New Masthead

There were 349 things I could have been working on tonight — such as scraping the remains of my hallway wallpaper off, scrubbing my icky-sticky floors, doing laundry, unloading the dishwasher, designing wedding invitations (not mine!), sleeping, catching up on work for my job, exercising (yeah right) — But instead, I decided to redesign my blog's masthead.

The design was inspired by the stitching on La's favorite (and only) pair of cowboy boots:

Yes. I think I like it.

They make me smile.

Here's La on a merry-go-round with her very special friend, Kate. (Who also happens to be Aunt M's roommate)

These two have a lot in common. They're both outgoing, courageous, fun, sassy, independent, zany, lighthearted, clever, creative, quirky; the list goes on. Both have a certain glow — a special little something that makes people want to be around them.

If there were more people like these two in the world, well, it would just be a better (and goofier) place.

Halloween Hoopla

Today was a good day. The weather was divine, the trees were ablaze with color, and the buzzy little bee got to wear her costume!

Nettelhorst had a Halloween Festival today. It was packed with treats, games, a band, and lots and lots of people. Everyone was there. Even Elmo.

We also got to go on a very special horse-drawn hayride. It was a little strange because every hayride I've ever been on went through a field or an orchard or something. This one wove right through the streets of Chicago like it ain't no thang. I think some of the drivers were a teeny bit perturbed.

La and her best buddy J (above) spent the entire ride leaning over the edge of the wagon, pretending to vomit from the horse poo stench. It was, um ... adorable.

The best thing about today though? Everything was free. I didn't spend a single red cent. Feels good, I tell ya.

And just look at this tree!

Gorgeous.

Mama and Me

Here's a photo I took using my camera's timer and the car's dashboard. I don't know what's up with my mom's upside-down smile, but she's still cute.

I miss you mama!

Pups McGuff

Before La was born, she received a very special gift from my Grandma Lois. My mom's side of the family threw me a surprise baby shower, and my grandmother bought a gorgeous hand-crocheted blanket and stocking cap for La. Wrapped up with those items was a small plush puppy that she bought on a whim at Kohl's because she thought it was cute. Little did anyone know that the stuffed puppy was destined to become La's most cherished possession.

She's been toting "Pups McGuff" around ever since I can remember. She nuzzles him against her cheek. She talks to him like he's a person. She strokes the ribbon around his neck with her thumb and index finger every night to fall asleep. No gift has ever come close to surpassing puppy's place in La's heart. When she was a toddler, I used to scour the internet, trying to find a replacement in case she were to ever misplace her dear puppy. I located a couple of them on e-Bay, but because the puppy was discontinued, they were priced at $40 and up. I refused to pay this exorbitant amount for a puppy that had originally cost my grandmother $6. So, I crossed my fingers that La would never misplace puppy.

In August, we lost him.

We knew he was lost somewhere between Marci and Scott's wedding in Cleveland, our home in Chicago, various places throughout Milwaukee, a few more locations in Neillsville, and a whole bunch of spots in Wisconsin Dells. And if we left him in the Dells, we might as well kiss his cute little hiney goodbye, because that place is ... well ... there just aren't any words. We NEVER would have found him there.

So what did I do? After a week of La crying herself to sleep, I hopped on e-Bay and prepared myself to drop fifty bucks on a stuffed animal that cost the manufacturer ten cents to make. I found him in seconds. Look how cute his listing picture was. Such a handsome pup. That sweet face almost convinces me that he's worth fifty bucks:

BUT LO. Hath mine eyes deceived me? Is the seller actually offering him for a mere four dollars??? I rubbed my eyes. I blinked at my computer screen. It was true.

*chorus of angels*

I bid on him in record speed, as if he would disappear like a mirage. And I made sure I won the little rascal by setting my "highest bid" at a whopping fifteen dollars. Turns out no one else bid on him. I really truly got him for four dollars.

For the past few weeks, the new puppy has done his job just fine. But, when we were in Cleveland this weekend, La was digging through grandma's toy box and located the REAL Pups McGuff. He wasn't lost after all. The sneaky little feller was just on an extended visit at Grandma Lin's.

