We've come a long way.

We've come a long way since the first Valentine's Day the Pastor and I had together. That year, 2005, the Pastor's Valentine to me was an email.

He emailed me a picture of a Hello Kitty toaster he had given me a few weeks earlier. The subject line of the message said "here." There was no text in the body of the email, just the attached picture.

I'm still not sure why I didn't break up with him then. In my defense, I was a very busy woman working a kajillion hours a week. Too busy to kill him or dump him, so he got lucky.

The Pastor took me out this past weekend for our belated Valentine's Day celebration.

We stayed in our city but went downtown. Isn't everything better downtown?

The day started off with the Pastor taking me for coffee and a pedicure.

I hadn't had a pedicure in two months. I've been a DIY gal lately. Getting pampered was heaven. The Pastor sat in a massage chair next to me and did his own version of pampering - he read Hebrew. To each his own.

I wore a sexy blue dress - not a Goodwill find but a bargain. I picked up the $128 dress for $19.00. Somehow, I managed to not get a picture of me wearing the thing. I can only assume the Pastor didn't want too many people to see how good I looked for fear that a picture like that could only go viral on the internet.

Here's our lovely hotel room:

My only complaint about the whole weekend would be that I don't like King beds. They are too big, allowing the Pastor to escape from my schooching.

I gave the Pastor his Valentine:

What can I say? When he's not sewing, he loves his silicone kitchen gadgets. This one was purchased in the post-Valentine clearance at Target. That's the bonus of celebrating holidays late - half off!

We watched movies on the laptop:

His picks, rented from the library, included one about monks who all get killed and a silent movie. I thought my Redbox movies would prove to be superior, but they really weren't.

We went out to dinner at our favorite restaurant:

In the pic it looks like we were super classy people who didn't eat the last bite of ice cream, but I can assure you after the picture was taken we did.

The fun continued the next morning. My Prince Charming took me to see an exhibit at the art museum:

And of course there was more coffee:

It was a lovely weekend. The Pastor said he hoped I enjoyed it, he probably wouldn't be free again until June.

I'll take what I can get - as long as it's not another picture of a toaster. He knows better now. If he tries a stunt like that again, he'll be toast for sure.

Sew In Love

The Pastor has many spiritual gifts. One would be that he is the worst gift giver, ever. Along those lines, when purchasing flowers, he gets the flowers so close to death I'm surprised the store is still selling them. Either that, or he has a secret flower dumpster. These flowers end up having the opposite affect on me. Instead of being happy he bought me flowers, it makes me seethe with rage. Is this what he wants? Are these flowers a secret metaphor for our relationship? Then I have to keep the dying flowers around for days to continue to rot. And I never feel like I can say it's sweet that you buy me flowers but please please please buy me some that are still alive and smell like flowers and not decay.

Sigh. At least he tries.

One year for our anniversary, the Pastor gave me a ring. A yellow gold ring (ick) featuring a belt buckle (ick). The accompanying note read "thanks for buckling up and joining our lives."

Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ick.

Nothing says "romance" quite like a belt buckle and tolerance.

This past Christmas I didn't get a present. Not even a sketchy bouquet. I realized he had been swamped, so I cut him some slack (my gift to him). Typically, we've not done Christmas on Christmas. He has given me gifts in January when the Wise Men came to visit the baby Jesus, and coincidentally when everything is on sale and our property taxes have been paid.

This year Christmas came and went. Then the Magis came and went and I still didn't get squat. I was beginning to feel like he was going to try to pull a fast one on me and do the dreaded combo Christmas/Valentine gift.

I wasn't going to let that happen so I told him flat out what I wanted. I wanted MAC makeup brushes. In my mind (which was formed watching Disney Princess movies) they would be carried in by cartoon birds and be presented to me arranged like a bouquet tied with ribbon, but at this point I'd take whatever I could get.

