Stop.

And smell these flowers I encountered on my walk the other day.

The Graduate

My very first time living in LA was when I came to live with Laila and her mom while her dad and Mack went to do Hurricane Katrina clean up. She had just started kindergarten, and when I came to live with her, she was still wearing sandals. It was November. 

She started getting a cough and her teacher gave orders that Laila was to start wearing socks and shoes. I was the designated enforcer, and I thought it would be a simple enough task to convince a 5-year-old that socks were amazing. And then I learned how hard parenting really is and that I didn't want to do it.

Laila was hilarious back then, coming up with expressions that have become a part of my daily vocabulary and central to our family dynamic even five years later. She's grown about 20 inches since kindergarten and officially passed up her mom in height and shoe size this year. She's a chatter box of preteen girl, and she chooses apps for her iPhone by searching "annoying" and "talking" in the App Store. She sometimes chews with her mouth open, and sometimes she is so beautiful you can't resist touching her face. 

Laila is 11 years old now, and she is officially done with elementary school. I am completely baffled as to how that is possible. 

Daddydudeday

Little Man in Training

Ben spent the night with me the other day, and while I taught him the term "jerk off" is synonymous with thieves and that when you're really angry, it's okay to beat the hell out of a tree, I did manage to work in some constructive lessons as well.

Last summer when he and Leiah stayed with me, I introduced Ben to doing dishes. He actually liked doing them, and I had a just-right stool that made it an easy enough task. This time, I figured it was time to teach him how to cook eggs.

I don't know what it is about eggs, but the men in my life seem to love them and have a real knack for cooking them. Mack can do a poached egg as well or better than the fanciest restaurant, and both his dad Tom and my dad Steve are masters of the fried egg. I even remember my real dad Greg cooking eggs when I was a little little kid, which is when I learned how to mash the fried egg for a magical egg slurry. Ben needs to be in on this Man Egg Club, which is why I helped him make his first batch of scrambled eggs.

If only he could make the coffee...

Anna Elizabeth Kelly. Yeah, I met her. Yeah, she stole my heart.

In the frenzy of life a couple weeks ago, I carved out a few hours and headed north to Cinci to meet Anna Elizabeth Kelly.

The first baby of one of my best friends, no one knew Anna was going to be an Anna until she arrived on May 14th... an early birthday present for me (thanks Jen!). Her parents are meticulous planners, so the fact that they didn't find out if they were having a boy or a girl basically means hell froze. I have no idea how Jen and Mike resisted knowing.

Anna was totally newborn when I met her, which means she was a gooey lump of limbs and sugar. I showed up during a diaper change, so I invited myself in and was treated to Anna's baby belly debut. She lost her button as I walked in, and I couldn't believe she was already that grown up.

Jen looked totally put together, as usual. She dressed Anna in a little kitty onesie and leopard print leggings and handed her over to Auntie Amber.

At which point, I turned into a blob of love and laid on the couch with a little piece of heaven on my chest.

Anna is such a good baby, so calm and cozy, literally a bundle of delicious goodness. I like a good baby, but what I like more than that is a baby with personality, and Anna was oozing personality at less than two weeks old. Just look at these facial expressions she's mastered in her short life... the pucker, the smirk, the whatchutalkinboutwillis, the fake sleep grin, the silencer, the happy baby. I'm telling you there will be a show someday called "That's so Anna."

I'd barely gotten my baby fix when I had to get on the road, so this is not the last you'll see of Anna. Jen and Mike have quite the Cincinnati lure now... seriously, look at these things.

Anna, it was so good to meet you, such medicine to hold you. I can't wait to teach you all sorts of funny faces as you grow up. Welcome to the awesome world of being a Taurus!

Just another explosive Monday.

A couple of Mondays ago I got a text from Mack: "Be careful coming home. Transformer in front yard about to explode. Avoid the front yard."

Totally normal, right?

Well, here's what happened.