In case his resemblance to a hairless rat didn't already tip you off, the one on the left is the original puppy. The one on the right is the e-Bay impostor. The one on the left used to have all that fluffy fur too, but that was before he was loved mightily by La.

He also used to have a nose, I assure you.

When La was reunited with good ol' Pups, she cried like a baby. Tears of joy streamed down her face and into his hairless hide as she snuggled him into her cheek. It was very moving.

And if I start to look like puppy in a few years' time, I'll know that it's probably because I was loved fiercely by La.

Bitter

I was just about to go to bed, but decided to hop on the computer and check out the weather for tomorrow. Looks like it's gonna be nice-ish! While I was at it, I decided I should probably check out the forecast for Thursday. My little intramural flag football team hasn't had a game in three weeks, and it's looking like we'll be rained out once again this Thursday. I have a feeling that our team's momentum will be entirely quashed by the time we get around to playing again. Not that we actually possess momentum or anything. We've won zero games so far. And I am certainly partly to blame for this. Maybe mostly. But thank goodness there's no "I" in "team."

(Note to self: Never gaze downfield while your team's quarterback is still in possession of the ball. There is always the ever-so-slight chance he will throw it to you. And then you'll be the dunce who didn't catch the ball because YOU WERE FACING THE EXACT OPPOSITE DIRECTION.)

I was about to turn my computer off and crawl into bed, but then, just because I love to torture myself with IMPENDING DOOM — I decided to pull up the Farmer's Almanac to see what's in store for the winter season.

And wouldn't you know.

The words "Bitterly Cold" happen to be plastered across the region of our world wherein I reside. Chicago is the literal epicenter of the BITTERLY COLD AND DRY portion of the United States. Yes. We are located right beneath the Y in "Bitterly," just southwest of the C in "Cold," and a hair north of the R in "Dry."

I might as well live in Anchorage, Alaska or Frostbite Falls, Minnesota or THE SOUTH FREAKING POLE.

See?

Good thing La and I only have to walk ONE WHOLE MILE to and from school each day. If we're missing toes and fingers and noses come March, you'll know why.

Could be worse.

There are some good things about La's kindergarten picture:

• You can't tell there's chocolate milk dripping down her right shoulder because someone took the time to stuff her white shirt underneath the shoulder of her blue dress.
• You can't tell that her hair is caked in chocolate milk. It just looks a little greasy.
• Her eyes are mostly open and she's looking at the camera.

And some other things I noticed:

• She looks EXACTLY like me in this photo. I don't always see the resemblance, but this photo? Mini Me.
• She looks a little bit stoned.
• She's not doing the stink-eye that I've come to love and cherish. Oh well. I have plenty of stink-eye shots already.

OH, SNAP.

La and I went to Cleveland for the weekend so that she could see her dad, who was in town for a wedding. We pulled into Grandma Linda and Grandpa Dave's driveway just before midnight on Friday. My parents usually have "a special something" in the toy box for La when she arrives, just because spoiling their grandchild is their main objective in life. My dad was the one to purchase her prize this time, and being a self-proclaimed cheapskate, the "something" was purchased at the dollar store.

The cards, like most items from the Dollar Store (and every other store in America), were made in China. They came with instructions that were written in 3-point type. The words were so small that I had to take a picture of the card and then enlarge the photo in order to read it. And let me assure you that being able to read the words did not make one lick of a difference in understanding the game. It's clear that whomever wrote these directions did so using nothing but a translation dictionary, a typewriter with no spell-check, and a bottle of good, strong whiskey.

Click photo to enlarge.

If you are able to decipher any amount of the text above, you'll realize that nobody in the world would be able to figure this game out, based on those directions alone. But, La really wanted to play "SNAP" with Grandpa, and grandpa just couldn't say no. So, he made up the rules.

(Keep in mind that grandpa errs slightly toward the "Hill Jack" side of life.)

