As we spend these last weeks together, we hope to give everyone the chance to tell Corey "Merry Christmas" and "Be safe," but we also send warm holiday wishes to our family and friends.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
It's Christmas, it's painting the town
So, here we are...ten days before Christmas, and three weeks from deployment. Corey will leave January 8 to Camp Shelby, and sometime in early March for Iraq. This is going to be a very hard time for our family. But technology often makes things easier. We will be able to use this blog to keep each other near as we live our daily lives, uncountable miles apart. And for our family and friends who want to walk this journey with us, it is here for you as well. Corey will also be able to video-chat with the boys, and if there's a way to share that with our family and friends, we will.
As we spend these last weeks together, we hope to give everyone the chance to tell Corey "Merry Christmas" and "Be safe," but we also send warm holiday wishes to our family and friends.
As we spend these last weeks together, we hope to give everyone the chance to tell Corey "Merry Christmas" and "Be safe," but we also send warm holiday wishes to our family and friends.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Father's Day Food
In retrospect, these are not dishes one may want to cook for hours in the oven when it's 147 degrees outside, but you can always do the brisket for 6-8 hours in the crockpot.
EM'S STOLEN FROM THE JUNIOR LEAGUE BRISKET
One 5lb brisket
celery salt
garlic salt
black pepper
onion powder
Liquid Smoke
2 cups ketchup
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup vinegar
1/2 cup Worchestershire
Paula Deen says the secret to incredible meat it to rub the spices in it real good, so that's what I do with the peppers, powders and salts on my brisket. Marinate in the refrigerator overnight in all but 4 tbsp of the bottle of Liquid Smoke. When you're ready to cook, remove brisket from excess liquid. Bring the rest of the Liquid Smoke, ketchup, sugar, vinegar and Worchestershire sauce to a boil in a saucepan, until the sugar is dissolved. Pour over brisket in a dutch oven and bake at 275 for 5-6 hours. Or put in the crockpot for 6-8 hours. The meat should fall apart on you when you try to move it from the pot to the cutting board or serving dish.
POTATOES SAVOYARDE (Williams Sonoma Cookbook)
I admit, I have a little work to do on this recipe. I think it needs to be cooked longer than this recipe says. Use chicken stock when serving with chicken and beef stock when serving with beef.
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut in small pieces
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
1 1/2 cups Gruyere cheese
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper
2 1/2 pounds baking potatoes, unpeeled, scrubbed 1/4" slices
1 1/2 cups beef stock, or chicken stock
Preheat oven to 375°. Brush a souffle dish with the melted butter. In a small bowl stir together the garlic, parsley, cheese and pepper. Layer 1/3 of the potatoes and sprinkle one third of the cheese mixture over the top. repeat the layers once and top with last potatoes. Pour the stock evenly over the layers. sprinkle the remaining mixture over the top and dot with butter. Butter a piece of aluminum foil and place over dish. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake 30 to 40 minutes more until the potatoes are render and the top is brown and crusty.
MS. JAN'S CHOCOLATE ICING
She puts it on brownies, but I think you could put it on a boot and eat it delightfully.
1 stick butter
3 tbsp cocoa powder
6 tbsp evaporated milk
1 BOX powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp cinnamon, or more to taste
Melt the butter. DO NOT BOIL. Stir in the cocoa powder until dissolved and evaporated milk until creamy. Add the sugar, vanilla and cinnamon and simmer until evenly blended. Pour HOT on HOT cake or brownies and let cool.
EM'S STOLEN FROM THE JUNIOR LEAGUE BRISKET
One 5lb brisket
celery salt
garlic salt
black pepper
onion powder
Liquid Smoke
2 cups ketchup
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup vinegar
1/2 cup Worchestershire
Paula Deen says the secret to incredible meat it to rub the spices in it real good, so that's what I do with the peppers, powders and salts on my brisket. Marinate in the refrigerator overnight in all but 4 tbsp of the bottle of Liquid Smoke. When you're ready to cook, remove brisket from excess liquid. Bring the rest of the Liquid Smoke, ketchup, sugar, vinegar and Worchestershire sauce to a boil in a saucepan, until the sugar is dissolved. Pour over brisket in a dutch oven and bake at 275 for 5-6 hours. Or put in the crockpot for 6-8 hours. The meat should fall apart on you when you try to move it from the pot to the cutting board or serving dish.
POTATOES SAVOYARDE (Williams Sonoma Cookbook)
I admit, I have a little work to do on this recipe. I think it needs to be cooked longer than this recipe says. Use chicken stock when serving with chicken and beef stock when serving with beef.
