Kid in the Fridge

Elena likes to stand inside the fridge and get whatever it is she wants to eat at the moment.  She has to stand there and browse around in an effort to find just the right snack. 

Hrm...Fruit? No. Cheese?  Not right now.  Applesauce? Maybe another time.  I think what I'm craving most is...

Cottage cheese? Yes.  Daddy, peeeease?  

Cheers,

A

Staples: Part Two

Saturday was DRL's 33rd birthday, and as such we had planned to spend the day rejoicing in his birth.  This usually entails me tending to the child, allowing DRL to chat with friends, drink beer, and be unburdened by a whiny needy adorable toddler.  It also involves a cake picked out by that very same toddler.  I was sickly most of the day, which I blame on the big mac I had for dinner on Friday night (see: Huge Mistake. McDonald's = bad), or the fact that I got around 3 hours of sleep.  Needless to say, this left my birthday husband running after the child for the better part of the day. He was a champ, though, and when asked how his birthday was, all he said was that he wished I would have felt better.  

Sweet, huh?

Even though I laid down most of the day, DRL got to play some mean rounds of beanbags. I think the mustache definitely added to his performance.  Saturday night was less eventful than Friday. I didn't bother with the tent, Elena went down at  9:00, like normal, and slept until 7:30 (like normal).  I was in bed by 11, though I wasn't asleep until after midnight since one of the most annoying Pounds boys decided fireworks -- really large, really loud fireworks -- were appropriate at 11:45 at night.  Don't worry, I went outside and filled them in on the ways of the (sleeping) world.

Before bed, Gramma Carol gave the kids popsicles, or "pikesicle" as Elena says.  They sat on the front stoop looking like an old time photograph.  For a brief moment, I thought it was 1972.  Except that I wasn't born yet, so I have no idea what 1972 looks like.  

We left Sunday at nap time so that Elena could take advantage of the boring car ride.  Less the sleep deprivation and sickness, it was a great weekend up north.  I'm excited for the next one.

I'm pretty sure DRL still had a great birthday, too.  Just look at him and his girl getting ready to blow out candles.  Minus the 'stache, is there anything better? 

I'm afraid not.

Cheers,

A

Staples. Part One.

I'm not referring to the office supply store, but rather the small town in Minnesota found here. DRL, Elena and I spent the weekend at a friend's cabin, I mean farm I mean property, and it's the first time we've been up there since before I got pregnant with Little One. I was a little petrified (read: terribly, horribly afraid) of how Elena would do sleeping somewhere other than home, as we have never vacationed overnight as a family.

Did I mention we were going to sleep in a tent? I didn't? Oh, silly me. We planned to sleep in a a tent.

Yes,  planned.

Elena and I ventured into our brand-spankin' new Coleman tent at about 10:30, already one solid hour past her bedtime. She rolled around for about 15 minutes trying to escape to the outside where three rambunctious boys were still playing in the dark. I managed to lull her to sleep by singing the ABC's over and over and over again until my voice was hoarse. Then I laid awake for three hours terrifed that the loose sleeping bag would fall over her face and suffocate her (yes, she is old enough to move a blanket off her own face). Then I started to get worried that she would get too cold (she is also old enough to wake up if she's too hot, too cold, too wet, or sick of laying next to her paranoid mother in a cold tent). And I kept hearing Terry Pound's voice cackle with laughter in the night, as he, DRL, and my brother-in-law Tony sat by the fire - a mere 50 feet from the door of my sleeping quarters.

At 1:30 am I thrust on my pants, grabbed my pillow and scurried into the house. I climbed up the most treachorous flight of stairs you've ever imagined and fell onto a lumpy futon. Elena barely stirred. I lay awake for another hour. Finally at 2:30 sleep was upon me.

At 3:something I was up listening to Terry snore.

At 4:something I was up again. I guess C-Pap machines are not on the list of things to pack when going away for a weekend (and sleeping in a room with others).

At 6:30 Elena was up for the day.

Jealous?

More later.....

Fighting For Susan

Take a look at Fat Cyclist's blog here and read the story of his wife's battle with breast cancer. I clicked the link and donated a few dollars to the Lance Armstrong Foundation in their name, as it is the least I can do.

I cannot fathom Susan's courage. Her tenacity, as Elden says, or her strength. I, like the fat cyclist himself, would find new ways to complain. I, too, would make it my hobby. And for that I am more than willing to donate some of my money to help Susan win her fight, and to help others fight their own battles, too.

If you can help, great. If not, then you'll have at the very least, read an amazing story of an amazing woman and her very loving, very helpful, incredibly amazing husband. And that is a victory in itself.

Happy Friday all. As Miz Booshay says,

Encourage one another.
~A

The New Pixie

As evidenced by the photos below, I got a haircut yesterday. A pretty drastic haircut. I decided to channel my inner teenager and sport a throwback coif much akin to the one I had upon my high school graduation, now more than a decade ago (*gasp*).

I am happy to report that I pull the look off much better now in my late twenties, than I ever did in my teens.


I'm not quite sure that DRL is the biggest fan of the cut itself, but he is my biggest fan, and that's what counts.

Smooches,

A

Behind Drawer #1

Look at this photo and (besides the mess, the ridiculous amount of stuff on my counters, and horrible tile above the kitchen sink) tell me what you notice about it?  Does anything look strange?

Your eyes do not deceive you my friends, there is only one drawer in my entire kitchen.  A fact I failed to recognize prior to purchasing my very first home.  Upon further research, I've discovered that most people don't notice my utter lack of drawer space either.  This makes me feel mildly better about buying a home with a slightly defunct kitchen.  As far as practicality is concerned. 

I would like you, if you could, to fathom what life would be like if you had only one drawer in your own kitchen.  Where would you put your plastic bags and tinfoil? Your kitchen towels? Your rolling pin?  Your iPod headphones, memory cards, camera charger, spare keys, scotch tape, post-it notes? Where would you hide your (nearly) 2 year old daughter's "gockie" in a futile effort to de-pacifier her once and for all?

How would your counter breathe under all the stuff that can't go in a drawer?

Welcome to my nightmare.  If and when the market turns around, DRL and I will be doing one of two things: selling this "starter home" and getting into one with at least two kitchen drawers, or remodeling this kitchen and making it larger.  Much, much larger.  Full of drawers. And countertops. And cabinet space.  

The moral of my story?  Enjoy your junk drawer.  I wish I had one. It would be messy and wonderful. It would be mine, and I would love it.  And I would probably hide chocolate there, which I would find and eat in moments of frustration and sadness.  Moments such as this....

Now I'm hungry.

Cheers,

A