Yeah, you see that tree laying on that powerline? That's coming out of our flowerbed. I'd been scoping the flower bed for poison ivy about a week prior to this event and noticed the base of the tree seemed hollow and rotten. When I mentioned it to Mack he was all, "It's fine. Look how healthy it is at the top. Totally alive."

Uh huh.

The landlords were in town so all we had to do was sit on the porch and watch as the tree guys weaved their buckets through power lines and cut that tree into firewood. It was pretty funny later when I got on Facebook and saw a lot of people wondering why there was no power downtown near Woodland Park. Oops.

Holy freaking tornado.

Still got it.

I have sooo much to write about but today was the first day that a dude ever gave me his number out of the blue so that trumps everything else. Not even my husband gave me his number out of the blue.

The guy today, let's call him Peacock Johnny, just happened to be the most impressive male specimen at the public pool. That doesn't sound like much, but in this case, he was hot. Leigh and I noticed him pretty much upon arrival, when we did our initial survey. Part of the appeal of the public pool is the people watching, and part of the appeal of the people watching at the public pool is the high volume of human disasters there. We are equal opportunity watchers, but when we see someone delicious, we act like good married women and stare at them without expression under the cover of our sunglasses.

Peacock Johnny knew he was hot, and he kept walking around the pool, getting in, getting out, walking around, laying out, getting in, etc. Leigh and I, we get in, we get out when it starts to smell like pee, we lay down once an hour. Peacock Johnny was all over the place, but, as I said, he was delicious to watch so we didn't mind.

I was wearing a bathing suit, like a good public pool patron, a fact that makes me getting a number from a hot guy all the more insane. It was a grandma-esque little number that I bought so my boobs would be contained while playing with Laila or Ben in the pool. Also so that I could play frisbee or other beachy fun games without grossing everyone out. It's from Lands End, it fits terribly, it's a tankini that looks like decorative elephant skin, it is strapless.

Guess who liked my "no strap" look? Yep, Johnny Peacock.

Of course we didn't talk to him or anything because at the pool we like to give off an air of superiority. While he was leaving, he walked up behind where we were sitting, did a little psssst, and handed me his digits through the fence. At which point I looked at Leigh and we high fived.

It took me 33 years to do it, I had to be married so it doesn't matter, but I finally got a number! And it was from a sexy beast!

(I just told Mack about it and he said, "I hope he likes the two black eyes look if he comes near my wife." No way Johnny Peacock is that funny.)

Sooooo tweet.

Before the big news of my meeting with the adorable Anna Elizabeth Kelly (coming tomorrow), I must write about the shower we had for her and her momma waaayyyy back in the day before we knew she was a she, back when it was still April!

When Jen told me she was pregnant, I pretty much invited myself to be a part of the shower party planning. I knew she had some other awesome girlfriends who'd probably also want to be in on it, so I was fine with not commandeering the whole shebang, but I definitely wanted to be in on the crafty parts. Like the theme.

Since Mike & Jen didn't find out if they were having a girl or a boy, they often referred to the lovey we now know as Anna as the bun in the oven. I played around with a bun in the oven theme and found a lot of cute ideas, but when it came down to it, it felt a little less Martha Stewart and a little more Better Homes & Gardens. And we all know Jen is Martha.

At 5 months pregnant, Jen pretty much had her nursery theme picked out, a really cute nature-y set up with yellows and greens and trees and birdies, so we turned to it for inspiration. Specifically, this pillow.

Historically I haven't liked birds. They have thin bones and beady eyes and they shit on me more than they should. But working on this project for Jen carved out a special spot in my heart for them. I even put out a bird feeder for them in the back yard.

I consulted with Jen's awesome friends April and Whitney on the shower idea, got the go ahead, and we took it from there. April offered her gorgeous house as the location, Whitney took charge of the soundtrack and the chicken salad, and I took the reigns on details, which are my favorite!

Here's the "mood board" we came up with, followed by snapshots from the shower. I swear if this nursing thing doesn't pan out, I am going into party planning. It and Taco Doritos are my drugs of choice.

