Passportage

I got a passport 8 years ago to go with Shannon to Cuba. She was going for school and I was going as a journalist. Because that was the sneaky way I had to work it.

Well, that trip didn't work out, but the passport came and opened up the world to me. I've since been to Spain, England, Holland, Morocco, Jamaica and Iran.

In three and a half hours I will finally be using my passport to go with Shannon to Cuba. Mack is meeting me there for a 10-day getaway that will probably change my life (most trips do). And my passport feels good that its destiny is fulfilled.

And I thought I was bad.

Leiah moved into a new place a few weeks ago, so last week I spent a few days at her house watching Ben and helping her get settled. We went through clothes, found a roomful of wedding and baby stuff that could be donated or given away, and then had to tackle her keepsakes.

I have a soft spot for keepsakes. A soft spot that's about two trunks tall by two trunks wide plus an under the bed box full of photos. Mack loves my soft spot.

While I'm good at being practical about things like how many pieces of Gladware you really need, I'm terrible at purging keepsakes. Every time I open my own collection to eliminate things, it's like I get to go back in time, see who I was then, laugh at how ridiculous she was, and then come back to who I am today feeling very grateful and more like I have accomplished something with my life. Something like not being 17 anymore.

Helping Leiah was tough. She has the funniest notes that she passed during class and a love letter from a boy who was so sweet and so helpless in his feelings for her. She has fake wedding programs that she and her friend made for their future alter-ego selves. She has baby photos of a boy I love so much I'll probably keep his baby picture framed and on my windowsill even when he's 75. Those things made it hard to say no.

But there were other things.

When we were kids we had this awful wool blanket that was kept on the couch for us to cover up with if we got cold. This thing was brown and as scratchy as a beard, and it became known as Itchy Scratchy to us girls. Leiah decided she was going to love this blanket and claimed it as her own. Fast forward 22 years when she pulls Itchy Scratchy out of a bag, tattered and torn, aging worse than a smoking woman.

When I asked Leiah why she ever liked that obnoxious blanket she looked at me and said, "Because Amber. It's what I do. I liked Itchy Scratchy and I liked LJ. I don't know why."

We also came across her old orthodontics. When I say orthodontics, I don't mean retainers. I kept my retainers for a few years after I stopped wearing them, but mainly because I knew how much my parents had paid for those things and I felt awful pitching them. I guess Leiah had similar issues because we not only found her retainer but also her rusty headgear and her braces. Yes, her actual braces.


I'm I ever glad my packrattiness was tempered by a tiny apartment and a cross country move.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder how you turned my niece into Ozzy Osbourne.

This is an angel at Christmas, just 4 short months ago.

And this is how age makes us rotten.

I almost killed my nephew.

pancake breakfast at Denny's. a side trip to the mall. running through Dick's and hiding in the tents. watching the kids play in the playground. chasing each other and playing I'm gonna get your butt. laughter. joy. the casual stay by me in the parking lot warning. a repeat of the same warning. the turn to open his door. the realization that he's off and running. the looming SUV cruising out of its spot. the carnal shriek that squeals his name in such a way he whips around terrified and runs back. the welling up of tears. the hyperventilating of both of us in the back seat. his cries for mommy. my cries for how sad and scared he is. my mind wanders to horribly dark places called what if and I beg it to stop. the thought keeps creeping in and I try to kill it with gratitude. my singsong voice of happiness trying to undo the trauma. his silence the whole way home. the apology so heartfelt a piece of me died when I heard it. the sorry exchange, him for almost getting smashed by the car, mine for screaming at him and scaring him to his core. the delicate recount offered to his mother when we pick her up from work. her reply that sometimes trauma is a good thing. and that you can never take your eyes off of them, not even for a second.

I think this is what they call a life lesson, for both of us.

I think Jesus is the Easter Bunny. And Santa Claus.

