsburg, our library was sprawling, with virtually unlimited resources and a plethora of smiling faces anxious to help me find whatever it was that I was looking for. 

In East Lakeview … Not so much.

In Twinsburg, there is a Heinen's less than one mile from where I used to live. For grocery-getters in the metro-Cleveland area, Heinen's is a lush land of plenty. The aisles are wide enough to accommodate TWO CARTS AT THE SAME TIME. The veggies are fresh! The floors are made of gleaming hardwood! The store is pleasantly lit by strings of halogen lights suspended from the stylish loft-style ceiling! The food is not expired! There’s a sushi chef! The employees wear bowties and ask how your day is going! And best of all, the prices are CHEAP, CHEAP, CHEAP. Like, I can get a whole cart of groceries for a little over $100 at Heinen's … If only I would have realized what a tremendous bargain that was while I lived there. 

At The Marketplace in East Lakeview … none of the aforementioned splendor exists.

Okay, okay. The employees also wear bowties at The Marketplace. But that’s where the similarities end. The place is a wretched, dark, dank, expensive rattrap that makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. But, if I'm not in the mood to hunt down my car and lose my precious parking spot to drive to Trader Joe's or Whole Foods, I have no other options in the way of groceries. Unless you count the Walgreens at the end of my street. 

I would like to share with you an experience I had yesterday while picking up a few items at The Miserable Funk Hole:

I was in a huge hurry to get to Aunt M’s to make our famous Lasagna (which is only famous among one person … our friend Phil Thompson. He loves the stuff). So, I walk into the Hole-O-Funk and proceed to the dairy mold section to get the supplies (Not kidding about the mold. My cousin Jessica and I were at the Market Place once and found a package of sliced Colby that was COMPLETELY green and blue. Just saturated with slimy diseased mold. Um, NASTY.) … and La starts YELPING for me to buy yogurt. So I scan the over-priced yogurt case and grab the ones that are on sale. I have to talk La into liking the ones on sale, because she much prefers Original Yoplait to the “Thick n Creamy” stuff that I tossed into the cart. I finally convince her that the words "Thick n Creamy" are not synonymous with "Poison" by telling her that this kind tastes EXACTLY like ice cream.

Then she suddenly remembers her toothpaste that I dropped in the toilet that morning.

FOR HEAVENS SAKE.

***It's true, I did indeed drop her toothpaste in the toilet. And it's also true that her toothpaste is very precious to her. It's the kind that tastes like bubblegum and has four Disney Princesses on the front. It was a total accident, but La seems to thing that my intentions were to RUIN HER LIFE by dropping her beloved toothpaste in the toilet.

At this point, all I want to do is get to Aunt M’s and MAKE SOME STUPID LASAGNA.

Those of you who know my sweet, sweet La know that she is rather RELENTLESS. So I quickly motored over to the toothpaste/cat food/feminine hygiene/drain-o aisle to grab some princesspaste and get her to stop whining.

Which is where I discovered that The Market Place does not carry children’s toothpaste.

I STILL need Mozzarella, Cottage Cheese and Ricotta. I explain the situation to La – she doesn't buy it – so I end up having to lift her up so she's eye-level with the toothpaste so she can see for her self that there IS NO PRINCESSPASTE. I run back to the dairy section and pick up the Mozz and Ricotta with no problems, but there are 2 different kinds of cottage cheese to choose from. I'm in a hurry, so I skip straight to the nutritional info on the back of each carton and opt for the one that has 8g of fat per tablespoon rather than 4. The more fat, the better the taste.

I grab the remainder of my goods and make my way to the checkout. The chick behind the register starts ringing my items up, punching in the numbers with her 4-inch acrylic nails. The yogurts are ringing up at a dollar apiece. My fists clench. I speak. “Oh, pardon me miss, but I believe those yogurts are supposed to be 4 for $2.00.” She’s like, “Uh, yeah, that’s what they’re ringing up as.” And I’m like, “Hmmmm. I know I’m no good at math, but I believe that 4 of those puppies at $1.00 apiece comes to FOUR dollars. Not two.” 

She just stares at me.

