Honky-Tonk Here I Come!

Tonight I'm headed off to Nashville, TN

to have a girls' weekend with my college girls. 

These are they.

I think this was...2006? But as you can see, not much has changed.

At least as far as our love for Blue Cups is concerned. 

See Jill? [Front row, second from the left?] She read this and two days ago that clock showed up on my doorstep. I'm not going to go ahead and say this is why I love her, because I love her clock or no clock, but the fact that we are still doing Secret Santa ten years after we graduated from college says a lot about us, I think. [And the fact that she actually reads this says something, too, because she is a busy girl.]

We actually have a name for ourselves. I don't usually admit this to people who don't know us, but I'll tell you all, because if you're still reading you deserve some inside scoop. 

Our name is Six Feet. Because there are SIX of us. And we do this a lot:

And by a lot I mean, every time there is a camera anywhere in the vicinity. We've got this same shot in bare feet, flip flops, high heels, wedding shoes, running shoes...the list goes on and on. Ten years' [actually fourteen years'] worth of feet photography. I can pick out who is who based on toes alone.

Anyway. That is where I will be. I'll miss my hot messes here, but I think they have big plans for the weekend that do not involve mommy, so...

Happy Friday, ya'll!

The parts Mary Bullock left out

I feel the need to fill in a few gaps in Mary Bullock's explanation of events yesterday.

Exhibit A: Today's re-enactment of yesterday's Great Diaper Strewing

 

The best part is the innocent look on her face. She's all: What? Is this wrong?

Exhibit B: The Little Butterfly. I submit for your perusal the contents of this book. If you have a kid and can read this without crying, you have a heart of stone. 

 

 

This next one is usually where I start to crumble...

 

 

 

 

See what I mean?  Tear my heart out with a spoon!

Euphemism of the day: "De-veining"

So, did I tell you that I peeled and de-veined shrimp the other night? First timer here. Normally that is a job that I would delegate to Lee, but I'm on a new life plan (remember the ironing?), and it involves doing things I don't really want to do, and that I probably won't do perfectly, but that I really just need to do anyway.

Enter shrimp.

Now, one of the worst parts of this job is the de-veining.  Because you and I both know, that is not a vein.  But I sucked it up and did it, even as sloppily as it probably was.  I didn't even crack the wine until after.

 

And so I give you: 

Pasta with Shrimp, Lemon and Tomatoes

8oz. pasta (linguine, spaghetti, or fettucini) 

3tbsp. olive oil

3tbsp. butter

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 lb. medium shrimp, uncooked

1/2c. clam juice

1/3c. oil packed sundried tomatoes, diced (I didn't dice)

1/4c. fresh parsley (minced)

zest of 1 lemon (I'm terrible at zesting, but it didn't really matter)

salt and fresh ground pepper 

Cook pasta according to package directions. Toss with 1 tbsp. olive oil. Melt butter and remaining oil. Saute garlic until tender over medium heat. Increase heat and saute shrimp until pink, about 2 minutes. Add clam juice and pasta to pan. Cook over medium high heat, 3 minutes. Add tomatoes, parsley, and lemon zest; season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

The Littlest Bubba: A Morning in the Life

5:30am- Wake up. It's an hour and a half before it's time to get up, but there is much playing to be done. Head start city!
6:30am- Crank my squawking up a notch. What are those slow pokes doing in theeeeeeere?
6:45am- Daddy finally hears me. Think to myself: must squawk louder tomorrow.
7:05am- Waf..[nom nom nom] n Honey Dew Meeeluuuuuuu [nom nom nom]
7:15am-Upeeeeeez! With a nice toss of the milk cup for creative flourish.
7:30am- Redistribution of diapers. Why do they all have to go in one place anyways? Lame.
7:34am- Pour Ingle's water bowl in my lap while Mommy is picking up diapers. Score!
7:45am- Mommy already looks tired.
8:00am- Create masterpiece. Mommy says I am an artistic genius. I concur.

 

8:15am- Read every book on my shelf. 

8:20am- Rearrange books. Shelves=dumb. Floor=betta.

8:30am- Cry when Dadu leaves. Refuse to kiss him bye bye. Would kiss if he would stay and play. 

9:15am- Shoes and socks. I like shoes and socks because then I can thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk around the house.

9:20am- Raisins! 

9:30am- Mommy drops me off at the play room at the gym. Cry for effect. 

9:31am- Mommy who? 

10:30am- Still playing.

10:31am- There's mommy! More crying. More effect. 

10:45am- Early for lunch with Dadu, so Mommy takes me to a park with no swings. What the poop? 

10:47am- Nevermind. There is dirt here. We're all good. 

10:52am- Man in the park asks how old I am. Mom says sixteen months. I say, "YEAH!" Man is suitably surprised at my verbal prowess. 

11:00am- Dadu!! Bage..[nom nom nom]. 

11:30am- Back in the car, trying to snooze. Mommy nearly crashes while wiggling my foot. Why is she still talking? Bubba is sleepy. Ssshhh, Mommy, shhhhhh.