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut in small pieces
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
1 1/2 cups Gruyere cheese
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper
2 1/2 pounds baking potatoes, unpeeled, scrubbed 1/4" slices
1 1/2 cups beef stock, or chicken stock
Preheat oven to 375°. Brush a souffle dish with the melted butter. In a small bowl stir together the garlic, parsley, cheese and pepper. Layer 1/3 of the potatoes and sprinkle one third of the cheese mixture over the top. repeat the layers once and top with last potatoes. Pour the stock evenly over the layers. sprinkle the remaining mixture over the top and dot with butter. Butter a piece of aluminum foil and place over dish. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake 30 to 40 minutes more until the potatoes are render and the top is brown and crusty.
MS. JAN'S CHOCOLATE ICING
She puts it on brownies, but I think you could put it on a boot and eat it delightfully.
1 stick butter
3 tbsp cocoa powder
6 tbsp evaporated milk
1 BOX powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp cinnamon, or more to taste
Melt the butter. DO NOT BOIL. Stir in the cocoa powder until dissolved and evaporated milk until creamy. Add the sugar, vanilla and cinnamon and simmer until evenly blended. Pour HOT on HOT cake or brownies and let cool.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
And a partridge in a pear tree
This week is our week with the boys. Our summer is, like most things in our household, scattered to the wind, since Corey have 20 days of advanced training in July, I'm taking a trip to Arkansas to spend a little QT with Em and the Handsomes, and we're moving to a bigger apartment in August. So for the first part of the summer, we put the boys in summer camp at the Y. It works perfectly because it's near Corey's work and he drops them off and collects them. Today, they were going to the zoo. At the end of the day, when you ask them what they did at camp, they can only remember one thing, so it sounds like they spent the entire day swimming or playing kickball.
When I say that as fun and fulfilling and heartwarming (I just spelled that heartworming, think I have d-o-g on the brain?) the weeks with the boys are, and how we spend the entire week without them talking about the funny shit they do, I truly mean that. I also truly mean that my house is apeshit crazy every other week, and it's unfortunately Murphy's fault.
Murphy must be good practice for how discombobulating having a baby is going to be, and here's hoping he's going to be peeing and pooing in the designated places long before 2011. He goes berserk when the boys are in the room with him--he loves his brothers and wants to bite their toes, pull down their shorts and lick their faces. This sends them into squealing fits, which excites him even more, to the point beyond which we could hope for him to communicate the need to piddle, so he goes on the floor. Not only that, he won't even eat if they are in earshot.
It's absolutely precious, and it makes me want to run fah, fah away. Corey and I are getting up there in years (him first) and it's completely overstimulating and results in everybody going to bed early because the Parents need to sit quietly on the couch and have adult beverages as early as possible after getting up early to get everybody out of the house on time, working 9-10 hours, cooking supper, feeding the brood, stepping on the dog, stopping the squealing, bathing, packing up for the next day and getting up in the middle of the night to take Murphy to potty.
You should see my laundry hampers.
The only one who delights in every second of this is Lily. She feels that this havoc is my atonement for throwing a husband, two kids and a dog at her, when she was perfectly happy being the only companion.
When I say that as fun and fulfilling and heartwarming (I just spelled that heartworming, think I have d-o-g on the brain?) the weeks with the boys are, and how we spend the entire week without them talking about the funny shit they do, I truly mean that. I also truly mean that my house is apeshit crazy every other week, and it's unfortunately Murphy's fault.
Murphy must be good practice for how discombobulating having a baby is going to be, and here's hoping he's going to be peeing and pooing in the designated places long before 2011. He goes berserk when the boys are in the room with him--he loves his brothers and wants to bite their toes, pull down their shorts and lick their faces. This sends them into squealing fits, which excites him even more, to the point beyond which we could hope for him to communicate the need to piddle, so he goes on the floor. Not only that, he won't even eat if they are in earshot.
It's absolutely precious, and it makes me want to run fah, fah away. Corey and I are getting up there in years (him first) and it's completely overstimulating and results in everybody going to bed early because the Parents need to sit quietly on the couch and have adult beverages as early as possible after getting up early to get everybody out of the house on time, working 9-10 hours, cooking supper, feeding the brood, stepping on the dog, stopping the squealing, bathing, packing up for the next day and getting up in the middle of the night to take Murphy to potty.
You should see my laundry hampers.
The only one who delights in every second of this is Lily. She feels that this havoc is my atonement for throwing a husband, two kids and a dog at her, when she was perfectly happy being the only companion.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Rolling down Black River Lake on a party barge, drinking beer/Gatorade, singing "Redneck Yacht Club" and turning red
The protection guaranteed by SPF 85 is total crapola. Remember that for later.
Corey had drill this weekend, and we had the boys, but it was also Family Day for Dad's bass club. Cydney and I have tried to attend every Family Day since she was around 5, but this year she was the Golden Daughter who got up at the ass crack to go fishing with Dad on Saturday. Jake had a baseball tournament, so Landen and I picked up Dixie and headed to Black River Lake after donuts on Sunday morning. Murphy stayed home and his Uncle Burrell went to feed and play with him at lunchtime.