Deep in my heart I knew it would be too much for him to handle, after all he has a Ph.D. Also I'm fairly certain he's never seen a Disney Princess movie. So I decided to cut him some slack and made a very specific list, complete with instructions, turn-by-turn directions, how many steps from the entrance of the store to the makeup counter, salesperson names, brush names and numbers, and alternately a website where they could be purchased with free shipping. It was the most effort I could make to get my present without actually buying it myself.

Fast forward to my husband becoming completely obsessed with the idea of us (ME) needing a sewing machine. Having lost our dear sweet lady who did mending for us, we were left with a hole in our lives that couldn't be darned.

Much like a bouquet of dead flowers, it seemed to disappoint the Pastor greatly that I couldn't and had no desire whatsoever to sew. I let this make me feel bad for about two seconds until I remembered the Pastor doesn't like sports, so if he can be a guy who doesn't like sports I can be a girl who doesn't want a sewing machine. Besides, in my Universe, things are sewed by talking cartoon animals and fairy godmothers.

Imagine my surprise when he brought home a sewing machine and told me Merry Christmas.

I thought I might lose it. I reminded him yet again that I DIDN'T. WANT. A. SEWING. MACHINE. I briefly toyed with the idea of maybe keeping the sewing machine, and exactly WHAT I COULD SEW TOGETHER ON IT.

Finally, he opened the sewing machine box. Turns out he had bought the sewing machine, taken it out of the box, and wisely replaced the contents with this:

I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of cartoon birds fly out of that box too.

In the end, the Pastor taught himself to sew, and he's quite the little Seamster. As for me, while he's sewing, I'm painting my face.

It's February 20, and I still haven't gotten my Valentine, but he's promised it is coming this weekend. I can't wait to see what he's whipped up for me on his sewing machine.

I'm on to you, Pastor!

The Mystery of the Missing Socks? The Clue on the Dryer? The Case of the Foiled Footwear?

I'm playing around with what my Nancy Drew book titles for this one would be.

Seems like the Pastor has a dirty little secret. Technically I guess it would be a clean little secret, but I've got him all figured out, and I didn't need my bobby pins or flashlight to solve this one.

The Pastor went out of town this week and while he was gone, I went a sleuthin' and found this, dun dun dun:

He could have done a better job of hiding it from me. I suppose he thought if he left the bag in a safe place, a place he thought I'd never look with him out of town (on top of the dryer), it would be safe.

You see, the Pastor thinks he has finally figured out some way, some sort of system while doing laundry, to isolate the mismatched socks. He thinks if he separated out this batch of lonely socks from the last bout of laundry-doing, he'd be able to make it make sense. That his little system of putting them in a bag will somehow make us be able to find the sock-mates.

When I found the bag of lonely socks? I couldn't have laughed harder. It was almost as though he had given me a Valentine. Almost.

I don't have a Ph.D. Or a few Master's Degrees. But this I know for sure, you will never figure it out.

It is un-understandable.

The socks will never make sense.

We will always and forever have a pile of mismatched socks.

This is just how the Universe works. Socks just disappear.

And on top of the Universe's natural order of things for socks, we have kids that go back-and-forth between different houses. They do not come to our house with matched socks on. Just like everything else in our house, even our socks are divorced and remarried to other socks. Then when the kids leave again, they leave with one of those pairs of preciously matched socks, and they disappear into another kind of black hole entirely.

It'll be fun though. To watch the Pastor after the next go-round of laundry, dumping out all the socks and enlisting the help of the kids to match them - you know, those kids who are not wearing matched socks in the first place. You will be able to see his blood pressure rise with each stray sock.

Maybe I'd care more about this if I even wore socks, but I don't and I never will. I won't wear anything that means I'll just have that much more laundry to do. I've got plenty of other cases to solve without spending any more time on socks again, ever.

And that, my little sleuths, is no mystery.

Comme on fait son lit, on le trouve!

I got so much done today.