11:31am- Mommy pushes her iphone into my hand. Sleepy? Who's sleepy? 

11:32am- Mommy smiles. Thinks she is a genius. 

11:45am- Home. Mommy reads me The Little Butterfly without crying. I hug her extra tight. So proud of her. 

11:47am- zzzzzzzzzzzzz

On the to-do list: Try not to suck

Do you ever think to yourself: Wow. As a human being, I kind of suck sometimes? 

I hope I'm not the only person who ever has that thought. [Although that's kind of weird to say: I hope you think you suck, just so I won't be the the only one? But hopefully you know what I mean.]

In this particular instance, I, with a wine-loosened tongue, made some uncharitable comments about someone that I care about. When I woke up Sunday morning, my words were the first things to pop into my head, followed quickly by [ugh] regret. I brooded about it all day yesterday. Why did I do that? That's not the person that I want to be. That's certainly not the person I want to teach Mary Bullock to be.

Anyway, after Mary Bullock's bedtime I started my nightly blog perusal and by chance found myself on this post at My Favorite Things. Isn't it amazing how, even if you're not looking for it, the thing you need in your life somehow just shows up?

Anyway, that post led me to this, which I felt answered the question I had been asking Lee all day yesterday, which was how do I make amends? What do I do now?

 

So this is my new iphone wallpaper. I'm hoping that it will remind me of my obligation as a human being to try my best every day to not suck. 

I'm starting with baby steps.

Vicarious Baby Shopping

So, I have a friend who is pregnant. I'm not gonna say who, so don't bug me. My lips are SEALED. Actually, I have a few friends who are pregnant. But only one super secret. So since I can't shout it from the mountain tops, I am busying myself by vicarious baby etsy shopping.

Enjoy.

 

Find it here. 

  

Find it here.

 

 Find it here. Or make it, crafty people!

Find them here.

 

I don't get down with tutus, but this I like. Find it here. 

 

Mary Bullock is just getting to the age where I totally get this. Find it here. 

Ok ok, I'm done.

For now.

It's Ironing Day

Er...make that, ironing night. Which is way better, because I can have wine. I try not to drink wine in the morning when it's avoidable.

 

Ironing and I have not previously had a pleasant relationship. In high school, my winning smile and generous mother took care of it for me. In college, I accidentally burned a hole in the rug in my dorm room ironing a pair of pants. Yes, I did. 

But the best story of Ironing and Me is the time when, on the night before my interview for my last teaching job, I burned a hole in my dress. Yes. I did that, too. Now, under normal circumstances, one would just consult the closet for another dress. However, I was still in grad school in Charlottesville and had flown down specifically for the interview, so my other options included my pajamas and my pajamas. 

Luckily, I was staying with Lee's parents,  so at 10 o'clock that night, I knocked on his mom's bedroom door crying and asked to borrow a cardigan. Oh, the shame. We'd been dating for maybe a year at that point, and I'd visited only once or twice before. It was awful, obviously. But the cardigan did miraculously cover the hole, and I did get the job, despite my best efforts otherwise. 

Anyway, after that I think I would have been well within my rights to never iron again. And trust me, I haven't done much. My sweet mama even ironed Lee's pants last time we were there. 

But I'm on a new life plan. One that includes, among other things, a weekly ironing day.  I think it will be good for me: making peace with ironing. If I can make peace with ironing, I can make peace with anything.

Right?

Dear Laura,

I think Davis needs these.

Just thought you should know.

Love,
Suz

Valentine's Summary: No lamb chops

 

Today's post was going to be about our Valentine's dinner which, historically, is grilled lamb chops. And I was going to tell you all about our very first Valentine's day together and why we [by family policy] always serve bread with our Valentine's Day meal.

And then Publix ran out of lamb chops. So, if you live on the Westside and had lamb chops for dinner last night, you are the reason that I will not be able to tell that story, which is kind of funny. So, I hope your lamb chops were mighty tasty.

Valentine's Day came and went without too much fanfare in the Wedekind house, which is the way we like it. I did make Mary Bullock a Valentine, though. Every now and then, just when my scissor set is about to get rusty, I drag out my supplies and start cutting.

 

 

That's e.e. cummings. You should read it if you have a moment for such things. It's a good one. 

I hope you had a good Valentine's Day* with people that you love. 

*Even if your Valentine's Day took place last week, and your boyfriend was out of town on the 14th visiting his family and did not send you flowers. WINK!

Friday Favorites, with a completely superfluous prologue

The thing is, I am a complainer by nature. You may or may not have deduced this by now. This blog is actually not an extension of 90% of what goes through my head. It's an attempt to celebrate the other 10%: when things go well, OR when things don't go as planned but are still hilarious or heartwarming or memorable. In doing so, I hope to make the percentage of awesomeness I see in the world increase.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it's hard, because we live in an imperfect world. Bad things happen to good people, we make mistakes, lose our tempers, forget to make dinner, blah blah blah. And such has been this week for me.

And so now I bring to you my Friday Favorites, a list which is infinitely more interesting than the list of things I've hated this week.