I’m in a hurry so I just pay her, grab my “reusable grocery bag” and walk away. As I’m heading toward the door, I start feeling like I got ripped off ROYALLY. So, I pass the exit and go straight to the “Customer Care Scare” desk. I tell the woman my dilemma, and she pulls out the weekly circular ad to see if I’m indeed speaking the truth about the yogurts. After 3 whole minutes of her thumbing through the pages, she’s like, “Oh. I see. The offer is only good on Yoplait Thick n Creamy LIGHT. You have to read the fine print.”

Light?

LIGHT???

Who in the heck buys a yogurt that goes by the name of “Thick n Creamy” and at the same time calls itself “Light?” Isn’t that an oxymoron? 

Oh the agony.

So, I politely remove myself from the premises while La incessantly asks me “Why did you drop my Princess Toothpaste in the toilet? Why?” and I repeatedly respond with, “La. I didn’t mean to. I will buy you some new toothpaste tomorrow when I go to work.” She asks me this very same question exactly 58 times before I get to M’s front door.

I walk inside, preheat the oven and get to work mixing the cheese. I open the cottage cheese, and a sickeningly sweet and fruity smell wafts up toward my nose. I look at the FRONT of the label. It says, “Cottage cheese (and then below in FINE PRINT) with REAL pineapple chunks.”

Oh, good lord. 

They give me TWO MEASLY choices of cottage cheese and one of them is mixed with tropical fruit.

I HATE THE MARKET PLACE – and – I HATE FINE PRINT.

From now on, I’m ordering Pea Pod. They deliver groceries right to my door, and I GUARANTEE it’s fresher and cheaper.  

A Beautiful Day for A Dark Knight.

Today, I went to work and did my thang just like any other day. 

EXCEPT ... (oh the suspense!)

... today, I snuck out with my coworkers at 11:15 (and walked down 20 flights of stairs) to meet up with our boss near the Sears Tower to go on a special little family outing. Let's just call it a "creative day." We hopped on a Shoreline Water Taxi and took a nice breezy cruise through downtown Chicago.

Here are some of my work buddies. Cute bunch of folks if you ask me. 

And here's me with our ever-so-generous and wonderful boss, Jim: 

(Who, me? A kiss-up? Naw.)

We sailed past the buildings that I pass every day on the bus during my commute, but somehow they looked much more grandiose from the river below. 

Here's a river-shot of the work-in-progress Trump Tower. If you stare at it long enough, you're like, "Dude. I get it. You're a great big, world-class, made-of-glass TRUMP TOWER ... Darn showoff."

And here's the building where they shot the "penthouse" scenes from The Dark Knight. 

Neat, man.

This was shot while looking back at the city from Navy Pier, where we docked and got off the boat ...

AND WHEN WE GOT OFF THE BOAT ... We walked inside the IMAX theater and watched the sold-out 1:00 showing of The Dark Knight. 

WHAT A MOVIE. 

I walked out of the theater feeling like I was just punched in the face with a whole bunch of AWESOME. It was especially cool because much of the movie was shot right in front of the building I work in.

I'm still feeling the after-effects of that film. I must see it again soon.

And if you haven't seen it, you absolutely MUST GO RIGHT AWAY. You won't be sorry.

It was a dark and stormy Saturday.

... And La was in rare form. 

And by rare form, I mean COMPLETELY INSANE. Where has my sweet, sweet, precious little angel-face-pumpkin-pie gone (see above)? And who is this naughty little sprite that has taken over her body?

I sort of understand. It was raining, and she was coming down with the sniffles, but SERIOUSLY.

Not cool, La. Not cool at all.

So, with the rain pouring outside, and nothing else to do, we built a fort in the living room. Then we popped some popcorn and watched National Treasure. La got to bring her two friends, Puppy and Prince Eric, along for the movie. 

It was a pretty good flick. All except for the Nicholas Cage element. I'm starting to feel the same way about his acting as I do about Keanu Reeves's acting ... REPULSED. 

... and we also played Jenga. I won twice and La won once (just so you have the facts straight)(and yes, I'm even competitive with my own child).

Sunday was beautiful. We hit the beach with our pals Poonam and Kevin, and then walked home. La spotted the fountain that we passed on the way, and she really wanted to go INSIDE it. So, what did I do? I tucked her dress into the back of her undies and stuck her in the fountain.

I know. Totally gross, right? But she had a ton of fun splashing around with the other kiddos, and she was being GOOD, and I didn't ACTUALLY SEE any scum or algae floating about the pool of water ... so it was well worth the risk of contracting a communicable disease.