Coming out the gate, I got a speeding ticket in St. Francisville, and Dixie tried to eat the trooper when I had to roll down the window to give him my license. I wish nothing but respect and safety to all (most) law enforcement officers. Dixie is a sizeable five months, and her big ole noggin barking at the trooper before the window came all the way down had him inquiring whether she was a biting dog or not. (When Cydney moves all by her lonesome for the first time ever into her new apartment in July, we'll be glad Dixie's first instinct is to scream at you.)
Landen is very uneasy about the water. He'll put his head under in the bathtub and he did well in the hot tub at the Embassy Suites for Jake's birthday, but I'm concerned that the time I nearly let him drown at the Marriott has him freaked out about the water when he can't see the bottom. You can't see shit in Black River Lake--as the name implies, I'm sure--so he did not want to get in the water, nor was he particularly excited about riding in a vessel on top of the water. When offered the choice between Great Don's fast boat and Mr. Charlie's big boat (party barge), he opted for the party barge. So up and down the lake we go the majority of the afternoon--Cydney, Dad, Landen, Mr. Charlie and me, joined later by the Ryders and two tweenagers whose names I never caught.
Now, I don't care what level of success one reaches in life, I'd bet that you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn't consider riding up and down a lake on a big ass party barge drinking beverages out of coolers on a breezy, sunny Saturday afternoon to be a fine way to waste some hours. The only complaint one might file would be if the SPF 85 Sport sunblock one sprays on every hour to keep the melanoma at bay turns out to be total bullshit and sends one home looking like a big tomato.
That would be me. I felt so bad on the 2.5 hour drive home in the evening that I was forced to stop in an empty parking lot on HWY 61 in Woodville, MS, lock the doors and join Landen in napping some of the sun-tired away. I slept for 30 minutes before driving us the rest of the way home. Landen woke up to walk in the house.
P.S. Dixie loves swimming. Her mama got her a fancy dog life vest, but she doesn't need it. Who knew Cydney the Water Baby would find herself a dog who loves to swim as much as she does?
Corey had drill this weekend, and we had the boys, but it was also Family Day for Dad's bass club. Cydney and I have tried to attend every Family Day since she was around 5, but this year she was the Golden Daughter who got up at the ass crack to go fishing with Dad on Saturday. Jake had a baseball tournament, so Landen and I picked up Dixie and headed to Black River Lake after donuts on Sunday morning. Murphy stayed home and his Uncle Burrell went to feed and play with him at lunchtime.
Coming out the gate, I got a speeding ticket in St. Francisville, and Dixie tried to eat the trooper when I had to roll down the window to give him my license. I wish nothing but respect and safety to all (most) law enforcement officers. Dixie is a sizeable five months, and her big ole noggin barking at the trooper before the window came all the way down had him inquiring whether she was a biting dog or not. (When Cydney moves all by her lonesome for the first time ever into her new apartment in July, we'll be glad Dixie's first instinct is to scream at you.)
Landen is very uneasy about the water. He'll put his head under in the bathtub and he did well in the hot tub at the Embassy Suites for Jake's birthday, but I'm concerned that the time I nearly let him drown at the Marriott has him freaked out about the water when he can't see the bottom. You can't see shit in Black River Lake--as the name implies, I'm sure--so he did not want to get in the water, nor was he particularly excited about riding in a vessel on top of the water. When offered the choice between Great Don's fast boat and Mr. Charlie's big boat (party barge), he opted for the party barge. So up and down the lake we go the majority of the afternoon--Cydney, Dad, Landen, Mr. Charlie and me, joined later by the Ryders and two tweenagers whose names I never caught.
Now, I don't care what level of success one reaches in life, I'd bet that you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn't consider riding up and down a lake on a big ass party barge drinking beverages out of coolers on a breezy, sunny Saturday afternoon to be a fine way to waste some hours. The only complaint one might file would be if the SPF 85 Sport sunblock one sprays on every hour to keep the melanoma at bay turns out to be total bullshit and sends one home looking like a big tomato.
That would be me. I felt so bad on the 2.5 hour drive home in the evening that I was forced to stop in an empty parking lot on HWY 61 in Woodville, MS, lock the doors and join Landen in napping some of the sun-tired away. I slept for 30 minutes before driving us the rest of the way home. Landen woke up to walk in the house.
P.S. Dixie loves swimming. Her mama got her a fancy dog life vest, but she doesn't need it. Who knew Cydney the Water Baby would find herself a dog who loves to swim as much as she does?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
April 16?! Holy shit.