In his version of SNAP (or SANP, depending on what part of the directions you read), the cards are dealt, and the players each turn one card over simultaneously to see what animal is on the front of each card. Grandpa then uses a variety of very objective factors to determine which of the two animals would kick the other's butt in a physical fight. Next, they "commence afresh," until they're out of cards, just as the directions say.

Observe.

I can't wait till she goes to school and teaches her classmates this game. THAT will be an interesting phone call from the teacher.

*Grandpa does not actually condone animal fighting. As far as I know, he's very much against it. Hunting and fishing, however? They're a whole other story.

Guilty as Charged

The Suspect

Female

Age: 5.583

Height: Over 3 feet, but less than 4, we think. (if her mommy would hang her growth chart that has been sitting behind the suspect's bookshelf for two years, we would know her exact height. But she hasn't, so we don't.)

Hair: Sandy blonde

Eyes: Blue as the sky

Alias: The Notorious E.L.A.

Suspect has been charged with consuming chocolate milk while at school, against her mother's wishes. There are no witnesses. Although suspect has not actually been SEEN partaking in this illegal activity, the evidence is written all over her shirt.

Moreover, it has been rumored that suspect has gone as far as to pour the chocolate milk over Froot Loops during breakfast time. OH THE HORROR.

The penalty? A lifetime sentence of drinking boring old white milk.

And if the suspect chooses to continue chugging her 'plain' milk out of a stein to liven the experience up a little, she will be punished to the full extent of the law.

Goebbert's: A new family tradition

We took a trip out to South Barrington on Sunday to visit Goebbert's Farm. I had no idea what was in store for us. The place was a zoo. No, really ... It's literally a zoo. Like, llamas and tigers and lemurs and giraffes and even zedonks.

We went with some new friends of ours; M, who is also a single mom, and her son, who is in second grade La's school. I think La is not-so-secretly in love with this poor fella. (apparently she's into older men?)

He tolerates her beautifully.

M is definitely doing something right, because her boy is an absolute angel.

The kids occupied themselves in a haystack maze for a while. There were windows and holes that they could see out of from inside the maze, and M and I decided to have a little fun when our children peered out and asked us which hole was the cowboy and which one was the fancy girl.

Hey, what fun is the farm if you can't screw with your kids a little?

Could they be any cuter? COME ON NOW.

One thing I realized on Sunday is that I really love animals. Not that I've ever disliked animals, or anything ... It's just that I've never exactly been an "animal person." But, on Sunday, something clicked in my brain and I was all, "Look at you little llama-wamma man. You're a cutie patooty, yes you are! Come home with me in my pocket little llama!" (or are you an alpaca?)

The harsh reality, though, is that I don't own a lint brush big enough to justify taking this llama (alpaca?) home with me.

And the lemur? Oh dear. He was cute too. (in a male pattern baldness kind of way)

And my favorite animal in the world, the giraffe! Look at that precious face. Those sweet eyes. Those felt-covered, ball-tipped horns. Those little lizardy lips. That long purple tongue. THOSE GORGEOUS SPOTS. Is there a sweeter animal in the world?

... Yes. Oh yes. Apparently there is one sweeter animal in the world. DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THIS GUY.

But, the cutest animals on the farm? These two little monkeys:

What a day. I highly recommend Goebbert's, if you haven't been.

Things That Excite

Last night I realized that I'm old. Actually, let me rephrase that. Last night I re-realized that I'm old. This thought has crossed my mind once or twice since the birth of La.

I booked a babysitter for last night so that I could attend a Fall Party hosted by Aunt M and Kate. I had been looking forward to this event for the past two weeks, counting down each day until its arrival. And it did not disappoint! Great music, great food, great atmosphere, great peeps. Those two sure know how to throw a Fall Party.

The babysitter I hired is one of La's old teachers from her pre-school. She's 23. I know that she and I are relatively close in age, but those four years might as well be four decades. She came over with a change of clothes because she was going to go out with her friends upon my return at midnight. AT MIDNIGHT! That's what time she goes out. MIDNIGHT.