Today, she seems to have turned a new leaf. We walked to Bed Bath & Beyond tonight to buy a new toaster oven, and she actually HELPED me. She even offered up her magical stagecoach [stroller] to the toaster so that it could have a ride home (thereby saving mommy's arm from having to simultaneously hold the oven and push the stroller).

Now, if I could just get her to share her things with other PEOPLE.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUCKERS!

In about 2 hours, Aunt M will be 24 years old. 

24 whole years.

I remember the day she was born. I was 2 and a half, and my grandma Lois was babysitting me while my mom was in labor. I remember going outside to hang some clothes on the line with grandma, when a bird came out of nowhere and pooped on my right forearm. I remember it vividly (however, I don't think grandma L remembers this). 

Now, I've been pooped on by birds many times in my life, but this was the first and certainly the most notable. Oh. Gosh. I am suddenly reminded of a poem that a boy named David Barry in my 5th grade class taught me, and I feel rather inclined to share it with y'all (La, M and I went out to dinner tonight and I blame the following 2 paragraphs on the wine I drank):

*ahem*

Birdie, birdie in the sky,

Drop some whitewash in my eye.

I don't care, I don't cry,

I'm just glad that cows can't fly.

Wow. That poem just came right out of nowhere, like "Heeellllooooo there! Remember me? I'm the little rhyme that the ever-so-annoying David Barry used to chant over and over until you wanted to kick him where the sun don't shine!"

Gosh.

AAAAANYWAY. My friend Kristin always says it's good luck when a bird drops one on you, and I know from experience that she's right. Because that day, the best thing that ever happened to me – well – happened. 

My sister was born. 

All 9 pounds - one ounce of her. Looking all cute and fat like an Eskimo with squinty eyes and head full of jet-black hair. And I think we've been inseparable since that day.

Those of you who are privileged to know my little sis know that she is a beautiful, kind and accomplished woman who is wise beyond her years. At the age of 20, she graduated from Miami University with a degree in Exercise Science. She immediately applied to Northwestern's Feinberg School of Medicine and was accepted into their accelerated program to become a Doctor of Physical Therapy. She graduated with special honors at the ripe old age of 23. Quite a feat, if you ask me. 

Molly has always been there for me, helping me plan and organize and do all sorts of things that I'm not good at doing by myself. She took care of me when I thought my life was over because I was pregnant (why do pregnant people think that?). She told me it was going to be okay (and she knew). She took lamaze class with me, and helped me through my labor and delivery. She moved in with me in college to help with baby La. She has been urging me to move to Chicago ever since she started school at Northwestern. And now that I've done it I can't imagine living anywhere else.

So, I'd like to propose a toast to Molly. Just for being Molly. For being selfless and kind and positive and driven and wonderful. 

Molly, you deserve the world. And I know you're going to get it. 

Here, here!!!

... So. Muckers. Now that you're 24 you'll probably be too mature to make me pose for a photo in front of a painting of a butt-crack (see above).

I hope not.

Super Dave goes to China

My dad is in China right now.

Poor China.

I feel kind of bad for my daddy at the moment. I talked to him on Saturday night, which was Sunday morning for him. He was just leaving the hotel to head off (all alone) to the zoo in Shanghai. He doesn't have a host to take him around and he's never been to Asia. So, I'm imagining that he's feeling a little out of his element. I'm sure he'll come back with an appreciation for China and a few good stories to share. And hopefully a present for La because that's all she cares about right now.

He sent me the zoo photos the other night. Normally, when people in the US go to the zoo they photograph the animals. Am I right? 

Well, China's zoo animals must be pretty darn similar to ours, because Dave-in-China photographs the Chinese PEOPLE instead.

Oh, and signs ...

... and some more people, along with a couple of ostriches ...

... and some more signs (my favorite part of this photo is the lady's head poking into the shot in the lower left corner)

... and another sign ...

... and some more people. On ponies.

China looks pretty rad if you ask me. I wonder if my dad rode the pony after this lady and her kid got off. 

Gosh, I hope so.

Illinois Department of Motor Vehicles, Take 3

Right now I should have a sticker on my chest that reads, "I went to the DMV today. AND I STILL HAVE A PULSE." 

