Hey, You Guys!

"Mikey, this ain't the kind of place that you'd want to go to the bathroom in."
-Chunk in The Goonies


Let's take a moment, shall we, to discuss my bathroom. Because I'm pretty sure this bathroom situation I have going on is representative of everything that I do wrong when it comes to being a normal, responsible, non-messy grown up. 


To begin, I should give you a little background information. Mike and I are renting the house we're living in. We actually lucked out, because it's a pretty nice place on almost two acres, with tons of room for the dogs to run around, a huge finished basement, and a grueling four minute commute to Mike's office. 


But when we were looking at it the first time with the Realtor, I immediately decided that I absolutely, unconditionally hated the master bathroom. My problem? Not the size (tiny) or the shower (dingy and very unglamorous) or the fact that it lacked the ginormous whirlpool tub I dream of. Nope, my biggest concern was the fact that the walls were a color I did not like, and were bordered by lighthouse-themed wallpaper. Horrific, I know.


I was adamant to Mike that we could not, under any circumstances, sign the lease until we had the go ahead from the landlords to strip that nasty wallpaper off and re-paint the walls something up to my (obviously) very high standards. It was a deal breaker.


So the very first day we moved in, over fifteen months ago, I got to work right way with my Wallpaper Chomp and some scraping tools and went to town on that detested border. Until, like a half an hour later, when Mike kindly pointed out that there were probably more important things to be worrying about that day. Like unpacking boxes or tending to our three-month-old child. I admitted he was probably right, and I set off on more appropriate tasks, leaving my tools sitting on the windowsill. Because I would be getting back to them very, very soon. 


I would like to show you what my bathroom likes like as of about twenty minutes ago. 

Please notice that all of my tools are exactly where I left them.

I sort of got started on this section, but mostly because it's conveniently located next to the toilet. 

Don't worry. The boxes aren't in the way of anything, because we use our guest bathroom to shower and stuff.

As you can see, I got right back to it. Clearly, making a big stink about that bathroom was worth it, because look how great it looks now that I've had a chance to work my magic. Those boxes? How about those boxes have Christmas presents in them. Because when we were cleaning up for Anna's birthday party, I threw a bunch of stuff in there that I would deal with the next day. Are you noticing any patterns here? Sigh.

I'm hoping that by putting this out there, by finally admitting I have a problem, I'll be motivated to get it in gear.  I have no more excuses, and I've come to this crazy realization that I don't really like all the messes. I avoid this bathroom at all costs, because it's a constant reminder that I'm pretty much a complete failure when it comes to this type of stuff. (And also, there is sometimes a weird smell - moldy Christmas cookies, perhaps?) It's time for me to put on my big-girl-wallpaper-removing pants and get on with it, because surely, surely, if I can run a half marathon, some stupid lighthouses shouldn't be able to bring me down.

Wish me luck, people. I'm going to need it. Now, hand me that scraper.

Amaze-Balls

I would like to dedicate this post to my balls. Now, before your mind goes all pornographic on me, I should clarify that the balls I am referring to are of the cake variety.  And they are amazing. Hence, Amaze-Balls.

Martha, Schmartha, right?!??

It all started with a little graduation present from my mom - a Cake Pop cook book. At first, I was intimidated. I don't fancy myself a baker of any kind, and these tiny confections looked pretty darn complicated. But it was our good friend Steve's birthday, and it was a rainy day, and I was feeling all Martha Stewart-y, so I decided to give it a shot. 

Admittedly, the cake ball is the much simpler cousin of the cake pop, but a girl's got to start somewhere, right? And it was actually much easier than I anticipated. You basically bake a cake (I used red velvet - just a box job), crumble it up, mix in some frosting (cream cheese, again, just from a tub), form into balls, and cover with chocolate. I was feeling a little extra fancy when I was done and threw in a little drizzle over the top, and I have to say I was quite pleased with myself. 

But the best part? These tiny balls o' cake taste awesome! Something about the cake being smooshed up with the frosting ups the deliciousness factor by about a million, because even Mike, who doesn't normally like cake, couldn't get enough. I think his exact words were "Where have these been all my life?". Even Anna got in on the action, which might have been a mistake on my part, because she then spent a majority of the weekend screeching "Ba! Ba! Ba!" (her word for ball) and pointing up at the counter where they were stashed. Smart girl. (I would like to point out, just so I don't sound like a totally delinquent mother who feeds her baby cake balls for every meal, that Anna also scarfed down a ton of kale chips - another new delicious recipe I tried this weekend from Gwyneth Paltrow's cook book. So it's all good - I'm not a horrible mom.)

So now I'm busy planning my next creations. There are so many delicious options that I think this beautiful relationship with cake balls is just beginning. And I like it. I like it a lot.

"My mouth is watering just thinking about those balls..."

I Heart Tina Fey

I hope everyone's weekend was a nice as ours. We had lots of family time, gorgeous Michigan spring weather (finally) and a little trip to the Bell's brewery in Kalamazoo. Nothing says "Mother's Day Eve" like a nice glass of Oberon. Even though Mike claims it doesn't taste the same as it used to, it was nice for the two of us to escape our roles of mama and dada for a few hours and just be us. We started yesterday morning with a 5k race, followed by brunch, a long nap, and lots and lots of cupcakes. Even though I wasn't with my own mother, who was soaking up with sun in Florida with my sister, we got to spend the day with a few other awesome mamas.

Pouty Face McGee and her mama

Speaking of awesome mamas, I am slightly obsessed with Tina Fey, and I feel like it is my obligation to share this with you. It makes me laugh and cry every single time I read it, and further convinces me that not only is she hilarious and witty and awesome, she is also probably an amazing mother, and I really, really wish I could hang out with her.

