After the Storm

It has been a day and a half since Alabama was slammed with furious storms that raged across the state, leaving a path of unprecedented destruction. Our neighborhood is now speckled with roof shingles, tufts of insulation from buildings, and even large sheets of metal. One of our neighbors found a checkbook in her yard with a Tuscaloosa address inscribed on the checks, which had clearly traveled fifty miles through the air.

About twenty minutes before the massive tornado hit Birmingham, we made the decision to go to our next door neighbors' basement instead of our own. Our house is constructed of wood, and theirs is made of very thick stone. We were the Three Little Pigs hiding from The Big Bad Wolf.

La sat in the basement closet with her best friend, contentedly munching a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, entirely oblivious to the danger looming just miles away. Which is exactly how it should be.

I, however, have never been so frightened in my life. And I'm sure it was evident in the look on my face. Luckily Dr P and Kim (the mom next door) held their $!*# together like professional danger bluffers while I sat on the floor clutching my churning stomach.

We are very fortunate to have been spared from being in the direct path of the monsterous tornado that traveled more than 180 miles across our state. At one point the newscaster said that residents of our neighborhood, Homewood, needed to brace themselves because the tornado would likely be hitting us at 6:02 pm. Fortunately for us, at about 5:55, the same newscaster announced, "Homewood, you're in the clear." The tornado took a path to the north and missed us by a couple of miles.

Yesterday La and I took a stroll through our backyard to check on our garden, and as I gazed at our untouched plants and watched my precious child happily pick the tree berries out of the dirt, I was reminded once again that we are just so fortunate.







Our thoughts and prayers are with our neighbors in Alabama and across the Southeast who have lost their family members, their homes and their businesses. May God somehow bless you in this tragic time.

Easter

Easter morning La woke up to a basket from The Bunny on her nightstand. The contents included mounds of candy, a Hello Kitty Pez Dispenser, sunglasses, a stuffed bunny, a whoopie cushion (her most prized item in the basket), and a gorgeous ivory and coral Easter dress. After dumping the contents of her basket on the bed, she skipped around the house, filling the empty basket with eggs that The Bunny had hidden for her. It was a wonderful way to wake up.

Then she walked into the dining room and barfed all over the table and rug.

And that's how the rest of our Easter went. La vomiting aaaaaaaaall daaaaay loooong. No pretty dress. No church. No family photos in front of the crepe myrtle in the front yard. No swimming with Dr P's brother's family in Tuscaloosa. No ham. No lamb. Just barfing.

Poor baby girl.



I just hate it when my sweet pea is sick. I wish with all my heart that it could be me instead. But it can't, so I repeatedly ask if she's feeling okay, and she repeatedly shakes her head no, and repeatedly my heart breaks.

But today she's better. Thank goodness.

And we did get a "family photo" in front of a crepe myrtle the day before Easter when we went to visit Dr P's sweet mama, so all was not lost.



And there's always next year!

Finally, the Eggs!

Yesterday La told me her favorite holidays are Christmas, Halloween and Easter. I said, "what about Thanksgiving?" and she replied with a halfhearted shrug and an, "Eh." I guess maybe she's indifferent about Thanksgiving because it's centered around mass quantities of food, and the second-to-last thing on this 40-pound kid's priority list is "eating meals." Which falls right before going to the dentist.

I wish I had that problem. If I did, I would probably fit into my wedding dress. But I don't ... so I don't.

Anyway, from about the time she was two years old to the time she was five, whenever a holiday came around, La would ask to dye Easter eggs. I would explain to her that we dye Easter eggs only on Easter, and that it wouldn't be as special at Easter time if we had already dyed eggs at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

And she was all, "So what?"

I saw her point. So we did dye Easter Eggs at Thanksgiving one year. Plus I get a healthy little buzz from breaking the rules every once in a while. It's fun!

Yesterday was the pinnacle of the year 2011 for La. She came home from school, and we got to work dying the eggs.



I love this focused little munchkin girl with my whole entire heart. Stringy hair and all. Isn't she the sweetest?



And then I discovered the macro setting on Dr P's camera, and now I have 412 photos that look exactly like these three:







Happy Easter everybody! I hope you get to dye some eggs this year. If not, there's always July 4th!

A Song From J

Last month when La's best friend J came from Chicago to help celebrate La's birthday, she brought along a large package filled with letters from La's old Chicago friends. What fun we had going through them, attempting to decipher the hand-written messages from her fellow first graders.

This morning La came across this one and read it out loud to Dr P and me. It's a "song" written by J, and signed by all of her former classmates and teacher.



It reads:

Song: Big fight girls night for La
I know it's your birthday
I what [want] to just selebrat
Rock your minnd
I'm going to Alla bama to Rock it up
With a pillow fight.
Going on a Airplan
Seeing the sight I never seen before
With your smil 
it makes every thing better.

Pretty priceless.

Our Vegetable Garden

Yesterday we planted a garden. "LA'S GARDEN," as she demands we call it. (Only-Child Syndrome to the MAX, people.)

None of us had ever planted a garden before, so we didn't have the faintest clue what we were doing. In case you want to know how amateurs who know nothing plant gardens, here's how we did it:

Our first step was to choose the perfect location for our garden. Which turned out to be smack-dab in the middle of the yard. It's the perfect location for future trampling by La and her friends when they run through the yard like wild banshees. It's also the perfect location to maximize sunlight exposure because our back yard is covered in a canopy of trees. And there's this weird rock wall there that seems to serve no purpose that we could use as a border.