What do you get when your parents buy a minivan, your older sister comes home from England, your baby sister gets a lizard, your little sister needs to sleep and (almost) everyone's birthday happens in the spring?

An Easter weekend at Mountain Laurel Lake.

My parents booked a cabin on this bigger-than-a-pond-but-not-quite-a-lake patch of water a while ago, hoping that everyone would be able to come together and spend some QT together. Little did they know that more of us than they expected would be living under their roof, ODing on QT daily.

About 22 seconds after we arrived, Charles started fishing off the deck. And he didn't stop fishing until Sunday afternoon when the car was all loaded up and we were about to drive off. To his credit, he caught the first fish and the last fish of the weekend and increased his manliness by 86%.



Since we ladies don't like worms and cigars, we spent our time doing more ladylike things like playing cards and cooking delicious black bean burgers (Kristin's recipe) and birthday cake. My mom brought an egg dying kit so the mommies of us put on their patience hats and helped toddlers enjoy brightly colored vinegar with epic stain potential.

On the first night, we realized there was no way the babies were going to be able to sleep in the same room. Mainly because Renee kept popping up in her bed and saying, "Hi-lo" to Ben and Leiah while they were trying to sleep. So my mom and dad, you know, the people who PAID for and ARRANGED the trip, relocated from a bedroom to the loft. Betsy and I were also in the loft. On the pullout bed. Next to the prison toilet.

The prison toilet was actually a highlight of the weekend because it was the reason I laughed so hard I drooled. See, they'd put a toilet upstairs, but it was only hidden by a little screen panel so everyone could see and hear everything you might do in a bathroom. Like in prison. My mom was absolutely hilarious acting out a late night trip to the prison toilet, and I was doubled over in laughter and pain from laughter.

Another highlight was Boggle. Which is basically a game that I can add to my list of games no one can beat me at. During one round I actually came up with agile AND genius, and if you want to know how impressive that is, go get Boggle and take it on your family's Easter weekend trip.

I also recommend taking babies on your trip. Babies are freaking hilarious. Renee took her first boat ride with Dude and loved it so much that every time he'd circle in to drop her off, she'd look at me and her dad on the dock and say to Dude, "Let's go, let's go."
And Ben wasn't about to be out-funnied by Renee. After he'd made the goodnight hug-kiss rounds once, Dude asked him for an extra kiss. Well, that baby was exhausted and just couldn't summon the energy to walk over to Dude to deliver. Instead he stood on the other side of the room and blew a kiss AND a hug. And now we have a new family tradition.

During the day we took lots of walks around the lake. Well, we walked and Renee screamed and demanded someone carry her after she crossed the first bridge.


Renee was obsessed with throwing rocks in the water all weekend, an obsession I take the blame for since I showed her how to throw rocks in a puddle. We also took the babies "swimming" in the hot tub, dried off in front of the fireplace and drank beers.

On Easter the babies looked for their Easter baskets and then were sent on a hunt for eggs. Ben was faster than Renee, so Leiah kept having to sneak eggs out of his basket and drop them on the side of the road for Renee to find.

The entire weekend culminated in a pile of us on a hillside, watching the babies blow/lick bubbles, laughing at their new found addiction to jelly beans, and settling into gratitude for having so many people to love and laugh with.

Kentucky in the Springtime

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Keeneland with my mom, dad, Shan, Chaz and my aunt Mary and Uncle Bob. We bet on horses, drank beer, smoked cigars and enjoyed the sweet smell of fresh air. It was just one of those days that felt perfect and left a lingering happiness that'll probably last all season long.

Charles studies up on the horses.

Aunt Mary & Uncle Bob made the trek from St. Louis.
Shannon is as pretty as the weather.
Mom starts with the winning.
Daddy gets serious about it.
The cigars make it official.
Thanks again, Keeneland.