A Prayer for my Daughter

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,”she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”

-Tina Fey

Happy Mother's Day and Happy Monday!

Yo, Adrian! I Did It!

I am happy to report that despite pouring down rain, forgetting my time chip in the hotel room, and a couple of huge hills that would not quit, I can now check "half marathon" off my list. And someone out there must have been sending me happy thoughts, because right as I was reaching my limit, about mile ten, guess what song a group of high school football players decided to blare through their speakers? That's right - the Rocky theme song.

Looking chipper, before the face off with the mountain hill.

Rocky is my idol!

I'm in there somewhere, trying not to puke.

I accomplished my goal of finishing, and of running the whole time, and I am proud to report that I beat the winner of the full marathon by two whole minutes. They didn't call me Lightning Leslie in high school for nothing, you know. (Full disclosure - one of my other, probably much more realistic, nicknames was Slower than Shit Schrock. Pfffft.)

Something else awesome that happened this week? I handed in my final Master's Degree project. I do believe that it's time for a nap little celebrating, but I'll settle right now for some warmer weather and more time for trips to the park and snuggles with Anna. You would think that with all my free time I would be able to get around to all the things I neglected when I was furiously working on my project. Like that weird smell coming from the kitchen sink, or the mounds of empty wine bottles and old newspapers that need to be taken to the recycling center. But instead, I've taken this week to start a couple of new knitting projects and catch up on 30 Rock. 

I do have a plan to get all that stuff done, but more on that later. For now, I'm going to be knitting, purling, laughing, and snuggling. And I just might be wearing these while I'm at it...

It's the Final Countdown!

The Rocky theme song has been buzzing around in my head for the last few days, with good reason. (Side note: the Rocky theme song is infinitely better than the other song that's been constantly stuck in my head lately, the theme song from Elmo's World. Seriously. Those Sesame Street people don't mess around. Not only is Anna crying out for that fuzzy red creature, but Mike and I find ourselves humming that darn song at all hours. Well played, Elmo. Well played.)

On Sunday, my miles and miles of training will pay off when I hopefully cross the finish line of the Flying Pig Half Marathon. I've been a little worried the past few weeks - vacations and training don't always seem to go hand in hand, and our trip to North Carolina, while lovely and relaxing, wasn't exactly conducive to getting my miles in. That twelve miler that I was supposed to do? Not so much. More like eight, with a side of red wine. I kind of want to kick myself, because I've been pretty religious about strictly following my training program. But what are you gonna do?

That's where Rocky Balboa comes in. This is also the part where I admit that I'm a huge dork, because I'm totally a believer in envisioning things in my head going a certain way, and I'm really convinced it works. I think it was my dad who first taught me this, back when I was playing softball. Want to throw a strike? Imagine yourself doing it. Drive in the winning run? Smack a line drive in your mind. I tucked this technique into my bag of tricks, and I use it all the time. Playing golf. Getting Anna to sleep (for real - when you're that sleep deprived, you will try just about anything!). And now running. I've crossed that finish line probably a hundred times in my mind already. Every time, I'm smiling, and happy, and looking cute (did I mention I bought a new outfit just for the race?) while that Rocky music plays in the background. And I am definitely, definitely, NOT looking like this:

If you happen to be awake around 6:30 on Sunday morning, send some positive vibes my way for an "Elmo's World"-free race and sing a little Rocky theme song in my honor. Positive thinking or not, I'll need all the help I can get, especially when it comes to that pesky puppet.

Hippity Hop Hop

Jelly beans are a health food, right? I mean, they have the word "bean" in them, so I'm just going to go with it...

Even though I wouldn't consider myself a very religious person, I love holidays. Admittedly, I had to ask Mike to clarify the whole meaning of Easter for me yesterday. A quick trip to Wikipedia cleared things up, but it got me thinking about celebrations and holidays and why we do things like turn our fingers green trying to dye hard-boiled eggs and consume our weight in marshmallows shaped like little birds.

I had a roommate in college who tried to tell me that I shouldn't be allowed to celebrate Christmas because I didn't really understand the real point of the day. And while it's true that my family never went to church and I almost flunked the New Testament course I took in college, that comment totally pissed me off. Because for me, even though holidays might not be about the birth of Baby Jesus, they sure as heck are about being with family and friends and taking some time to carry on traditions and have a little fun. Especially now that I'm a mama, and can sneak out into the yard to hide brightly colored eggs or stuff Christmas stocking with goodies, I totally understand the true point of holidays, probably more than ever.

Yesterday was no different. We joined my parents, my aunts, and my grandma for a brunch that has been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Eggs Benedict, cheesy potatoes, a mimosa or two, and lots and lots of Peeps. Throw in an Easter basket for my little bunny, and you've got yourself a mighty fine holiday.

The best part was that we kept stealing the eggs from her basket and re-hiding them. 

The teacher in me just cannot resist...

I hope that your holiday, whatever way you were celebrating, was just as nice. And for your sake, I hope you didn't stuff as many jellybeans down your gullet as I did.

Happy Monday!

Not a whole lot going on around here. It's the week before a vacation, and it always seems like those are the days that drag on forever. My brain is spinning with packing lists and project ideas and fun ways to keep Anna entertained on the fifteen hour car ride we're taking on Friday. Luckily, my in-laws will be en route with us, so there will be a couple extra sets of hands for playing peek-a-boo and force feeding occupying her with snacks. With any luck we'll arrive on the beaches of North Carolina with our eardrums still intact and the sun shining.

Until then, a couple of shots of our girl to get you through the week...

Happy Monday!