1. Oh, Tom's, you are wearing me down.

2. Mary Bullock's new trick:
Me: Mary Bullock, what does a monkey say?
MB: ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!
It is not at all surprising to me that the first animal sound that Mary Bullock learned is the monkey. ENTIRELY APROPOS.

3. The Zac Brown Band Pandora station. Also, the random iValentine station which has shown up on my iphone this week. [But the iValentine station is admittedly not as good when you think you're listening to the Zac Brown station and all the sudden Peter Gabriel comes on.]

4. The Charleston Vintage Clock from Pottery Barn:

 

 

I'm not going to go ahead and classify this as a need,  but it's solidly on the would make my life better list.

5. The Pioneer Woman's Chicken Parmigiana

She calls this her go-to meal, while I call this a production. Chop garlic? Whoozie whatsie? But it was totally worth it, as Lee called it my "best dinner ever." [And for someone whose "go-to" is shake-n-bake, I suppose it probably is!] Which is good because we're having it again tonight.

That's it for this week. I'll hopefully be back with a Valentine's post soon. I finally finished Mary Bullock's Valentine earlier this week, now we just have to finish her Valentines for her baby friends. If I can finish them with fewer than 3 trips to the store, I'll consider it a success!

Happy Weekend!

Reason enough to throw a party...

The Paperless Post.

I'm enamored. I want to throw a thousand parties just to utilize all of these fabulous invitations! Evite is now dead to me.

Well played, Drew Brees

Ah, Monday: it's you again.

Today I've got a to-do list on the scale of I-95. I need to do all of my weekend chores today, since we were up in North Carolina at Baby Bennie's birthday party [post to come] this weekend.  My to-do list includes ironing all of Lee's non-iron shirts. What have I gotten myself into? I'll have to find a very special Pandora station to get me through it. Any suggestions?

But I'm not really neglecting my to-do list just to tell you about my to-do list.  Really, I just couldn't resist commenting on one aspect of the Super Bowl.

If you know me at all, you know that football is not my thing. I like the tailgates, but I've been known to "watch" an entire football game and not be able to recall a single thing that happened. It's not that I don't understand it (I do, mostly); it's just that I don't care that much.

Last night, I actually took a lil nap in the middle of the game, but luckily I woke up just in time to see the Saints win. 

Now if you had put a gun to my head before last night, I wouldn't have been able to tell you the name of the Saints' quarterback. And I'm certainly not going to jump on the Saints' bandwagon now that they are Super Bowl champions.

However, this is one of the most touching scenes I've seen on TV in a long time.

 

Leave it to me to make football about babies.  But really. He was holding his baby and talking to him [not that his baby could hear him, thanks to the headphones, but still] and kissing him and crying. 

Do all winning quarterbacks do this, and I've just never noticed? Because I didn't know Drew Brees's name before last night, but I think it's going to be a while before I forget it.

My life (my life) would suck (would suck) without you

I'm not going to lie. This week has pretty much been the pits. I'm trying not to be sad, but I am sad, then Mary Bullock does something hilarious and I forget that I'm sad, but I just remember later: Wait, I'm still sad. I appreciate your emails, and I hope you'll forgive me if I didn't respond. There really is nothing to be said that will make this easier, but prayers for peace are appreciated.

Today was not one of my better days, but some days this week have been better, mostly because of this guy

 

who lifts even my heaviest burdens.

Did I tell you that he made partner? He did! We're excited and relieved. And he has a parking spot at work now. He's kind of a big deal. Next thing you know we'll have a Dodge Stratus.

Now if he would just hurry home...

Grace

So, this turned up in my stocking this past Christmas:

I love it, but it comes with a story that is difficult to tell.

You know how they say that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory? I've always felt that to be true, don't you? Anyway, this philosophy bath cream also showed up in my stocking a few years ago, and opening the top for the first time in the shower a few weeks ago sent me back in time.

It was January 7, 2008, a few weeks after Christmas, and I was standing in the shower at the Venetian in Las Vegas. We were there [among other reasons] to celebrate Lee's birthday, which was the next day. But on this morning, I was standing in the shower crying. We had just discovered that our latest [was it the 4th? 5th? it all runs together eventually] round of fertility treatments had been a bust. I was frustrated. I was sad. I felt as though God had handed me a rotten lot in life.

You would think, given the sad [and yet automatic] association I have with this particular scent, that smelling it again after all this time would make me sad. But it doesn't. Because, as you know, the epilogue to that day in the shower is that a little over ten months later, Mary Bullock was born. She is [I know! YOU KNOW!] the light of my little life.

If you've ever had a miscarriage or struggled with fertility and then had a child, I'm sure you know how this feels: every day with her is miraculous. When I look at her, I am daily, minute-ly, reminded not only of the miracle that is human life, but also of how God miraculously turns pain into joy. Just like that. Not on my schedule, of course, but on His.

And that is what I think of when I smell this smell, which is called [what else?] Grace.  I remember the pain, yes, but mostly I remember that after that came joy of the sort I had never envisioned.

I can always use that reminder.