We have been remiss in posting NOTHING the past six weeks. I finished all the work I needed to complete to graduate on May 15th, so that shit is behind me and I have a Masters! Landen graduated from kindergarten and Jake won awards for being an exemplary student. On Monday, they start camp at the YMCA, and I gotta say, I think Corey and I are more excited than they are.
The big news is that we got a puppy. He is a parti-colored American cocker spaniel, born on April 7. His name is Audie Murphy Allbritton, but he’s really just Murphy. Why in the hell did we get a dog? Because I’m nesting and I can’t have a baby right now, and Corey is a dog person. Well, an animal person in general.
I admit that I am going to make all of us neurotic as shit over housetraining, but I am nothing if not routine. We’re crate training, so at night he’s in his crate and we’re taking him out every three hours. He has a habitat he’s baby-gated into during the day and someone comes at lunch to feed him and take him out—and clean up the pee and poop he’s laid on the kitchen floor, sometimes on the pee pad, sometimes not.
When we’re home, we take him out and let him play on the blanket-protected couch, or on the floor, which he “marks” I guess, and we continue taking him out. I’m a little frustrated because he shows no signs of understanding what we’re trying to accomplish here.
See, so obsessed with elimination by this dog am I that I have devoted an entire blog post to it. So blah, blah, if you read this and have suggestions, which I readily solicit, I’m taking all of them. Here are some pics of our little dude.
And how is Lily handling this mess? She just watches him, I"m sure wondering what the fuck he's doing. She will tell him to shut the hell up when we put him in the kitchen and he cries about it. Last night while we were at dinner, he got out of the kitchen gate that I apparently failed to secure, and he was hanging out in the living room, not bleeding, and she was in her chair when we got home.
The big news is that we got a puppy. He is a parti-colored American cocker spaniel, born on April 7. His name is Audie Murphy Allbritton, but he’s really just Murphy. Why in the hell did we get a dog? Because I’m nesting and I can’t have a baby right now, and Corey is a dog person. Well, an animal person in general.
I admit that I am going to make all of us neurotic as shit over housetraining, but I am nothing if not routine. We’re crate training, so at night he’s in his crate and we’re taking him out every three hours. He has a habitat he’s baby-gated into during the day and someone comes at lunch to feed him and take him out—and clean up the pee and poop he’s laid on the kitchen floor, sometimes on the pee pad, sometimes not.
When we’re home, we take him out and let him play on the blanket-protected couch, or on the floor, which he “marks” I guess, and we continue taking him out. I’m a little frustrated because he shows no signs of understanding what we’re trying to accomplish here.
See, so obsessed with elimination by this dog am I that I have devoted an entire blog post to it. So blah, blah, if you read this and have suggestions, which I readily solicit, I’m taking all of them. Here are some pics of our little dude.
And how is Lily handling this mess? She just watches him, I"m sure wondering what the fuck he's doing. She will tell him to shut the hell up when we put him in the kitchen and he cries about it. Last night while we were at dinner, he got out of the kitchen gate that I apparently failed to secure, and he was hanging out in the living room, not bleeding, and she was in her chair when we got home. Thursday, April 16, 2009
Things I Learned at the Beach 2009
Fifty-year old women are having LOTS of boob jobs and putting on the bikinis to show them off, certainly not for the hairy, beer-bellied, bald 60-year old men who presumably are buying them.
The hotel-imposed rules of the beach do not matter at all. All hotels guests will swim despite the red flag, bring bottles on the beach, play their music too loud, wear thongs and leave their trash by their beach chairs.
If they are still making overweight teenage girls, they aren’t at the beach. The only teenage girls at the beach are tall, tan and lithe in string bikinis.
Snaps to all the beached whales who get out there in their swimsuits, sans cover-ups, despite the Tiny Teenagers parading in front of them.
Tim Gunn needs to do a swimsuit book, and he needs to advise the planet that those bathing suits with the tropical flowers on the black backgrounds are not okay at any age or any size.
Watch the weather very closely. If, for instance, the prediction is rain on the day you are supposed to pack up and leave the beach, and your mama tells you that one hellacious rainstorm came through last night moving your way, pack your shit up in your car the night before so that you and your family aren’t complete soaking messes for the ride home.
Sunblock, no matter the spf, should be applied every hour. Otherwise your children will burn on their backs right above the waistband of their swim trunks and they will tell you about it all the time.
Know the location of every Wal-Mart between the beach and home. This will come in handy if you decide, on a whim, that you must stop and purchase a portable DVD player on the way out so your children do not ask you if you’re in Louisiana yet every ten minutes. If, in the execution of the backseat theatre, you execute your just-out-of-the-box DVD player when you plug it into the car and it makes a shocking POP sound and begins to smoke, you will need to know the location of the next Wal-Mart so that portable device can be returned as inoperable and another one can be acquired.
Though they sound yuppie and frou-frou, white wine spritzers are delightful balcony beverages.
