ACL in tact. Back not broken. Birthday celebrated. Great success.

Last weekend I woke up and asked Mack if he wanted to go skiing. Although his vocabulary was a little more colorful, his answer was essentially NO. I hadn't been skiing in more than a decade, I have no health insurance, and skiing is a generally a bad idea under those circumstances.

But then my dad walked in with free passes and, hello, DEAL. You can't say NO to a DEAL or the universe stops giving them to you.

One of my favorite people to make bad physical decisions with is Heather. She's conned me into jumping off balconies and walking through drainage tubes and watching tornadoes and doing mud runs. I asked her if she wanted to go skiing and celebrate her birthday, for free thanks to the magic of my dad, and after saying, "I hate skiing, I am constantly terrified by it, I will probably die and leave my children without a mother," she said, "Okay, I'll go." She also can't resist a deal.

Saturday we geared up, including some ibuprofen that we planned to take prophylactically, and headed to Paoli Peaks. We agreed that our goals for the day were to keep our ACLs in tact and not break our backs. I'm proud to report we're both in one piece and have no new medical bills.

I had a great day celebrating Heather's birthday on the slopes, acting half our age and laughing so hard I almost peed my pants on a few occasions. I was also super proud of her for overcoming so many fears, from heading down steep hills to getting off the ski lift to actually going a few feet without the brakes on. We started on the bunny slopes and ended the day, 8 hours and two cocktails later, on a blue slope for moderate skiers.

Accordiongly

Last night we watched Gold Rush and tonight I am doing Valentine's Day crafts while he learns to play the accordion.

I love my life. And as much as I hate his cup gardens and unflushed pee and I-need-it-now tantrums, I love him.

Big News from the Little Sisters

This one was named Student of the Month out of all the kids at her middle school. And then she followed that up by getting a perfect score on a science test and a flawless report card.

And this one bought her first house, a charming place on the knobby hilltops of Louisville complete with hiking trails and a treehouse and a swimming pool. In the words of Ben, "This place is AWESOME!"

I couldn't be more proud of the women these two have become and are becoming, and I feel so lucky to get to be their big sister.

Proof we ruined him.

When Ben was two, we brought him up to my mom and dad's bed on Christmas morning and asked him if Santa came last night and brought him any presents.

In the tiniest, shakiest voice ever, he replied, "Santa's not scary."

Last year we had him and Renee write notes to Santa and since Ben was learning to write letters, he told us what he wanted to say and, since you hang on my every word you may remember, his letter ended up saying, "Dear Santa, Thanks for the good work."

This year he knows how to write whole words, and all we had to do was give the monkey a marker and tell him to dance. Here's what the kid came up with.

In case you're not up to speed on deciphering 6-year-old, that says "Dear Santa, Even if you're not there, I still know you're watching!! Love, Ben."

So Ben's impression of Santa is a home invader stalker who demands encouragement. If that's not the makings of a Merry Christmas for a kid, I don't know what is.

Here's a pic of Renee with her letter too. Renee, since you hang on my every word you may remember, has a tendency to write novels about how good she has been and is hellbent on riding on Santa's sleigh.

These damn kids. Why are they so fun to torture?

Regressing is totally rad.

I live in my parents' basement. It looks like a lawyer's office and has a bar and a bathroom and a bedroom and a living room and isn't like the basements that I imagine World of Warcrafters live in until they're 40.

And sometimes, when I'm laying on the couch bundled up in a down comforter watching a marathon of Dexter and being totally devoid of any adult responsibilities, my dad will appear in my basement apartment and hand me a dish of exquisite homemade pudding topped with fluffy whipped cream.

I pay nothing for these fancy quarters and this extraordinary service, and it makes me wonder, why did I ever leave home?

The whew to end all whews.

Good news, guys. THE WORLD DID NOT END.

Instead, Dec. 21, 2012, ended up being a practically fantastic day. Yes, it was freezing outside and I had to hang posters for work and that made my fingers and toes very angry, but that was the absolute most awful thing that happened to me all day... if I actually had run out of gas on the interstate exchange like I thought I did, that would have been the most awful thing but it turns out, that was just my car's way of saying, "I'm fucking serious."