The Night Jen Became a Man-Eater

One week ago today, Jen and 7 of her gal pals hit the streets of Louisville for a fancy dinner and a night on the town. Because I am a brat, I told Jen via text message that I wasn't going to be one of those 8 gals, ruined her day, and then showed up out of the blue while she was getting her nails done.
April & Whitney, Jen's former roommates from UK, had booked us a couple rooms at the 21C Hotel in downtown Louisville and made dinner reservations for us at the swanky restaurant next door called Proof. Everyone who didn't have to pack clothes for the next 6 months in a single suitcase got all dressed up and beautiful, and Jen even debuted fake eyelashes for the occasion.

Then out came the champagne. The pasties. And the crotchless underwear.
At 7:30, we headed into what would be named "The Gone with the Wind dinner" by Christina, one of Jen's sorority sisters who has incredible eyes and a reliable stash of Chex Mix. Three hours of nibbling and waiting and being a little ignored later, we stepped out into the street and let the wind quite literally push us to 4th Street Live and the Maker's Mark Bar.

Here's where things turn kooky.

Now, I've only been to a couple bachelorette parties. At Heather's, we all dressed up like cowgirls and went to a honky tonk bar and rode the bull and drank beer with penis straws and hired a gross man stripper and did the two-step with ugly guys. At Megan's, Liz and I sat at the bar at Marikka's while Megan enlightened us on the value of balancing your checkbook. Even with my limited experience though, I know that the bachelorette party is supposed to push the bachelorette out of her comfort zone... if for no other reason than she'll be spending the rest of her life there once she's married.

So while everyone was classily sipping their Bourbon cocktails (except for a very brave and pregnant Tara), Kara, Jen's friend from UK and my friend from Spanish class, and I decided we needed to spice things up. We decided Jen needed to get 30 kisses on the cheek from 30 different guys before she could go home and call it a night.

The first guy I asked said he couldn't because his girlfriend was right there, but I asked her if it'd be okay, and she said sure. One down, 29 to go.

At one point Jen power grabbed every guy who passed us by and pushed his lips into her cheek. It was then Kara and I realized we probably should have attached a consent clause to the 30-Kiss Challenge.

While the man eating was fun and definitely shifted the evening from regular girls' night out into bachelorette party mode, the real good times started when Jen clamored up onto a bull in a honky tonk bar full of shame. Yes, she objected at first. Yes, she tried to negotiate. Yes, she whined. Yes, she refused. But when push came to shove, that bachelorette climbed her coiffed side braid self up on that mechanical beast and held on for dear life.
Seeing Jen on a bull. That was way better than watching her collapse under the weight and sloppiness of a stumbly bachelor in the middle of the street who was one of her 30.

Thanks for being a good sport Jen (& Mike). Hope you had a good time. And the best part, you never have to do it again!

Family Ties

I've been sleeping late and watching HBO and eating delicious dinners and going to Walgreens as my primary leisure activity since our move ended last week. That move was awful, and when I say awful, I mean I cried 6 times in two days and if it weren't for those tears, I wouldn't have made it through.

At one point, while looking at an impossibly heavy and awkward piano and wishing my husband preferred the flute, Mack looked at me and said, "Go on, babe, cry it out." And that is when I experienced a cry-laugh for the first time in my life.

Looking back on it, I can hardly believe we made it through it all. I can't believe we got everything packed up, that we made the first storage unit work at all, that we made the couch fit in the second storage unit without taking out that fluorescent light, that when I broke out with a fever after moving for two days I didn't just go on and die. I can't believe we got on our flight and came back to Kentucky and I was able to collapse into people I love and needed more than ever.

In the midst of that move, if you had told me that in a week I'd be at the zoo with my best friend, her two boys, my brother-in-law and my delicious niece looking at baby elephants and watching monkeys swing around, I couldn't have imagined it. But that's what happened. One week since I left Venice, since I cleaned out my apartment and kissed my neighbors goodbye, I spent the day enjoying the sunshine and laying on my mom and dad's deck while Renee played in a bowl of water for an uninterrupted hour. Bliss sort of describes it.