However much money you spend, however annoyed you get with your family during extended times in close proximity, however much sand you bring home in your bag, however many seashells you are forced to buy....every single pain in the ass is totally and completely worth it to give the beach to a child.
The hotel-imposed rules of the beach do not matter at all. All hotels guests will swim despite the red flag, bring bottles on the beach, play their music too loud, wear thongs and leave their trash by their beach chairs.
If they are still making overweight teenage girls, they aren’t at the beach. The only teenage girls at the beach are tall, tan and lithe in string bikinis.
Snaps to all the beached whales who get out there in their swimsuits, sans cover-ups, despite the Tiny Teenagers parading in front of them.
Tim Gunn needs to do a swimsuit book, and he needs to advise the planet that those bathing suits with the tropical flowers on the black backgrounds are not okay at any age or any size.
Watch the weather very closely. If, for instance, the prediction is rain on the day you are supposed to pack up and leave the beach, and your mama tells you that one hellacious rainstorm came through last night moving your way, pack your shit up in your car the night before so that you and your family aren’t complete soaking messes for the ride home.
Sunblock, no matter the spf, should be applied every hour. Otherwise your children will burn on their backs right above the waistband of their swim trunks and they will tell you about it all the time.
Know the location of every Wal-Mart between the beach and home. This will come in handy if you decide, on a whim, that you must stop and purchase a portable DVD player on the way out so your children do not ask you if you’re in Louisiana yet every ten minutes. If, in the execution of the backseat theatre, you execute your just-out-of-the-box DVD player when you plug it into the car and it makes a shocking POP sound and begins to smoke, you will need to know the location of the next Wal-Mart so that portable device can be returned as inoperable and another one can be acquired.
Though they sound yuppie and frou-frou, white wine spritzers are delightful balcony beverages.
However much money you spend, however annoyed you get with your family during extended times in close proximity, however much sand you bring home in your bag, however many seashells you are forced to buy....every single pain in the ass is totally and completely worth it to give the beach to a child.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Beach Photos, Days Two and Three
On Day Two they got a little sunburned, so we bought them some of those surfing shirts, and they were STUPID cute in them.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
I forgot what?
In January, I looked at our collective schedules and decided that Easter weekend would be a great time to take the boys to the beach. Bookit.com gave me a GREAT rate on a resort hotel room with a balcony and beach view. Boss Emily gave me the time off.
When I say that Corey and I have been having quite the times at work the past two weeks, I’m understating it. Corey had inspection (he was commended) and I had four meetings in four cities in five days and my boss is getting reading to have a son. We’ve both been working very late, eating very poorly and sleeping very little. Two people in need of a little beach vacation is all I’m saying.
I was all set to get up and leave early Friday morning, so we could have a little beach time on Friday, and drive home Monday afternoon, maybe after visiting the Gulfarium. Thursday morning I wake up at the ass crack to take the boys to school and I look at my calendar and wonder why it says “NELL ALLBRITTON OUT” on it. So weird, why would I not be at work today?
A feel of doom leads me to my computer where I pull up my Bookit.com reservation, which tells me that I am supposed to be checking into the Ramada Plaza Beach Resort at 3 PM TODAY.
Wait for it………
I FORGOT TO GO ON VACATION!!!
I’m recalling that when I planned this trip, I was aware of the fact that the boys had early dismissal from school on Thursday, and I clearly made that reservation planning to leave after their Easter parties. Designing it that way was as far as I got. Implementation failed.
The lass I share an office with and I often refer to ourselves as complete disasters, and we joke about our office being the Danger Zone and needing caution tape. Her family is constantly facing some drama of the health variety and she forgets something every morning on her way to work. I am a personal disaster and sometimes this trickles down to my husband and children. I pride myself on getting all my business handled despite this.
Clearly my shit is not as together as I thought it was, and there’s nothing like forgetting your vacation to prove how desperately you need one.
You know all the planning and listing and freaking packing you have to do to leave the state, and 30% of that was done as of 6:10 AM on Thursday. Once my shock wore off and Corey stopped laughing, we decided we’d just let the boys play in their baseball game (which they ended up not doing) that afternoon and leave around 6. The boys would sleep in the car and we’d wake up for a full beach day on Friday. This is what we did, and today was a beautiful day.
For your enjoyment, a burial video:
When I say that Corey and I have been having quite the times at work the past two weeks, I’m understating it. Corey had inspection (he was commended) and I had four meetings in four cities in five days and my boss is getting reading to have a son. We’ve both been working very late, eating very poorly and sleeping very little. Two people in need of a little beach vacation is all I’m saying.
I was all set to get up and leave early Friday morning, so we could have a little beach time on Friday, and drive home Monday afternoon, maybe after visiting the Gulfarium. Thursday morning I wake up at the ass crack to take the boys to school and I look at my calendar and wonder why it says “NELL ALLBRITTON OUT” on it. So weird, why would I not be at work today?