Last night, when it was snowing and I saw lightning and then I pulled into Target and everything went black because the power failed, I wasn't so sure it wasn't the beginning of the end. But now, as I'm curling up in my nice, warm covers and preparing to watch some Netflix, I realize that was just more of the usual. The usual weirds and wows and uh ohs that is the everlasting now.

I knew the world wasn't going to end. See, I am a rational person with reasonable thoughts. I don't believe in nonsense, even though I love make believe and magic and hope ghosts are real. The whole planet simultaneously going POOF! is absolute nonsense. I know this as much as I know I am Amber. Plus, USA Today said it wasn't going to happen just last weekend, and USA Today knows things. Still, I was fuhreaking out about it on and off for about three years.

I have had a great life, and if everything had gone to shit today, I would have been okay. I would have managed to drink my stiff drink and give myself over to the burning meteors or the aliens or the black hole or the angry Jesus or the whatever that was our fate. My only hang up about the world ending was this: I didn't want the babies I know to have to feel the terror that must come with an event like the end of the world.

When 9/11 happened and I watched people experiencing their personal end of the world jumping out the windows of a burning building, all I could think about was the terror they must be feeling if hopping out a window 80 stories in the air seemed like a reprieve. Babies shouldn't have to feel terror like that. No one should, but especially not babies.

Luckily, the babies are okay. In fact, I got to spend the evening pretend-eating one and teaching another one how to throw elbows. I got to have fish sandwiches and coleslaw with my parents and sister and my cousin Nate. I got to have an impromptu trip to the mall with my friend Heather, and then I got to have three long-awaited old fashioneds and watch the clock roll over to 12/22.

So, the world didn't end. Life not only went on, it continued to be better than I probably deserve. And I got to wear an awesome "I ain't going down" hat all day long. Today was the best day ever.

Cornbread you have to try before the world ends.

You have 3 days to make and eat this.

I'm only enh about cornbread but when my mom makes this, I get all OMGOMGOMGOMG about it. I don't know if it's the zucchini or the onion or what, but I love the texture and heftiness of this cornbread. It's a little, hmmm, gooeyish, when it's still warm, but I usually can't wait for it to cool, so I just make cornbread butter mash and eat it with a fork. I look real sexy when that happens, let me tell you.

Zucchini Onion Cornbread

Mix these dry ingredients with a whisk in a large bowl. Make sure it is large because you'll be pouring the wet ingredients down there into it in a minute.

2 cups cornmeal
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. dried lemon peel

Mix these wet ingredients in a separate bowl using a rubber spatula.

3 egg whites and 1 whole egg beaten well with a whisk
1 and 1/2 cups buttermilk, do not substitute
3 cups grated, unpeeled zucchini
1/2 cup vegetable oil, not olive oil
1 medium onion chopped fine

Pour wet ingredients into dry and mix into a batter.

Spray a glass baking dish with Pam (we use a round stoneware or casserole dish, but you can also use a preheated iron skillet or a muffin tin if you want bite sized cornbreads).

Pour in the batter.

Bake at 425 degrees 25 to 35 minutes. May take less time in preheated iron skillet or as muffins. It should be golden brown on top and have a clean toothpick when inserted.

Allow to cool for 15 minutes before cutting or it may crumble. (Ain't that a cute suggestion? Clearly this recipe was written before the end of the world was just a few days away...)

Dulywed: Year 6

Dear Mack,

On our sixth anniversary, I woke up next to our wife in my parents' basement and you woke up at your parents' house, hopefully alone, 2,103 miles away. How did we get here?

This year has been one of the most fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants years yet. It all started last winter when we took that impromptu trip to Belize. We had a week free before Christmas and two nickels to rub together... obviously meant to be blown on a vacation. We settled on an tropical place that wasn't too far of a flight from Kentucky and California, that spoke some English, that was cheap, and that had a beach. It seems like that is pretty much our criteria for every decision we make.