The DMV is an intriguing place. A place where folks from all walks (and I DO mean ALL walks) of life converge to suffer alone (yet together) in a gray-tinged, fluorescent-lit room completely devoid of any kind of hospitality or humanity. A place where the employees are all-knowing, possessing the utmost wisdom of the mysterious ways of the DMV – and where I, the motor vehicle operator, am a dumb-as-dirt nincompoop who doesn't know diddlysquat. A place that reduces me to a self-conscious, overheated fool with a sudden need to stutter and nod profusely. Quite the anomaly, that stutter. It develops THE MINUTE I walk into that place. I swear. I can't get a single sentence out without sounding like Porky Pig. 

For the record, this is my third time visiting the BMV in the last month. The first time I went, I got a new driver's license. This took 2 hours, but I left triumphantly with license in-hand. The second time, I showed up 2 days before my Ohio plates expired and asked for new plates. 

They stared. 

And then they laughed at me. 

I was like, "What? I brought in my current Ohio registration! And my new driver's license! And my lease agreement from Honda Finance! I brought everything that was listed on YOUR website. PLUS my checkbook! Because I figured you wouldn't take credit cards ... So, what gives?" That's when mean lady with the beehive hairdo slapped a WHOLE OTHER list of things that I need down on the formica countertop. I went, "Huh? Bu-Bu-But when I called they told me I-I-I-I-I only needed th-th-these three things. I also looked online. W-W-Where could I have found this on your w-w-website?" To which she replied, "This list is not on our website." 

Oh. 

I see. 

So, there was NO WAY that I could have come here prepared and gotten it right THE FIRST TIME. None at all.

The problem with this was that I was leaving for vacation the very next day. And taking my car. So, I would be driving with expired, out-of-state plates. Oh well. I just packed The List in my purse and left for Wisconsin, figuring I could wave it in front of any police officer who would dare pull me over. I had the conversation all laid out in my head. I would start with, "Sir (or Madam), have you ever been to the city of Chicago's DMV? Well, let me tell you a little somthin' about THAT place ..."

But, luckily I didn't have to. 

Today is the first "business day" that I've been in town since vacation, so I gave myself a little pep talk and proceeded to The Fine Establishment at precisely 11:00 a.m. (to beat the lunch rush), armed with the items on The List. I waited in the Tax line for 20 minutes and finally got up to the one-and-only tax line cashier who immediately crossed out all of the math I had carefully done (total cost of car minus trade-in amount, minus residual depreciation, multiplied by 7.25%, which is Cook County's tax rate for vehicles) and got out a brand new worksheet ... which is good because I came up with a figure of $455 that I would have owed them in taxes ... whereas lady-behind-bulletproof-glass came up with me owing no tax money to the state of Illinois. Thank goodness I'm no good at math.

Then she said, "Oh ... did anyone mention to you that you need a statement from Honda declaring the precise amount of taxes you paid to Ohio?"

Mama say WHAT???!!!

I blinked back tears, and she must have seen the despair in my eyes, because she said, "It's okay, just call Honda and have them fax the tax statement to this number. Then, after you get ahold of them, just come straight to the front of the line so we can see if the fax came through.

Gulp.

Err ... Come straight to the front? Saunter RIGHT PAST crazy large lady with candy wrappers in her hair? And right past that guy with all the tattoos and muscles? And right past all those people in business suits that are trying to keep their visit to the DMV under 100 years? Okay. Will do (but I know I'm going to get sworn at or probably tripped on my way up).

So I called Honda, and they took care of the faxing thing. I love Honda. I gave the fax about 7 minutes to go through and then casually "meandered" to the front of the pissed-off line of people. I waited for candy-hair-lady to finish and then I let the greasy looking guy behind her go too. I didn't want to cut him off. I also waited for a cute little old man to go. I figured he looked pretty nice. BOY WAS I WRONG. I should have cut that dude off and kicked his knee cap while I was at it. He immediately started reaming the lady out because they don't take Mastercard. REALLY GRAMPS? Because I'm sure it was HER idea to not take Mastercard. Puh-lease.

After grandpa finished his rant and the nice lady dismissed him gracefully (how do these people keep their cool?), I poked my head in front of a guy that I had been chatting with in line and said as fast as I could to the lady behind the window, "DoYouThinkYouCouldCheckOnMyFax?PleaseThanksLoveYou." And then I think I winked at her.

She retrieved my paperwork from the fax machine and stamped a few things while people grunted and moaned behind me in line, and then I was off! ... to another line! and then to another line! But, I didn't care. Because I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Two shiny new license plates and a vehicle registration card. 