I cleaned out the fridge. I sorted through all my nail polishes. I gathered up 16 dressy dresses and donated them to charity. I went through my shoes and my jewelry. I purchased supplies for someone's art project. I gave myself a manicure and a pedicure. I ran errands. I did dishes. I microdermed. I researched. I cooked. I facebooked. I took a bubble bath. I worked. I read. I had time for an arty crafty project. I wrote. I hunted down bargains. I drank all the water I'm supposed to drink in a day. I translated things.

How did I accomplish all this in a day? It might have something to do with rising at 4:30 and having 7 shots of espresso. But I'm going to go with what's behind door number two. The reason I got up at 4:30 a.m.? To take the Pastor to the airport.

I worked really hard, but without my wifely chores, I'm practically on a vacation with loads of spare time.

And without him being around to supervise the bed getting made, I'm saving even more valuable minutes.

But I miss him. : (

Slayed by the Sunday Supper

Happy Sabbath?

After a mere 5 hours in the kitchen, I'm finally able to sit down.

This is what my manicure looked like before I started cooking and cleaning:



This one is my own fault:



The cake, made-from-scratch, is the result of my watching the Food Network and Miss Paula Deen. I'm going to cancel cable television.

I also made my family roast beast, carrots and mashed potatoes. To say that I used every dish in the kitchen is not an exaggeration:



The good news? I don't have to cook the rest of the week:



The bad news? After all those dishes, now my nails look like this:

free association with 2011

Idaho. Idaho State Capitol. Cabin in the woods. Road trip with Dad. Mourned the loss of Borders Bookstore. Arizona. Pastor's Mom's 70th and Grandma's 90th birthdays. Rubio's and In-N-Out Burger. Princess Diana exhibit. Six year anniversary. Royal Wedding. Fortieth birthday party with cupcakes, candy necklaces and cotton candy. Colorado. Another cabin in the woods. The Pastor left for a three-month fellowship. Parent's 45th anniversary. Working on the rent houses. Thailand via Japan to see the Pastor. Rat in the bathroom. Date with the Pastor on the rooftop where Hangover 2 was filmed. Rode in a Tuk Tuk. Stayed in a hotel room that was worse than camping. Floating city. James Bond Island. Canoe Ride. Phuket. Cleaned and organized the garage. Graffiti vigilante. Nate: permit, driver's license, braces off, #1 in his class of 415. Idaho again. Cabin in the woods - again. Painted pottery. Four wheelers. Made Thanksgiving all by myself. San Francisco. Walked across the Golden Gate Bridge and back. Monterrey-by-the-Sea and Carmel. Sea otters and sea horses. Pebble Beach. Alcatraz. Haight Asbury. Redwood trees. Sierra National Forrest. More In-N-Out Burger. Ikea. Yosemite. Camping, bear-free. Goodbye red Honda and flat-iron. Goodwill obsessed - especially vintage clothes and especially especially vintage nightgowns. Stopped buying ziploc bags and renewing my magazine subscriptions. Couldn't get pregnant. Juice fasted and liver cleansed but also ate lots of donuts, mexican food and cookies. Five pieces published. Discovered false eyelashes. Did a whole bunch of different stuff to my hair and wore a lot of shoes.

Goodbye 2011.

date night/everything tight/check fright/strawberry cake just right

I refuse to say I am fat.

While typing this, I am wearing a size small shirt and jeans that are in the single digits. I refuse to beat myself up. In part, because that would be exercise.

I will, however, say that my clothes are skinny.

I had a date with the Pastor last night, and I was trying to psych myself up. It's not that I didn't want to go out with him, it's just that I seem to be in a post-Christmas funk. Not getting any presents (except from Moms) will do that to you.

I put on my false eyelashes. I hated all my clothes and thought it might cheer me up if I got something new to wear. Besides, I've been really good lately waiting for Santa to come (yet I still got the shaft) and I knew the Pastor wouldn't say anything if I went shopping.

We have a new outlet mall. I want it to do good. I want to like it. I really like a couple of the stores, but I kind of hate going there. It seems like everyone who shops there? Is incredibly stupid. This coming from a woman who routinely shops at Goodwill. I think it says a lot that the people at Goodwill annoy me less than the people at the outlet mall.