A feel of doom leads me to my computer where I pull up my Bookit.com reservation, which tells me that I am supposed to be checking into the Ramada Plaza Beach Resort at 3 PM TODAY.
Wait for it………
I FORGOT TO GO ON VACATION!!!
I’m recalling that when I planned this trip, I was aware of the fact that the boys had early dismissal from school on Thursday, and I clearly made that reservation planning to leave after their Easter parties. Designing it that way was as far as I got. Implementation failed.
The lass I share an office with and I often refer to ourselves as complete disasters, and we joke about our office being the Danger Zone and needing caution tape. Her family is constantly facing some drama of the health variety and she forgets something every morning on her way to work. I am a personal disaster and sometimes this trickles down to my husband and children. I pride myself on getting all my business handled despite this.
Clearly my shit is not as together as I thought it was, and there’s nothing like forgetting your vacation to prove how desperately you need one.
You know all the planning and listing and freaking packing you have to do to leave the state, and 30% of that was done as of 6:10 AM on Thursday. Once my shock wore off and Corey stopped laughing, we decided we’d just let the boys play in their baseball game (which they ended up not doing) that afternoon and leave around 6. The boys would sleep in the car and we’d wake up for a full beach day on Friday. This is what we did, and today was a beautiful day.
For your enjoyment, a burial video:
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Celebrate the day of our birth
My parents do a joint birthday with us now that we live in the same city. It's usually the weekend that falls between our March birthdays (Cydney's is the 4th, mine is the 11th), take us to dinner and bring us some presents. This year, Corey and Justin got to come, and Dad invited his friend Fred to join us for dinner at Juban's.
Birthday girls!
With Fred, who was so happy to be with us for our birthday. We haven't seen him in years and years.
Eternal youth
Newlyweds!!
That cutie boyfriend of that purdy girl
Many candles on our red velvet cake
Do we all have the same smile?
The party of seven, wait, SIX because Fred took off for the bathroom and never came back!
Birthday girls!
With Fred, who was so happy to be with us for our birthday. We haven't seen him in years and years.
Eternal youth
Newlyweds!!
That cutie boyfriend of that purdy girl
Many candles on our red velvet cake
Do we all have the same smile?
The party of seven, wait, SIX because Fred took off for the bathroom and never came back! Have you ever been shot out of a cannon?
I know we owe two weeks of posts on this blog, but I just have to quit doing anything in order to share the tale of the Half Week of Calamity Jane.
Monday and Tuesday of this week I have been preparing for a major event we had with the Department of the Interior today. Both days I was ONLY doing preparations for the event, and a haze had settled over my ability to think about personal hygiene, email or phone calls. I usually kick my shoes off under my desk when I'm seated there for long periods of time, which I had done on this particular day.
So there I am, at my desk, working on spreadsheets and invitations with my shoes kicked off and I am given immediate instructions to deliver other instructions to a girl who worked on the other side of our office. Up I get and off I go to deliver the assignment, so important was it that my supervisor was waiting on the other end of the phone for me to come back and say it was done.
It was not until I had crossed out of the lobby, through the elevator bay, into cubicle city and out again that I realized I had NO. F***KING. SHOES. ON. Not a sock, not a stocking, not a sole. And who should be standing in the elevator bay as I am running through it, looking at me like one of my feet was falling apart before her eyes, while I'm running, waving my arms and saying "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"--my Chief of Staff.
Today was the Main Event, in New Orleans. Now, the last time I had worn my black pencil skirt, some of the hem came undone at work, so I stapled the hem and colored the staples with a Sharpie as a quick fix. And then, as I am wont to do, I forgot all about that shit, and put that pencil skirt on this morning. When I got to New Orleans, not only did I remember that the bitch was stapled on, but realized that the REST of the hem had been liberated also. So a coworker came from the New Orleans office, armed with a stapler and a Sharpie, and hemmed the rest of my skirt. The sad part is that the hem STILL won't be fixed the next time I put it on and leave the house in it.
Finally, you may recall that I made some serious fun of Corey's ass stepping on his own toe and breaking it. I myself have personally broken my own two baby toes so many times they don't face forward--it's cuter than it sounds. It wasn't until I got home after 10 hours in pointed-toe shoes that the pinky toe I had slammed on the closet door at 6 AM started throbbing. Why? Because it's all swollen and purple and BROKEN.
I need a mental health day.
Monday and Tuesday of this week I have been preparing for a major event we had with the Department of the Interior today. Both days I was ONLY doing preparations for the event, and a haze had settled over my ability to think about personal hygiene, email or phone calls. I usually kick my shoes off under my desk when I'm seated there for long periods of time, which I had done on this particular day.