... And this precious face that I could kiss as soon as I got home:

Posh Lady

On our way to the market this morning, we passed some absolutely gorgeous blooms, and all I said was, "La, let me get a picture of you by these beautiful flowers." ... And the next thing you know, she's striking THIS sassy pose.

Oh La. You're SUCH a diva.

I couldn't help but notice that the above photo is such a stark contrast to this photo taken the day before:

What a PRECIOUS little Chimichanga holding a maraca. As cute as a little Mexican Jumping Bean. 

Excuse me while I go pinch her little cheeks and nibble her sweet nose.

Vacation Continued

Meet the two newest (and cutest) members of the Red Hat Society: La and Grandpa Dave.

By the way, both of my grandmothers (Fern and Lois) are real, actual members of this cult club.



On Monday, we left the grand town of Neillsville and headed east to Nasonville (what's with all these "villes" up in these parts?) to pick up some fresh-from-the-trough cheese curds. And my oh my. There aint nothin' like a fistful of fresh, squeaky Wisconsin cheese curds. NOTHING I SAY. Just try one. You will instantly fall head-over-heels in love. And if you don't, then you're in dire need of a tastebud transplant.

Once we purchased the curds (and pigged out for a few minutes in the parking lot of the dairy factory) we were back on the road to Milwaukee! ... er, sort of. We got a little lost since we normally don't go 20 minutes out of the way for curds, and we had to make one pit-stop on the side of the highway so that La could "puke" ... Although she didn't actually puke. She just thought she had to ... She ended up spitting a few times in the reeds and then got back in the car. How easy it is to overdo it on the curds! Poor La. She hasn't yet figured out her curd limit.

Once La's tummy had settled, she and aunt M chilled out in their shades and shared my iPod to listen to La's favorite tunes (which include the Killers' version of "Romeo and Juliet" and The Moldy Peaches "Anyone Else But You"). She's one cool chick, that La.



The next night, a pretty severe storm hit Milwaukee and we got to see it roll in. We don't really know what that glowing thing is in the middle of the photo. It could be a raindrop caught by the flash in midair. But, I think it's probably an extension of the glare off of my dad's rad shoes.



Last night, "the girls" went to a fancy restaurant called Lake Park Bistro, and La was a very good girl. The restaurant is built on top of a hill overlooking Lake Michigan. The view is quite nice, and the food is amazing. This is not the type of restaurant where you flag one of your servers down and have them snap a photo. So, I told La to take a picture of us. She did a pretty good job too! Such a cute little photographer.



La got a little antsy in the restaurant, so we took a little stroll (which entailed walking down about 500 stairs in high heels) to the lake and she snapped this shot of me.



So, we've basically just been hanging out, taking it easy and living the life this week. This morning La and I went to get the paper in the golf cart. We went up and down the half-mile driveway 3 times, but alas, forgot to get the paper. Shoot. (but seriously, who reads the paper anyway? Not when there's cnn.com!)



Then we went shopping in Cedarburg, which is just the quaintest little town. La got sick of it pretty quickly. She had a serious case of "the shopping blues" when we got to the stationery store.



But then we came back to the homestead and hit the pool, which cheered her right up.



I must be going now. Time for dinner! Salmon burgers. Yum.

For the Love of Cheese (and all things Wisconsin)

Ah, Wisconsin. Land of sausage, beer and cheese. Oh, and most recently, land of Basil Martinis. Delicious!!!

After a grueling few hours on the Edens "Expressway" (who ever thought to call that thing an expressway? The Amish could have passed us via horse and buggy and I wouldn't have flinched), Aunt Kathleen concocted these lovely green martinis from fresh basil, lime and top-notch vodka. Very relaxing and refreshing. Yum.



Side note: being in their bar (at least for me) is EXACTLY the same as being a 6-year-old at Toys R Us. You want a little of EVERYTHING. Which has a rather undesirable effect on your next morning. After the basil martini, I had a few glasses of wine and then a large dirty martini made with Stoli elite, which tastes like liquid silk. I then washed the combination down with a whole jar of martini olives, which I ate in its entirety using a tiny plastic sword to stab each delicious olive. I credit that little sword with making those olives taste so darn irresistible.