I wanted some fabulous retro circle skirted 1950's cocktail dress. You know, the 1950's, when women still had hips. Needless to say, the outlet mall didn't have the look I wanted. Why is everything made for stick straight people? Am I the only curvy girl out there? The Kardashian's are everywhere - and those girls have booties! How is it possible that they can be on the cover of every magazine, yet not have made an impact on the design of clothes? This would mean the Kardashian's have really served no purpose.

I gave up on the mall and went home where I proceeded to have the parade of the closet. I was too embarrassed to even photograph my looks and send them to any friends. The first look I tried on included a floral bubble skirt, a silver sequined tank and a purple cardi with silver trim. I looked like a bag lady who had raided a dumpster behind The Loft, or to give you an even better visual - imagine what the librarian at a LGBT library would wear.

The next look included a short black full skirt and a black sequined top. I looked like a sad, old ice dancer.

I gave up and put on a sweater dress. I was glad the Pastor wasn't home to see me pull my boots over my calves. If you ever want to question the size of your calves, go buy a pair of boots. I have never thought "I have abnormally large calves." I don't believe I do. But there is nothing like putting on boots that will make you think "what is wrong with my hideous, mishapen legs?"

We had a nice dinner out. We went to a restaurant we'd not been to before. The Pastor ordered a special.

Here's the thing about the specials at a fancy restaurant. They don't tell you how much they cost, and you don't ask because you are at a fancy restaurant. His special involved steak and shrimp. Once the check came and for once the Pastor's meal cost more than mine, I knew the date was over. Then I got to listen to how much food costs and how hard the Pastor works (he does) and the value of a dollar and how he would have been just as happy with a $5 hamburger. It went from hot date to conversation with a depression-era grandpa, just like that. This turn of events made me glad I hadn't added to the expense of the date with fashion.

Oh and by the way, I didn't care about my skinny clothes, that I had thought that maybe I should wear tights and spanx (sexy date undergarment combo), or how much it cost. I thought about having fun - and fun for me meant getting the strawberry cake.

It was delicious. I expect me and that cake will have another date soon, whether I find that perfect cocktail dress or not. As for the Pastor, you'll probably find him wherever $5 hamburgers are sold.

Christmas Card

Every year it’s the same.

Some people fear getting trampled to death while Black Friday shopping.

Others stress about not finding whatever version of Elmo it is you are supposed to buy.

But my greatest holiday fear?

The Christmas card.

I’m not talking about the boxes of Christmas cards you can go to any store and buy. That’s easy. You just decide if you want to be religious – Mary/Joseph/baby Jesus on front, or cute – a dog wearing reindeer antlers, or nothing with a generic “Happy Holidays.”

I’m talking about the elusive photo Christmas card.

You see, before you have the photo Christmas card, you have to have the photo. The perfect family Christmas photo.

I figure I must be missing something. People must have better lives, better children, or better abilities at Photoshop.

I’ve been trying to get “the perfect Christmas card” for 6 years now.

When you live in the reality that is divorce and remarriage with kids, first you have to find a time when all of you are together.

This magical thing happened, when the planets aligned – not only were we all together, we were all in Church clothes. Of course, none of us matched in the slightest. I was wearing plaid. The teenage boy was sporting a retro cardigan. One girl was wearing a cherry print, and the other, floral. The Pastor was in his clerical collar. I figured at best our photo would come off as a nice minister who had stopped to help out a rag-tag bunch.

Thankfully, I had not allowed the youngest girl to wear what she wanted to wear that morning. Her idea of proper church attire? Leather shorts. Leg warmers. Long, feather earrings. And I quote her: “I can rock this look.” No, dear. I’m pretty sure you can only “rock that look” if you are streetwalking. If you are a 12 year old girl, you cannot rock that look. At least not under my watch!