It's funny to look at this after the fact and realize how much of a map it really was!

 

My favorite thing about this shower, besides the guest of honor and all the miniatures, was using mismatched china as serving dishes. That was adorable and added just the bit of dainty that made it Jen-appropriate. 

The Endorsement Series: this one goes to 11

Ants are just amazing. They are better than even Asians at being orderly and devoted to the collective well being. They can carry the human equivalent of a car in their mouths, and having been sampled by soldier ants and fire ants, I can vouch for their ability to destroy an opponent the equivalent of a skyscraper.

My grandpa used to spend entire summers stomping out ants on his sidewalk... maybe that's where my OCDish comes from... and when I visited, I was right there with him, studying these little machines just before grinding them to dust with my tennis shoe. I never felt good about killing the ants, but killing ants is the 12 Mile, Ind., equivalent of watching television.

A few months ago we started noticing the occasional rogue ant in the bathroom or the kitchen. And a couple weeks ago we noticed a river of ants climbing the post outside our back door. I don't particularly like the neighbors, so I was fine to let the ants infiltrate their lives.

Then those little fuckers took a wrong turn.

I opened the pantry on Friday and saw about 20 scouts making themselves at home under the sugar, so I immediately relocated pantry items to my very spacious 14" by 24" kitchen counter and started to wage war. I sprayed them with cleaner, bug spray and pretty much anything else I could get my hands on. But they kept sneaking in.

Luckily Leiah was staying the night and she mentioned that her landlord had used Ant Terro at her condo when it had bad ants a couple of years ago. I called Chevy Chase Hardware, scooted over there, and procured this weapon of mass destruction.

Ant Terro is boric acid. The ants flock to it like elephants to a watering hole, forming a cute little ant daisy around a droplet. Then they drink it, guzzle it, fill themselves up with it until their butts swell. Then, they disappear.

Google says they go back to their houses, throw up like drunk fraternity boys after a night of binge drinking, and explode from the accumulation of gas in their bodies. See, ants, unlike frat boys, can't fart.

After they puke, all their little ant friends are like, mmmm, and they eat the barf and then they meet the same fate as their friends. Within 24 hours, all the ants inside and outside of our house were gone. And I had my gigantic counter space back.

Ant Terro is the bomb.

How 33 Looks... Downright Fancy.

Yes, I spent my 33rd birthday in the bed of a pick up truck at the drive-in movies eating fine cheeses,  drinking champagne, and watching Faster and Furiouser Five.

Creep.

(You should know that I have a huge final on Thursday. Which is why I have swept the kitchen, done the dishes, made dinner, and am now blogging.)

When I met Mack, he had a goatee. I didn't really mind the facial hair very much because the way his mouth is shaped, the hair doesn't really get in the way when you give him a kiss. In other words, it's not all scratchy and awful and chapped-lip-causing. And it kind of gives his sulky, asshole-y look a dark and sexy twist.

In the 8 years that we have been together, his chin has never made an appearance, a fact that I, of course, attributed to some horrific defect that he didn't want me to see so that I could tease him about it. There is a mole in there -- I've seen parts of it -- so I knew something was up.

Well, Mack shaved. His entire face. Of all its hair. Down to a naked chin.

On his way to bare, he was nice enough to humor me and try on a few "hair looks," including my fave, the Fu Manchu. We'd just watched this SNL digital short, so the creep stache was also a must-do. We had a menu of looks, a fresh ladies razor, and probably 10 tests to study for. Welcome to our life.

Bearded (which I don't like)

Chops (which I kinda like)

Soul patch/stache combo (okay, kinda like it)

Creep Stache with FULL CHIN EXPOSURE!!! Someone save me.

100 years ago

My Grandpa Hensley, aka Pa, turned 100 on May 1st, and to celebrate, we decided to throw him a little party/us a little family reunion. A lot of my cousins are Catholics, which means they are breeding like bunnies without the help of the multiples that run in that family... and those Catholics like my cousin Angie who have that multiples gene, well, they make it impossible to keep up with all these kids.

