Honky-Tonk Here I Come!

Tonight I’m headed off to Nashville, TN

to have a girls’ weekend with my college girls. 

These are they.

I think this was…2006? But as you can see, not much has changed.
At least as far as our love for Blue Cups is concerned. 
See Jill? [Front row, second from the left?] She read this and two days ago that clock showed up on my doorstep. I’m not going to go ahead and say this is why I love her, because I love her clock or no clock, but the fact that we are still doing Secret Santa ten years after we graduated from college says a lot about us, I think. [And the fact that she actually reads this says something, too, because she is a busy girl.]
We actually have a name for ourselves. I don’t usually admit this to people who don’t know us, but I’ll tell you all, because if you’re still reading you deserve some inside scoop. 
Our name is Six Feet. Because there are SIX of us. And we do this a lot:

And by a lot I mean, every time there is a camera anywhere in the vicinity. We’ve got this same shot in bare feet, flip flops, high heels, wedding shoes, running shoes…the list goes on and on. Ten years’ [actually fourteen years’] worth of feet photography. I can pick out who is who based on toes alone.
Anyway. That is where I will be. I’ll miss my hot messes here, but I think they have big plans for the weekend that do not involve mommy, so…
Happy Friday, ya’ll!


The parts Mary Bullock left out

I feel the need to fill in a few gaps in Mary Bullock’s explanation of events yesterday.

Exhibit A: Today’s re-enactment of yesterday’s Great Diaper Strewing

The best part is the innocent look on her face. She’s all: What? Is this wrong?
Exhibit B: The Little Butterfly. I submit for your perusal the contents of this book. If you have a kid and can read this without crying, you have a heart of stone. 

This next one is usually where I start to crumble…
See what I mean?  Tear my heart out with a spoon!

Euphemism of the day: "De-veining"

So, did I tell you that I peeled and de-veined shrimp the other night? First timer here. Normally that is a job that I would delegate to Lee, but I’m on a new life plan (remember the ironing?), and it involves doing things I don’t really want to do, and that I probably won’t do perfectly, but that I really just need to do anyway.

Enter shrimp.

Now, one of the worst parts of this job is the de-veining.  Because you and I both know, that is not a vein.  But I sucked it up and did it, even as sloppily as it probably was.  I didn’t even crack the wine until after.

And so I give you: 
Pasta with Shrimp, Lemon and Tomatoes
8oz. pasta (linguine, spaghetti, or fettucini) 
3tbsp. olive oil
3tbsp. butter
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 lb. medium shrimp, uncooked
1/2c. clam juice
1/3c. oil packed sundried tomatoes, diced (I didn’t dice)
1/4c. fresh parsley (minced)
zest of 1 lemon (I’m terrible at zesting, but it didn’t really matter)
salt and fresh ground pepper 
Cook pasta according to package directions. Toss with 1 tbsp. olive oil. Melt butter and remaining oil. Saute garlic until tender over medium heat. Increase heat and saute shrimp until pink, about 2 minutes. Add clam juice and pasta to pan. Cook over medium high heat, 3 minutes. Add tomatoes, parsley, and lemon zest; season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

The Littlest Bubba: A Morning in the Life

5:30am– Wake up. It’s an hour and a half before it’s time to get up, but there is much playing to be done. Head start city!
6:30am– Crank my squawking up a notch. What are those slow pokes doing in theeeeeeere?
6:45am– Daddy finally hears me. Think to myself: must squawk louder tomorrow.
7:05am– Waf..[nom nom nom] n Honey Dew Meeeluuuuuuu [nom nom nom]
7:15am-Upeeeeeez! With a nice toss of the milk cup for creative flourish.
7:30amRedistribution of diapers. Why do they all have to go in one place anyways? Lame.
7:34am– Pour Ingle’s water bowl in my lap while Mommy is picking up diapers. Score!
7:45am– Mommy already looks tired.
8:00am– Create masterpiece. Mommy says I am an artistic genius. I concur.

8:15am– Read every book on my shelf. 