So there I am, at my desk, working on spreadsheets and invitations with my shoes kicked off and I am given immediate instructions to deliver other instructions to a girl who worked on the other side of our office. Up I get and off I go to deliver the assignment, so important was it that my supervisor was waiting on the other end of the phone for me to come back and say it was done.
It was not until I had crossed out of the lobby, through the elevator bay, into cubicle city and out again that I realized I had NO. F***KING. SHOES. ON. Not a sock, not a stocking, not a sole. And who should be standing in the elevator bay as I am running through it, looking at me like one of my feet was falling apart before her eyes, while I'm running, waving my arms and saying "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"--my Chief of Staff.
Today was the Main Event, in New Orleans. Now, the last time I had worn my black pencil skirt, some of the hem came undone at work, so I stapled the hem and colored the staples with a Sharpie as a quick fix. And then, as I am wont to do, I forgot all about that shit, and put that pencil skirt on this morning. When I got to New Orleans, not only did I remember that the bitch was stapled on, but realized that the REST of the hem had been liberated also. So a coworker came from the New Orleans office, armed with a stapler and a Sharpie, and hemmed the rest of my skirt. The sad part is that the hem STILL won't be fixed the next time I put it on and leave the house in it.
Finally, you may recall that I made some serious fun of Corey's ass stepping on his own toe and breaking it. I myself have personally broken my own two baby toes so many times they don't face forward--it's cuter than it sounds. It wasn't until I got home after 10 hours in pointed-toe shoes that the pinky toe I had slammed on the closet door at 6 AM started throbbing. Why? Because it's all swollen and purple and BROKEN.
I need a mental health day.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
My Lenten Un-feast
I am a Catholic, but I do not go to church. I have no tolerance for the establishment, but I think the religion is quite beautiful. I believe in evolution, that Mary Magdelene was the wife of Jesus, that homosexuals and priests should be allowed to marry, and I believe my Catholic faith leaves room for all of that.
I have not practiced Lenten penance for several years. I’m feeling very blessed, and a little humble about it, so I decided this year I would do what I’ve done in years before and give up sugar for Lent. This means a hiatus from two of my very most favorite things—cold Coke and icing. As a child who had a birthday during Lent, and due fortune paying a mean-ass trick on us by sending forth Girl Scout cookies during Lent, I have those two caveats—I give up sugar, with the exception of birthday cake and Girl Scout cookies. Those of you will birthdays before or after the 40 days of Lent who mock this condition can kiss my ass, because no one knows this trouble I’ve seen.
Oh, my fine Irish grandmother told her children that Sunday was not a day of Lent, so whatever you give up for Lent, you could technically have on Sundays. It was a mistake for my parents to allow this, because I can ingest an entire week’s worth of sugar in one day if absolutely necessary.
The Coke thing is really hard, because I need caffeine when I don’t get enough sleep, and I just love it with my whole heart. I don’t drink coffee or tea or take speed, so on this sleepy day, I am going au naturale. I can attest to the fact that if you are a person who drinks approximately one Coke per day, once you get past the withdrawals (and mine are debilitating) and get the toxins out of your system, your energy levels and general wellbeing dramatically improve.
I will swear until my dying day that my energy levels and general wellbeing do not improve in the slightest when my sadistic self withholds Little Debbies and cheesecake from my hungry self, but THIS is the penance I offer to tiny little baby Jesus.
And because this is a team event, Corey the Mega-Husband is on this self-sacrificing journey with me. He claims to not completely understand the rules of giving up caffeine and sugar, because yesterday he had tea and Day Two he had a mocha chocolata coffee or some shit like that. I think he's just a crafty Army dude who's exploring all the loopholes. Boy, was he crestfallen when he slid over next to Landen on Saturday night to partake in his tray of sopapillas, only to have me shoot him down and banish him to the other side of the booth.
I sure do love him for his effort.
I have not practiced Lenten penance for several years. I’m feeling very blessed, and a little humble about it, so I decided this year I would do what I’ve done in years before and give up sugar for Lent. This means a hiatus from two of my very most favorite things—cold Coke and icing. As a child who had a birthday during Lent, and due fortune paying a mean-ass trick on us by sending forth Girl Scout cookies during Lent, I have those two caveats—I give up sugar, with the exception of birthday cake and Girl Scout cookies. Those of you will birthdays before or after the 40 days of Lent who mock this condition can kiss my ass, because no one knows this trouble I’ve seen.
Oh, my fine Irish grandmother told her children that Sunday was not a day of Lent, so whatever you give up for Lent, you could technically have on Sundays. It was a mistake for my parents to allow this, because I can ingest an entire week’s worth of sugar in one day if absolutely necessary.