After 100 years, it was time to call everyone together to take stock of what one man's life started.

Because it was a party and I am the one who lives closest to him, I wrestled planning control from my dad. He found a great spot in Wilmore, just down the road from Pa's nursing home. The Highbridge Pavilion was perfect for any weather scenario, was next to a playground, overlooked the Kentucky River, and was $75 for the entire day. I designed the invite, arranged for a fancy cake, procured the decorations, and planned the food. Behold, a mood board.

Pa's party was on the same day as Jen's baby shower, but thanks to the best friend in the entire world, my dearly beloved Ruble, I was able to hang up signs and get the pavilion decorated early in the morning. We also got to test its weather sufficiency, since there was a massive thunderstorm going on while we were hanging red foil stars from the ceiling. The storm passed, Jen's shower went off without a hitch, and I made it back to the pavilion before Pa's grand entrance.

Pa was too out of it to really know who we all were, but he seemed to be thrilled to see so many people and understood it was a party atmosphere. I'm not sure I want to live to be 100, but if I do, I hope I have as much joy in my heart as Pa still has in his. 

Goals for this week.

1. Pass nursing test.
2. Pass IV skill.
3. Go to Keeneland.

What's for brinner?

A few weeks ago Leigh's awesome cousin Tara and her crazy awesome kids came to visit, and Leigh's parents hosted all of us lunatics at their house for the weekend. By hosted I mean they made us gourmet meals and filled us up with wines that were so good they raised my IQ by like 30 points.

The first night was salmon a la the best restaurant in New Orleans. I think it's called Commanders. It should be called Fritz's Bitch because I have no doubt Leigh's dad could make the Commander cry. Because look at this divine platter of flavor explosion.

Saturday we woke up to coffee and orange juice and sunshine on the deck and oh-my-god-I-didn't-know-you-were-supposed-to-marinate French toast. With strawberries. And bananas. And blueberries. And cinnamon. And soysage.

Dinner that night was more divinity. Leigh made us mahi mahi with red peppers and there was bread and then I discovered the joy of English peas. I deserve to be smacked for going 32 years without having eaten English peas. English peas are some of the best things Mother Nature ever gave us. Although I'm still not sure where to find English peas. SOMEONE FIND ME SOME ENGLISH PEAS.

The final morning of Weekend of Regressing to Adolescence, Fritz was heading off to meet friends for lunch, so Leigh's mom took her place at the helm of the hooded stove. Eggs and smoked salmon and bagels and cream cheese and that's it, I'm moving in. When I start to get on their nerves, I'll go to my parents' house for chocolate cake and pancakes and guacamole and TV and regress there for a bit.

It's been weeks since I ate that good, so when Mack texted me about having brinner tonight, I pretty much squealed. Not just because I love brinner but also because I wanted to try to make Fritz Toast. I googled "best French toast ever" and got to work. 

I got strawberries and blackberries and maple syrup and did the marinating trick. Then I sprinkled on the sprinklies and I skilleted each piece in butter before finishing them in the over. And yeah, it turned out pretty good. Not quite Fritz, but still pretty awesome. I also decided to make home fries for the first time ever and those... yeah, I made those my bitch. Hooray for brinner. And regressing.

Ruble's Last Rodeo

A few weeks ago, Ruble rounded up a bunch of us girls to go to Nashville and have a single life sendoff. Because I am a little addicted to party planning, I sort of demanded she let me plan it... and she agreed only after I swore to her that she wouldn't have to play any stupid games or wear anything stupid.

Lucky for me, she didn't think a cowgirl hat was stupid. And that's how we got started with Ruble's Last Rodeo.

Most of the inspiration came from cowgirl pinup paintings by Gil Elvgren.

As for the actual bachelorette weekend, mostly I remember that Jack Daniels was there, and that he was very demanding of my attention. And that I was an aggressive advocate of moustaches. And that I had a blast celebrating with one of the best friends a person can have.

Sprung.