We swam with sharks, explored caves, looked at the remains of human sacrifice, polished off a 5 gallon jug of rum punch, and wasted time in hammocks by the sea. Then we came home, me to Kentucky and you to California, to spend the holidays with our respective families... a separation that has become our tradition.

When we came back together, the cold months of winter were focused on school. I had a preceptorship and my final nursing class; you had work at the women's clinic and an OB/GYN rotation that threatened your relationships with all the women in your life. I graduated, you took your boards, and somewhere in there we went to Florida to celebrate Bubba's graduation. I started working in the arts, came to peace with wasting my RN temporarily, and we had that fateful burrito that moved us into my parents' basement. We carpooled to Lexington, you threw me out of the car in the hood, I managed to black out that cruelty and probably paid it back in smaller doses. I ate Indian food without dying, we navigated Ground Zero of family drama, you bought a Miata, and we drove across the country. Then I went home, you stayed in Los Angeles, and I came to accept the aching cold of our bed without you in it.

Earlier this month, we were reunited in LA. You picked me up from the airport and took me immediately to see the boats you'd been exploring with your dad. I had heels on, totally not seaworthy, and you held my hand as we walked to the ladder and climbed aboard. This trip to the marina was more than a glamorous shopping adventure. It was a chance to touch a dream you've had since I met you, a taste of the fruits of our labor, a glimpse of the adventures that lie ahead of us, a metaphor for our relationship.

We have no doubt weathered some storms, and knowing us, I'm sure there are more on the horizon that will make Hurricane Sandy look like a pussy. But somehow, mostly by acquiescing to getting trampled and mastering the art of bottling things up, we have stayed upright and on course. Somehow we have managed to have the best marriage. High five.

It's been almost a decade that I have loved you, but today, I love you more than I ever have. I'm sure part of that is because I miss you so much right now, but part of it is because you are the funniest, smartest, strongest, sexiest man I know (keep in mind, I don't know that Dothraki king from Games of Thrones). You make me laugh more than you make me cry, you come to my rescue more than you abandon me, and you give me hope more than you crush my spirit. Our marriage is not all rainbows and unicorns, and some days it's barely got a glimmer of happiness, but in the love story of real life, the one without princesses and knights on white horses, Good > Bad = Winning.

The sixth anniversary is a supposed to come with a gift of candy. In light of the pie I've polished off the past few days, it's probably good that you're not around to give me chocolates or toffee or CHOCOLATE COVERED TOFFEE (subtle hint). Instead, I'll take all the sticky goodness you've brought into my life over the past six years. It has been a wonderfully sweet journey and I can't wait to see where we go next.

Happy Anniversary, baby. Ba-kawk.

Because we care.

Bubba is over in Seoul doing his Army thing and living it up in an apartment in the sky that has city views on one side and jungle views on the other. Oh, and the walls open up so you can get a cross breeze. THE WALLS.

His flat may make me jealous, but being away from family and familiar food at Thanksgiving do not. So Laila and I decided to make him a care package. Shahin hit the store to get his favorite snacks, Mack bought a turkey that poops chocolate at the bakery for some good humor, and Laila and I infused it all with love/cut out pictures and glued on some leaves.

Not quite as good as a dinner table, but at least it's cornucopia-esque. Happy Thanksgiving!

Genuine Nerds

Last weekend, Mack and I walked through a velvet curtain in Koreatown and ended up in the 1980s. I'm pretty sure Bill & Ted were there, but that's not the only reason this was an excellent adventure.

There was also this.

Yes, that is a Playboy pinball game. And it is sitting next to a Twilight Zone pinball game, one that shuts off halfway through your game and makes you feel like you've entered a new dimension. One named Blipsy's. One that's packed with arcade games from your childhood. One that has a full bar.

I hate new video games almost as much as I love a dive bar. The last one I gave a chance was 007 on Nintendo 64 and it was fun, but I could not play it without getting nauseous. Mack has since had every Playstation and Xbox they've ever made, but every time I've tried to play them, I end up stuck in a corner shooting myself while a monster eats the back of my head.

The video games at Blipsy's only move forward, there's no going back to screens you've past, there are a maximum of 4 buttons, there's a joystick. That's all. Pure, simple, braindead delight.