8:20am– Rearrange books. Shelves=dumb. Floor=betta.
8:30am– Cry when Dadu leaves. Refuse to kiss him bye bye. Would kiss if he would stay and play. 
9:15am– Shoes and socks. I like shoes and socks because then I can thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk around the house.
9:20am– Raisins! 
9:30am– Mommy drops me off at the play room at the gym. Cry for effect. 
9:31am– Mommy who? 
10:30am– Still playing.
10:31am– There’s mommy! More crying. More effect. 
10:45am– Early for lunch with Dadu, so Mommy takes me to a park with no swings. What the poop? 

10:47am– Nevermind. There is dirt here. We’re all good. 

10:52am– Man in the park asks how old I am. Mom says sixteen months. I say, “YEAH!” Man is suitably surprised at my verbal prowess. 
11:00am– Dadu!! Bage..[nom nom nom]. 
11:30am– Back in the car, trying to snooze. Mommy nearly crashes while wiggling my foot. Why is she still talking? Bubba is sleepy. Ssshhh, Mommy, shhhhhh.
11:31am– Mommy pushes her iphone into my hand. Sleepy? Who’s sleepy? 
11:32am– Mommy smiles. Thinks she is a genius. 
11:45am– Home. Mommy reads me The Little Butterfly without crying. I hug her extra tight. So proud of her. 
11:47am– zzzzzzzzzzzzz

On the to-do list: Try not to suck

Do you ever think to yourself: Wow. As a human being, I kind of suck sometimes? 

I hope I’m not the only person who ever has that thought. [Although that’s kind of weird to say: I hope you think you suck, just so I won’t be the the only one? But hopefully you know what I mean.]

In this particular instance, I, with a wine-loosened tongue, made some uncharitable comments about someone that I care about. When I woke up Sunday morning, my words were the first things to pop into my head, followed quickly by [ugh] regret. I brooded about it all day yesterday. Why did I do that? That’s not the person that I want to be. That’s certainly not the person I want to teach Mary Bullock to be.

Anyway, after Mary Bullock’s bedtime I started my nightly blog perusal and by chance found myself on this post at My Favorite Things. Isn’t it amazing how, even if you’re not looking for it, the thing you need in your life somehow just shows up?

Anyway, that post led me to this, which I felt answered the question I had been asking Lee all day yesterday, which was how do I make amends? What do I do now?

So this is my new iphone wallpaper. I’m hoping that it will remind me of my obligation as a human being to try my best every day to not suck
I’m starting with baby steps.

Vicarious Baby Shopping

So, I have a friend who is pregnant. I’m not gonna say who, so don’t bug me. My lips are SEALED. Actually, I have a few friends who are pregnant. But only one super secret. So since I can’t shout it from the mountain tops, I am busying myself by vicarious baby etsy shopping.


Find it here
Find it here.

 Find it here. Or make it, crafty people!

Find them here.

I don’t get down with tutus, but this I like. Find it here

Mary Bullock is just getting to the age where I totally get this. Find it here

Ok ok, I’m done.

For now.

It’s Ironing Day

Er…make that, ironing night. Which is way better, because I can have wine. I try not to drink wine in the morning when it’s avoidable.

Ironing and I have not previously had a pleasant relationship. In high school, my winning smile and generous mother took care of it for me. In college, I accidentally burned a hole in the rug in my dorm room ironing a pair of pants. Yes, I did. 
But the best story of Ironing and Me is the time when, on the night before my interview for my last teaching job, I burned a hole in my dress. Yes. I did that, too. Now, under normal circumstances, one would just consult the closet for another dress. However, I was still in grad school in Charlottesville and had flown down specifically for the interview, so my other options included my pajamas and my pajamas
Luckily, I was staying with Lee’s parents,  so at 10 o’clock that night, I knocked on his mom’s bedroom door crying and asked to borrow a cardigan. Oh, the shame. We’d been dating for maybe a year at that point, and I’d visited only once or twice before. It was awful, obviously. But the cardigan did miraculously cover the hole, and I did get the job, despite my best efforts otherwise. 
Anyway, after that I think I would have been well within my rights to never iron again. And trust me, I haven’t done much. My sweet mama even ironed Lee’s pants last time we were there. 
But I’m on a new life plan. One that includes, among other things, a weekly ironing day.  I think it will be good for me: making peace with ironing. If I can make peace with ironing, I can make peace with anything.