The Coke thing is really hard, because I need caffeine when I don’t get enough sleep, and I just love it with my whole heart. I don’t drink coffee or tea or take speed, so on this sleepy day, I am going au naturale. I can attest to the fact that if you are a person who drinks approximately one Coke per day, once you get past the withdrawals (and mine are debilitating) and get the toxins out of your system, your energy levels and general wellbeing dramatically improve.
I will swear until my dying day that my energy levels and general wellbeing do not improve in the slightest when my sadistic self withholds Little Debbies and cheesecake from my hungry self, but THIS is the penance I offer to tiny little baby Jesus.
And because this is a team event, Corey the Mega-Husband is on this self-sacrificing journey with me. He claims to not completely understand the rules of giving up caffeine and sugar, because yesterday he had tea and Day Two he had a mocha chocolata coffee or some shit like that. I think he's just a crafty Army dude who's exploring all the loopholes. Boy, was he crestfallen when he slid over next to Landen on Saturday night to partake in his tray of sopapillas, only to have me shoot him down and banish him to the other side of the booth.
I sure do love him for his effort.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A Very Merry Birthday to Landen
On Thursday, the Landenator turned six years old. I searched the Greater Baton Rouge area to find a bakery that would/could make me a cake with Batman fighting the Joker on it, which I did 
but at 6 AM, Landen didn't give two shits about that birthday cake. It was cooler that afternoon.
After school we opened presents, and Jake is one of those lucky little suckers who gets presents on his brother's birthday, on account of he's too young NOT to get something when his brother does. Landen got the LEGO Batman video game, Batman and Joker action figures, a Batman playset, the Batmobile with the Batcycle and a pirate ship. Jake got a Roman coliseum playset.
Friday night was our Marriott slumber party. They put us on the 20th floor, so the boys could see the entire South side of the city
and after we ordered pizza, we took them down to the hot tub. I didn't get in the hot tub, I just sat on the side with my feet in the water, so I did not have an appreciation for the depth of the thing.
I asked Landen whether he thought he could touch the bottom and he stepped off the step and went WAY under. I forgot he can't swim, which will be remedied this summer when I put both of their asses in swim lessons at the Y. Anyway, I was expecting him to gain control any minute, but he cam up and went right back down again. It was at Corey's urging that I was reminded to grab him, which I did, and after 90 seconds of screaming, we got him calmed down and he resumed hot tub play on the steps. For the rest of the night, he kept hugging and kissing me and thanking me for saving his life, but really, I was the one who endangered it, I guess, but I appreciated his gratitude.
Of an equal amount of fun was Dad collecting the towels from the pool chairs and tying them on their heads, which made them pirates/ninjas/Hajis.
They tired themselves out at the hot tub--in and around it and we went upstairs and watched American Gladiators until they fell asleep. Then Corey and I watched that Mickey Rourke movie The Wrestler, which is not at all uplifting, but the performances are good, if you can get past Mickey Rourke's ate-up face enough to appreciate the acting.
So much fun was had at the Marriott slumber party that Jake has selected the Embassy Suites as the site of his birthday celebration in May.
but at 6 AM, Landen didn't give two shits about that birthday cake. It was cooler that afternoon.After school we opened presents, and Jake is one of those lucky little suckers who gets presents on his brother's birthday, on account of he's too young NOT to get something when his brother does. Landen got the LEGO Batman video game, Batman and Joker action figures, a Batman playset, the Batmobile with the Batcycle and a pirate ship. Jake got a Roman coliseum playset.Friday night was our Marriott slumber party. They put us on the 20th floor, so the boys could see the entire South side of the cityand after we ordered pizza, we took them down to the hot tub. I didn't get in the hot tub, I just sat on the side with my feet in the water, so I did not have an appreciation for the depth of the thing.I asked Landen whether he thought he could touch the bottom and he stepped off the step and went WAY under. I forgot he can't swim, which will be remedied this summer when I put both of their asses in swim lessons at the Y. Anyway, I was expecting him to gain control any minute, but he cam up and went right back down again. It was at Corey's urging that I was reminded to grab him, which I did, and after 90 seconds of screaming, we got him calmed down and he resumed hot tub play on the steps. For the rest of the night, he kept hugging and kissing me and thanking me for saving his life, but really, I was the one who endangered it, I guess, but I appreciated his gratitude.Of an equal amount of fun was Dad collecting the towels from the pool chairs and tying them on their heads, which made them pirates/ninjas/Hajis.
They tired themselves out at the hot tub--in and around it and we went upstairs and watched American Gladiators until they fell asleep. Then Corey and I watched that Mickey Rourke movie The Wrestler, which is not at all uplifting, but the performances are good, if you can get past Mickey Rourke's ate-up face enough to appreciate the acting.So much fun was had at the Marriott slumber party that Jake has selected the Embassy Suites as the site of his birthday celebration in May.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)