My favorite games have always been the driving games, and this place had one of those awesome sit-down-and-shift-and-use-a-gas-peddle types. I have played this game probably 100 times in my life, and I had no idea it was called Spy Hunter until this moment.

They also had Mike Tyson's Punch-out, which Mack loved. And, no surprise, killed at. Guys, he kills at modern games with 3D and 16 buttons on the controllers, so a joystick and one button is a joke to him.

I finally made it to the second block on Paperboy, something I tried to do every day after school in fifth grade and never managed to accomplish. Thank god I can check that off my list.

The end of the night I settled into Ms. Pac-Man, funneled $5 of quarters into the machine that was the only reason I ever wanted to go to Pizza Hut, and let nostalgia and Jack Daniels make me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Spiritual Sunday

I think this is what they meant church to feel like but then they got it all wrong and put it in a building and filled it with people and the spirituality went out the window and settled on the ocean.

It's Getting Very Scary Over Here...

This year's will be the final Halloween bash that I'll throw in Kentucky. It's a little tricky to throw a Halloween party when, you know, you live in your parents' basement, but lucky for me I have a very generous sister who lives just around the corner and fully supports my Halloween party problem commitment.

This year's party is going to be a freak show carnival theme. To prepare, I've been looking at lots of images of freaks and sideshow oddities, which may be part of the reason I couldn't sleep last night. Seriously, have you seen Camel Girl? Google her. And did you know Lobster Boy was a murderer? For reals.

Since most of you 5 readers won't be able to come to the party, I feel it's safe to share the mood board here without ruining the surprise too much. And if anyone knows where I can buy some damn cotton candy, TELL ME. Need it by Saturday.

We were runnnnning.

Well, Leiah somehow convinced me to run again.

I hate running, but after all the fun I had slopping around in the mud with Heather and under the spell of savings cast by Groupon, I succumbed to doing the Rugged Maniac with Leiah in August.

I agreed, but then I failed to actually register for it. So when race day came, I thought about just skipping it. Leiah, aka the stamina queen, forbade skipping it, but because she is Leiah we were about 2 hours late for her pre-registered start time. Luckily they accommodated our special needs and we got to reenact some childhood memories courtesy of The Crick.

What you can't see in the above photo is my amazing kitty sleeve made from temporary tattoos. It was bad ass.

That run was so much fun that I decided to do the Tap N' Run with Leiah and her Tap N' Run I crew. They'd gone as sexy school girls for their first adventure, but the inspiration for this one was Barbie and the Rockers. I had Barbie and the Rockers growing up and even remember some of their amazing lyrics, which means the odds of me pulling off that look was far greater than sexy school girl.

I chose this Barbie, which was my favorite from childhood, to emulate. It looks like she also has the same Elaine dancing moves as me.

I set her picture as the background of my phone and scoured LA and Louisville for appropriate threads. Then I went to the fabric store for a mesh headband and shiny blue fabric for the cape/jacket thing. Then I went to Forever 21 to look for purple leggings and discovered that Barbie and the Rockers had thrown up in there. Then I showed up with my bandmates and no one else had taken the Barbie and the Rockers theme quite as seriously as me.

My hair should have been in the 80s. Because that 'fro is all naturale. Just like Diva's.

The Tap N' Run was okay, but you were supposed to get beer throughout the run and we got zero beer until after it was all over. Luckily Flanagan's bar was right at the starting line so we prevented dehydration thanks to the jello shots and giant Budweisers they were selling on the street. The night gets a little fuzzy, but I know David danced on a bar, Shannon picked me up, and Renee inherited my 1980s Rocker gear, including the power cape. 

Because Race Car.

12 states. 5 days. 1 awesome little car with more than 203,000 miles on it.

In less than 24 hours...

Mack and I are embarking on our third cross country trip. The first was a whirlwind, mainly because Venus was in a crate in the back of the pickup truck and Kitty was in the cab riding on the console while Betsy and Seth tried to keep comfy on the bench seat. The second was a haul, one packed with a loaded down Penske truck towing a VW Golf. Both of these treks were unkind and left no time or room for enjoying the process.