This gal lives in a world that I do not understand. By midnight last night, I could barely see straight (may have been the wine), my back was aching, and my feet were throbbing. The thought of having to go out to a bar AT MIDNIGHT was beyond my comprehension.

Although I've never been what anyone would call a "Party Animal," I do vaguely remember times in college when I took a shower at 11:30 pm in preparation to go out uptown. And the time in high school when I told my parents I was sleeping at a friend's house, but actually attended an all-night party downtown. I came home the next morning around 8 and proceeded with my day as usual without having slept a wink the night before, completely unaffected.

Those days feel like they took place in another person's life. Nowadays, I look forward to tame events like dinner parties and family get-togethers. In fact, I've been looking forward to my friend Angela's kid-and-adult-friendly halloween party ever since last year's party. I just can't wait.

This year, my family is celebrating Thanksgiving at Aunt M's place. It's going to be perfect. I'm counting down the days. Yesterday, Aunt M sent us the following e-Greeting, which only enhanced my anticipation.

... ... ... ... ...

Ol' South Meets Chicaaaaago Thanksgiving Celebration

Location: My pad wit da' big screen TV (in actuality, her TV is a 16-incher)

Ya'll is invited to my dirty, down-home Thanksgiving Bash. Southern-style fare will be served including, but not limited to, homemade collard greens, homemade mac and cheese, and pecan pie. Of course a turkey will work it's way into the mix somewhere as well.

Some things not to bring:

• Any rectangular tin of fish (won't allow them in my house) (she's referring to canned sardines and the like, which my dad and brother both love ... but they might get around the "tin" rule by bringing a "jar" of pickled herring, which is much, much worse)
• Gas (no tooting allowed in common areas: dad, Aaron, and La) (this one will surely be broken)
• Attitude
• A baseball (I have breakable items, Aaron) (and, you know, MY FRAGILE CHILD will be there)
• Any Disney DVD's (football all day or else it wouldn't be Thanksgiving) (we may experience a protest from the peanut gallery)
• Extra batteries for the smoke detector (got it covered Dad)
• Any sort of vegetarianism (I DON'T BUY IT KAR) (hee hee ... pass the Tofurkey)
• Criticism or any comments about "traditional Thanksgiving" (I'm guessing Aunt M's version of Thanksgiving will be slightly non-traditional?)
• The words "socioeconomic" or "bipartisanship" (Ahem... Kari and Mom) (whoopsies)

Some things to bring:

• Appetite
• Words of praise for my cooking
• Alcohol (it's the mom in me ... Wine=pleasant chef)
• Gifts for the hostess (please see previous bullet)
• La
• An open mind

Events like this? They're what I live for these days.

A New Leaf

La has been wonderful for the past 36 hours. She hasn't cried once. She's only complained twice. She's a new woman! (knock on wood)

Last night she started singing an old, old song that brought back memories of my first grade classroom. She didn't just sing it though ... she also signed while she sang.

I love ASL. I think it's the most beautiful language. And I'm pretty sure her after-school program offers ASL classes. Maybe I should sign her up. Plus, at the rate I'm losing my hearing, she'll probably have to use it to communicate with me someday. I should probably enroll myself in those classes too.

Melodrama Mama

La has been emotional lately. And when I say "emotional" I mean E-MO-SHUN-AAALLL. The kid cries about everything. Mac and cheese touches the green beans on the plate? CRY. Must wear pants and sneakers because it's gym day at school? SOB. Mama says "wash your hands before dinner?" ALL-OUT MELTDOWN.

Yesterday I picked her up from school and let her play on the playground with one of her friends for a little while. Whenever I allow her to play after school, it almost always turns out to be a mistake. But if I say no, she ends up crying the whole way home. It's a lose-lose situation. Maddening, I tell you.

At 6:00 yesterday I rounded her up and coerced her to leave the playground using my favorite parenting tactic: The Empty Threat. But as soon as we were twenty feet from her school she started sobbing uncontrollably. I asked her what on Earth was troubling her, and she responded, "My life just makes me cry."