Once we had selected the perfect location, we used a hoe to till the existing dirt. I called my dad a few weeks ago to see what the first step to planting a vegetable garden would be, and he said that we would first need to till the earth. I asked, "So, what do we do, just whack it with something? Like maybe a hoe?" and he was all, "Yes, WHACK THAT HOE."

Guess you had to be there.

So we tilled the earth and such.



La whacked the ground exactly four times with her purple hoe and then proclaimed that she was done working for the day.

When the ground was finally tilled (thanks to our strong and handsome Dr P) we dumped three cubic feet of organic peat moss and 7.5 cubic feet of organic garden soil over the area. We kind of just randomly chose those amounts of peat moss and soil, and went with it. I'll let you know how that turns out.



Then, with the help of La's best buddy, we spread it all around and mixed it in with the existing soil.

La paused to explain emphatically that we were doing it all wrong.



We ignored her.

Then we built two sides out of bricks to complete the border of the garden.



The next step—which is absolutely crucial to building a proper garden—was for La to run into the house and fetch a bowl of milk for the pesky neighborhood cat, being sure to leave the milk carton out on the kitchen floor in eighty degree weather, to be discovered two hours later.



While Pesky Cat was enjoying his treat, we planted the veggies according to the directions on the packages.



We made sure to label each row with a marker so we would know what the heck we were growing. Then we yelled at Pesky Cat to get out of the dang garden and stop pulling all of our dang markers out of the ground.



Then La got bored and cranky from all the hard work she had done whacking the earth four times with her purple hoe ... so the feisty little stinker started playing with the camera.



Then, as the sun was setting, we stood back to admire our fine accomplishment. What a lot of work for a teeny little garden.

After having to shoo pesky cat out of the garden eight times and having to pull markers out of his sassy mouth twice, we decided it would be wise to draw a map. So we did.

And that's how we planted our garden. I sure hope those darn veggies grow!

A Trip to Cleveland

Well, wouldn't you know it's been more than a week since I've posted. Weird, right?

I haven't been to Cleveland, Ohio, where my parents live, since last July—and La hasn't been there in over a year. So last weekend the three of us got in the car and drove through twelve hours of flat farmland for a little family reunion.

We left in the evening after Dr P was done with work, so we stopped in Louisville to stay the night in a hotel I had booked a few days prior.

I'm sort of addicted to Hotwire. There's nothing like the thrill of choosing a "star rating" for the hotel you would like to stay in (five stars if you're feeling snobby, one star if you're feeling seedy), and then choosing the general neighborhood where you would like that star-rated hotel to be, and finally pressing the "purchase hotel room" button while reciting a quick Hail Mary ... and waiting for your fate to be delivered.

It's riveting. You should try it.

Except this time it sort of backfired. For some reason all the 3-star-and-up hotels in Louisville were booked (annual truck show, we were told), so I had to relinquish my usual "3-star minimum" rule and resort to a fifty-five dollar two-star establishment. Which is just fine, right?

Except when that hotel ends up being a glorified truck stop sandwiched between a strip club and a pawn shop.

But, being the daughter of Super Dave, and knowing we could not be refunded the money we had spent on this dive, I was determined to give it a shot.

Dr. P was determined to get the bejesus out of there.

You should have seen the look on his cute face. I called him a yuppie and got out of the car, heading toward the lobby. The door was locked, and there was a sign saying that guests arriving after 11:00 pm should use the provided phone to dial the attendant. It was 11:10, so I picked up the phone. After a few rings a man answered. I explained that I needed to check in. He sounded confused and muttered something in another language. I explained again that I needed to check in, and he muttered another phrase I could not understand. And then I hung up. And stood there. And stood there. And stood there.

And that's when I finally took the sign the Universe was giving me and got back into the car. I was greeted by a relieved Dr P, who emphatically stated, "I AM SO GLAD YOU'RE NOT MAKING US STAY IN THAT HELLHOLE."

Because every stinking hotel in Louisville was booked, we ended up staying at a Fort Knox hotel. We had to drive miles and miles off the interstate, but when we got to the luxurious Candlewood Suites, it was well worth it.

I, too, am a yuppie I guess.

And I don't have to give up my addiction because Hotwire was more than generous with the refund, covering the much more expensive hotel we ended up staying in. I will definitely be using them again.

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Our Cleveland weekend was full of all kinds of fun stuff, like a visit to the age-old West Side Market and then the Tribe home opener.



We scalped tickets and got to sit in the nosebleeds for $6 each. Not bad!



The next day my dad decided it would be fun to take Dr P out on Lake Erie in his boat ... in 34-degree weather. To fish for Walleye. If you ask me, I think it was a "man test." And I think Dr P earned some "man points" or whatever. I really don't think my dad would have been out there battling the snow, rain and waves in his Alumacraft if he didn't have an innate need to show his future son-in-law how real men fish.

But who cares! I got to go shopping!

I love this picture of Dr P with his big ol' grin, proudly displaying his catch. I think he rather enjoyed earning his Super Dave man points.



That night we got to meet up with some old friends and sample one of Cleveland's new crazes, Melt. We hung out at the bar and waited 3 hours for a table. It was a rip-roaring good time.



The next day we said our goodbyes and drove straight through to Birmingham. It was so great to be back in Cleveland for a weekend. I hope we can do it again soon!