This time, we're taking a shiny red convertible.

Mack started doing that thing he does where he gets an idea and then he looks around Craigslist and then he talks himself in and out of it and then on a Thursday we end up in La Grange giving a lady with the limpest handshake I've ever felt two grand for a car that looks like it's been very badly sunburned.

This is AFTER the sunburn got treated with paint.

He immediately fell in love with this car, and has spent hours working on it. New paint was followed by new shocks, new belts, new spark plugs, new clutch, new insulation, new bolts, new stereo, new crank shaft, new key way, new valve cover gasket, new front mail seal, new brake master cylinder, new exhaust, new battery. Old wife would have been jealous if he wasn't fixing it up for a road trip vacation that I'd be going on.

Well, that road trip vacation starts tomorrow. Race Car will take an epic voyage across the United States. It has 199,563 miles on it, and it needs to go at least another 3,000 to get us to LA with stops in Yellowstone, Craters of the Moon, Yosemite, and Sequoia. It needs to make it through nine states, and right now, the garage looks like this. And that man, he's had strep throat all week.

It's gonna be an adventure.

It's been a freaking year.

... since I've posted anything. And since Kieron was born.

Working sure does get in the way of blogging. So does commuting, partying, visiting family and friends, going out to lunch, taking naps, buying convertibles, planning a cross country road trip, finding out one of your most awesome friends is having a baby, doing mud runs, and eating cookies, which is what else I've been doing.

Trust me, none of that is as cute as this baby's first birthday.

On the Move

Over burritos a couple of weeks ago, I asked Mack if we should give up our apartment and be basement dwellers at my mom and dad's for our last year in Kentucky. He's leaving in September to do away rotations, everyone I love is in Louisville, and January and February is no time for me to be all alone... there's one saga that involves a relationship with Redbox and I never want to go to that place again.

About 13 minutes later, a decision was made.

And about 20 hours after that, our end-of-apartment date was moved from Oct. 1 to July 15.

I'm excited that I'll be living in Louisville, and I can't describe how much I'm looking forward to being close to my nieces and nephews and being able to have my lovies in my daily life. But I'm also fuhreaking out a little bit about the "forfeit" of independence.

I like paying my own bills and taking care of my own house and putting up a giant fiberglass shark if it suits my fancy. And, if I'm being honest, when I have ice cream for dinner I like to do it in secret.

My parents are awesome and would never cramp my independent style, but the fact is it's their home, they are my parents, and I respect them. So as much as I might want to let my laundry rot in the washing machine, that's just not going to be possible if other people are watching.

I'm also really going to miss this apartment. After living in LA, this place was like mansion-sized. It has built-in bookcases and a fireplace and hardwood floors and is less than half what we were paying in Cali. I love being downtown and walking and riding my bike places. I like catching the trolley and watching skateboarders race down the road. I cherish not having to worry about parking for UK games or 4th of July parades. My parents' place is close to stuff but separated from it by 6 lanes of traffic and a 5-way intersection.

This apartment has been good to us. We've had some great parties here and made some fun memories. I'll never forget the day we pulled in after a delirious drive from California. It was pouring rain and thundering and lightning, and we couldn't get the car trailer up the driveway and some nice homeless guy walking down the road helped us muscle it into the yard. I'll never forget a few weeks ago when we laid on the porch and listened to music and watch the world go by. I'll never forget waking up to the fat neighbors upstairs having sex at 3am or listening to the new girl who took their place practicing viola like it was a concert all for me. I'll never forget the day our tree fell onto the power lines and downtown lost it's power. I'll never forget how great it was to come back to this sanctuary after calling a hut in Ghana home.

It's a little sad to be putting my life back in boxes, but the uncertainty of where we'll end up is exciting and the guarantee of spending these final months at most 10 minutes away from the people who mean everything to me is a gift. Luckily, a life in limbo is one full of possibilities, and if things go as planned, the next time I see these boxes will be in Hawaii. If that doesn't cure sadness, nothing will.