Excuse me. Your LIFE?

I prodded, "So, your life totally stinks and that's why you're crying?" She looked at me and nodded her head like, "wow, this woman does get it." And then I veered off the sidewalk to go pound my head into a brick wall.

This morning, she woke up crying. I walked into her bedroom, took a deep calming breath, and yelled, "NOW WHAT IS IT!!!???" (Works like a charm. You should try it sometime.)(NOT!) ... Her response? "I'm c-c-crying because y-y-you should've tooooold me that you were g-g-going to take a shhhooooowwwwer." *dramatically collapses on bed in fit of rage*

Oy.

And if that wasn't enough, she had another colossal breakdown when I made her turn the Disney Channel off so that we could go to school. See? SEE PEOPLE??? I needed cable like I needed a hole in my head. I think I'm going to cancel my subscription. It's caused me nothing but pain.

Life without TV was so simple and perfect. NOW LOOK AT US.

We walked to school hand-in-hand while La bawled and I marched on, commenting about the trees and the weather and the cakes in the bakery window ... completely ignoring the fact that she was whimpering at my side the entire way.

Is this just a phase? A drawn-out adjustment period? A growth spurt? Maybe she needs more sleep? Or a spinal adjustment? A lobotomy perhaps?

But the real question is, what in the hell am I going to do when she's a teenager?

AC Woes

I was presented with a home maintenance challenge today. I was a little annoyed, but mostly excited because I'm always up for a home maintenance challenge. (remember this one?)

It seems that my building is painting the windows in the back gangway this week. And apparently the maintenance people needed me to remove my air conditioner by today, which I did not do. Whoopsies!

Last year, a memo went out to all unit owners requesting that all window AC units be removed by October 1. I ignored this request due to the fact that it's hot as the Sahara in my apartment, and I actually USE my air conditioner throughout the year. Even when it's zero degrees. So, naturally, when the memo came this year, I promptly discarded it in my trash receptacle.

But then I got a call this morning from my building's superintendent. He was standing in my bedroom staring at my still-installed air conditioning unit, and he was TICKED OFF. He informed me (in a nasty tone) that I must have my air conditioner removed by tomorrow morning, OR ELSE.

Big meanie.

So, tonight, before I made dinner (Potato & Onion Pierogies with Gorgonzola Creamed Spinach) I tackled the task of removing the air conditioner.

It wasn't easy, people.

This unit has been in place since Hector was a pup. (well, it was there when I moved in two years ago, so god only knows how long it's actually been there) ... I began the job by unscrewing three miniature screws at the top of the unit. I thought to myself, "these screws can't possibly be the ONLY things holding this 100-something-pound air conditioner in place."

I was wrong about that.

As I removed the last screw and hoisted the window up, the air conditioner began to teeter and totter. It almost crashed to the ground three stories below. Luckily, my arms shot out and I grabbed it with both hands, pressing downward with my elbows to stabilize it, while simultaneously yelling, "LOOK OUT BELOOOOOOWWWW!"

And then when I was sure that I had the unit under control, I began to shimmy it out of the window, inch by inch, until it broke free. I was able to catch it when it started to plummet toward my bare feet, thank goodness. But I think I strained something in my back in doing so. Save the back or save the feet? That's a hard one to ponder. Especially when you only have one nanosecond to do so.

And now the air conditioner sits right below that window on the floor of my bedroom, which is probably where it will remain until next spring, unless some strapping young lad volunteers to carry it down to my storage unit for me. *Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

CHEESE and Apples

Ever since my parents moved our family out of Wisconsin, we've been driving back to the great state multiple times a year. Although we've been gone for 24 years now, it still feels like home every time we cross the state line.

A strange thing happens when you cross over the border of Wisconsin on the interstate. Mixed in with the signs reading rest stop, gas and food, you'll find even larger signs that simply read, "CHEESE." (The word CHEESE must always be written in all-caps when you're in Wisconsin. It's a rule.)