I had the realization that we were not only altogether, but half-way decently dressed, driving down the road. I told the Pastor we had to act fast. What happened next I’m sure was like having to race to get on the last helicopter out of Saigon. The Pastor pulled into a parking lot, screeched to a halt and we all ran to take pictures outside. It was even a decent day weather-wise. With this series of events happening, we were either going to get the perfect family picture or the world was about to end. I checked my phone to see if this was one of those dates predicted for the rapture.

The Pastor hurriedly set up his tripod – yes he carries it in his backpack all the time. We turned the timer on and just took shot after shot with the theory being we might get one decent picture.

Sure the 12 year old had some moments when she completely forgot how to smile and was making weird looking faces. And the 14 year old panicked at how to stand in front of the camera. And between each exposure, the Pastor and I were yelling at them, telling them to move here and there – screaming as though they might not make it aboard the helicopter and out of the war-torn country.

It doesn’t end with the picture. Once you get that, you have to attempt to order the cards. Here’s how that works. You go to various websites and look at design, after design, after design. There is an infinite number of possibilities. Cards range in price from roughly $0.01 - $15.00 per card. Inevitably, the ones you will like will be the $15.00 per card card. Once you find a card in your price range, it will need a vertical picture, and you will only have a good horizontal one. Or it is a card that will hold 4 pictures, and you need five.

Once you have managed to find the 1 card out of 27,382 that has the layout and number of pictures you need, and doesn’t say Happy Hannukuh (for a moment you will contemplate converting to Judaism, for it will make ordering cards easier) you will begin the process of dropping your pictures into the layout.

First you kiss your husband goodnight and grab an energy drink because you are in for an all-nighter. After you somehow manage to get the right pictures in the right slots you have to put a message or your names in a text box. Whatever you want to say, or however many names you have, it will be too many letters. You will all of a sudden give one kid a nickname they’ve never had, because it will fit on the card. Don’t even think about trying to change the font, you will want to get at least 30 minutes sleep.

I’m not bragging here. I’ve got a college degree. I went to vo-tech for a year. I’ve given birth to a child. I’ve held professional jobs, including one that required me to manage and be responsible for a number of employees. Why is it so hard to order a Merry freakin’ Christmas card?

You’ve managed to order the cards. Once they come in, you will be faced with the arduous task of addressing the envelopes. Your husband will ask you approximately every 30 minutes if “you’ve gotten the Christmas cards done.” You know, in all your spare time.

You finally finish. Then comes the stamping, the return address labels and the trip to the post office. Then over the next series of weeks, you will receive at least one returned in the mail every day because as it turns out you don’t actually know where anyone lives.

But I did it. You’d think for this, and for making the delicious Thanksgiving meal (all by myself) and wrapping the gifts and the shopping I’d deserve something extra special in my stocking this year. I know I'm not going to get any presents, so I’ll just settle for never, ever having to see the 12 year old wear leather booty shorts and leg warmers. Thanks, Santa.

and to all a good night

I have a vivid imagination.

Here's how the fantasy started. I was standing in the frozen foods aisle at Whole Foods. I'd like to say it was probably the bronchitis and the drugs I was taking, but I'm afraid it is just the way I am.

I saw a Tofurky - a vegetarian turkey substitute. This made me think of one of my favorite movies, About a Boy. I envisioned me, the Pastor and the kids sitting around and watching the heartwarming tale about a selfish bachelor and a boy with a crazy, suicidal mom. Sure, it's sad. But in the end everything is ok and the pieced-together family sits around a table eating a Tofurky at their holiday meal. After we watched the movie, I'd make a feast that included a Tofurky, and our pieced-together family could have a family meal. On holidays in years to come, all the kids would remember fondly the time they got to try Tofurky. And we'd all live happily ever after.

I'll give myself credit here. I was at least willing to abandon my fantasy. December 23 rolls around and the Pastor has been working non-stop, everyday. I knew I had to alter my Christmas expectations when I had to remind him it was going to be Christmas and the people he was going to have working on our rental properties might, just might, want to celebrate the dear little Baby Jesus with their families. (On a side note, having to remind your husband about Christmas is one indication that you won't be receiving presents.)