Yesterday, we hung out at Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Joe's unbelievable pool. If you look very closely, you can see La on the bridge in this photo ... she's the one with green floaties on her arms that are larger than her head.



Then last night, we went to Uncle Tom's house for a July 4th Celebration. What fun. La got to wear a new dress that Aunt Kathleen bought for her:



She also got to see her cousin Lydia, and I got to snuggle with them both.



And then we shot off a bunch of illegal fireworks, which lasted until two sets of mean and grumpy neighbors came over and chewed out Uncle Tom. And then the cops showed up. NOT FUN. Where was their spirit of independence on July 4th? Honestly. It's our nation's birthday for Pete's sake.

Side note: I found out a lot about my ancestry at the picnic table that evening. It was revealed that one of my great great grandfathers was African-American and that a few of my great grandparents were Jewish and that one of my great grandmothers was a real live gypsy. I'm excited to learn more about my lineage and was thereby deemed my family's historian. Hopefully the Mormons can help me out. To think! All this time I thought I was just German, English, Swedish and Norwegian.

Today, we drove a few hours north to Neillsville, Wisconsin, home of The World's Largest Talking Cow and home to my grandparents. What could be better than going to the bona fide home of Miss Chatty Belle herself? I'll tell you what! Passing The Oscar Meyer Weinermobile ON THE WAY to the home of gigantic fiberglass talking cattle. That's what.



Instead of going directly to Grandma Fern and Grandpa Cal's house, we met them at a strawberry field and picked 3 pails of berries.



These strawberries were just perfect. Deep red, and super sweet. And La wouldn't even try one. Maybe she had a traumatic experience with a strawberry in the past. Who doesn't like strawberries? Weird.



... Then we climbed Wildcat Mountain. It's actually a pretty tough climb for La, but the beautiful views at the summit are well worth the work.



Now it's time for bed. I must rest up for Lake Wazee tomorrow.

She Should Be Wearing a Bonnet With This Dress

Today, my mom was responsible for getting La ready for school and dropping her off. And of course La conned my mom into putting her FAVORITE dress on her ... Which I had balled up into a tight wad and stuffed into a remote corner of her closet. La must have witnessed me hiding the dress, because she navigated grandma directly to the hiding spot. And then told grandma that the only shoes that would go with this dress are the blue metallic flip-flops. Grandma is SUCH a pushover.

I don't know what I have against the dress. It's a special gift from grandpa, that he bought in Brazil for more money than I've EVER spent on a dress for La. So, it's pretty cruel of me to exile this ensemble to the far reaches of the closet. It's just that it looks like something he would have ordered from this website. Yikes!

Oh, the Family.

My parents arrived at my house around 8:30 last night, and we're heading up to Wisconsin later today. I just thought I would document a couple of the funny things that have been said since they got here:

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Mom to Me: 

While embracing me upon her arrival: 

"Oh, Deeds (less than desirable nickname I've had since my youth), it's so good to see you!!! (steps back to look at me) Your hair is so pretty and you look so beautiful!" (at which point I'm like, "okay, who are you and what have you done with my mom?" But, really, how nice of her to say that!) 

Then, a half hour later, we're sitting in the living room chatting and my mom is like, "I know what it is! It's because you're so tan that you look so good. You're not that pasty yellow color you usually are!!!" (AND ... we're right back to the good ol' Linda that I'm familiar with. She wasn't in fact overtaken by The Podpeople! Phew.)

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Dad displaying his latest ailment to the rest of us:

Note: Dad is leaving for a business trip to China in a week, which he is DREADING.

Dad: Makes a gross hacking coughing sound while sitting on my couch and beats at his chest in what seemed like an effort to loosen the phlegm.

Me: "Dad has the bird flu"

Dad: "Yep. And now I'm going to go to China to spread it around."

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Dad giving relationship advice to Aunt M last night after she returned from seeing her ex-boyfriend for the first time since their breakup:

Dad: "What ever happened to the good old days? It used to be so EASY. With your mom, I was like (in a caveman sort of voice), "ME MAN. YOU WOMAN." It was that simple!"

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La this morning as she was "setting the table":

La: sets fork on top of napkin and bellows as loudly as she can: 

"DAY-BED!!!" 

(Which is her way of calling grandpa to the table for breakfast. She was mimicking the way my mom yells "David!" to call him to the dinner table. Also, he happened to be about 3 feet from her when she screamed his name as loudly as she could.)