The image of one particular "CHEESE" sign is forever seared into my memory from years and years of drooling gazing at it from the backseat of our family minivan. It's the Mars Cheese Castle sign that is ever-so-visible from I-94. But, never have we actually pulled off the freeway and gone inside to smell the cheese.

Damn shame, if you ask me.

Look! There it is!

It's coming, it's coming, it's coming ... (can you handle the excitement?)

IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!

... And it's gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

Bye-bye CHEESE Castle! Will I ever stand below your yellow and orange backlit sign? Will I ever know the bounty that lies behind your plywood doors? Will I ever taste your sweet cheese? (I'm only guessing that's what they sell BECAUSE I HAVE NEVER BEEN THERE.)

Anyhoo.

On Sunday we drove up to Wisconsin to pick apples at the Apple Holler orchard, a Wisconsin hotspot I've also driven past a million times, but somehow never noticed. (Because HELLO. Where's your big-ass sign, Apple Holler? Get with the program.)

The cluster of people there was unreal. It was the Mall of America of apple orchards. Incidentally, I don't think people from Wisconsin actually go to these kinds of places. No. I'm pretty sure places like these exist purely to capitalize on the FIBs who are wantin' to come to the country and pick 'em some apples gol-darnit! ... and are willing to spend $40 per bag doing so.

Nevertheless, it was great!

How bout THEM APPLES, eh? Bea-u-ti-ful.

Ya. You betcha.

Well worth the $40 we paid to pick them. Well worth it. (Shhhh, Gramps, I don't want to hear it)

We brought Kate's sweet little nephew with us. He and La got along marvelously.

They both had their faces painted:

A unicorn for La ...

And a goal post and football for E.

AND GUESS WHAT GUYS. I was so good at the Apple Orchard that we were allowed to stop at the CHEESE Castle.

That's right.

As I entered the Castle, I was involuntarily drawn like a zombie toward the troughs and troughs of CHEESE. Upon recovery, I looked up and gazed around the chalet and discovered that the store is really a unique mesh of all things Wisconsin. It's a restaurant, a bakery, a knick-knac shack, and above all, a haven of GLORIOUS CHEESY GOODNESS. All wrapped up in one rickety old Castle. Amen.

And now I can sit here with my string cheese rope and happily check one more item off my life's list.

Sunday Morning Interaction

I was just loading the dishwasher on this fine Sunday morning, thinking about how much fun we're going to have at the apple orchard today, when I heard La say, "Sweet Mama" from the other room. I was touched. I walked into the living room, eyes misty, thinking of how precious my baby girl is. I answered her with, "Oh, honey, you're my Sweet La too!"

She looked up from the TV at me, perplexed. Then it dawned on her that my statement was in response to her "kind" words. With a look of annoyance she explained, "NO MOM! 'Sweet Mama' is what you say when something is gross." Duh! It's an expression of disgust, not endearment.

So I walked back into the kitchen to finish the dishes, wondering what could possibly be "gross" about Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

No-lympics

Friday was a melancholy day. The skies were gray, there was a chilly bite to the air, and the city of Chicago discovered that it will not host the 2016 Summer Olympic Games.

I work a couple of blocks from the Daley Center, so I walked over with some work pals to hear the results. Despite the weather, there was excitement in the air. We arrived at 10:45, expecting to stand around for another hour or so to hear the final results. But as we picked our way through the hushed crowd, the announcement was made that Chicago did not make it past the first round of voting.

We stopped. We stared at each other. Following a collective gasp, the crowd grew silent — completely silent — for a few long seconds. I wondered if I had heard correctly or if there had been a mistake. As the news sunk in, there were mumbles and sighs and whispers.

Bummer, dudes.

And then we walked back to the office.

The Latest Obsession

Aunt Ashley was in town last week on a business trip. She brought a special gift for La: a pink iPod Shuffle. We've already loaded all the classics onto it ... Hanna Montana, Taylor Swift, and even some Alanis Morissette.

She hasn't taken it out of the house yet though because the headphones don't stay in her ears. She has to sit in one spot and keep her head very still whenever she uses it. I think I need to invest in some of these.