Then Nate had to have his wisdom teeth taken out. What an ordeal. On the first attempt, December 22, the power went out just before they sedated him, so we had to reschedule for the 23. This rescheduling meant I had to take him to the doctor's office in another city, which meant I had to drive him home alone and try to keep him from putting his fingers in his mouth while trying not to kill us in a wreck. Then I had to go to not one but two different pharmacies. It was all very stressful. By the time I finally got him home, I was asking myself who are these pain pills for exactly?

Once I got home, I put together the feast. There would be no family showing of About a Boy, but I made a meal anyway: Tofurky, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn casserole and gravy. And why not? I'm not one to push my vegetarianism on others, but I make meat all the time. It's about time we had a vegetarian holiday meal around here.

By the time dinner was served, poor Nate didn't even feel like trying to eat even mashed potatoes. I sat down with the Pastor and the girls. It wasn't some fantastical, magical experience. Nobody looked as happy as they do in About a Boy; no one was even as happy as the Mom who had tried to commit suicide in the movie. In the end I didn't even tell the girls it was called Tofurky. I no longer cared.

The Pastor, true to form, said "Is this one of the special meals you were planning?" I know I can't communicate tone here, so let me explain in more detail. Reread that quote from the Pastor, but read it in a sarcastic, uninterested voice. And then make a noise after that sounds something like hummmmph.

I didn't use any of Nate's pain meds but I did make myself feel better in a way that is allowed by the Church - I made Christina Ferrare's Truffle Oil Mac N Cheese. I know what you are thinking. I haven't had much luck lately impressing these Hamburger Helper people I live with, so why would I make a complicated, expensive pasta recipe with four different kinds of cheeses and truffle oil? I did it for me. It was delicious.



I'm going to go make myself a bowl right now and curl up in front of the tv and watch About a Boy. This mac n cheese may be the only Christmas present I get.

Well that, and getting to watch Hugh Grant. I also own Love Actually and Bridget Jones's Diary. I may make it a triple feature.

no rest for the wicked, or a mom

After feeling miserable for six days, on the seventh day I finally went to the doctor. I couldn't take it any longer. Errrr, rather, the Pastor couldn't take it any longer if I kept him up another night because I 1. couldn't breathe 2. coughed 3. sneezed 4. was blowing my nose. A lot. The Pastor said if he missed any more sleep I'd end up in the hospital from being forcibly removed from the bed. So I thought I'd go see the doctor.

And why shouldn't I freely enjoy these last 12 days of our deductible being met?

I did my usual refusal to look at the number on the scale at the doctor's office (I've found those things to be horribly inaccurate.)
The doc said it was a good thing I didn't wait any longer to come in, because I have bronchitis.

After the doctor, it was off to the bank and the pharmacy to get my prescriptions. To give you an indication of how bad I felt, I didn't even want coffee. Then I had to go pick up some gift cards. Then it was off to a fancy grocery store 7 miles away because I don't live in one of those super-fancy cities where you can buy something exotic like marscapone cheese on every street corner.

After that, I still didn't get to go home and be sick. It was more work and errands until I had to pick up Nate from school. Next was a driving lesson for him. Followed by a standing engagement our family has - Monday Night Tacos.

After dinner, there was running around with the family including this being the one night we could all be together to look at Christmas lights.

We got home after 7, and I still had Nate's birthday cake to make. Since Nate loves chocolate chip cookies, I wanted to make him a chocolate chip cookie cake I had seen in Martha Stewart Living. You know what that means. Sifting was involved. Which also means once again in my life I had to Google "do you measure flour before or after you sift?" How did people bake before the Internet?

I secretly think Martha's true crime was not anything she did with money but what she does with her recipes and crafts. I think she leaves just a little something out so you don't know just how much of a pain whatever project or recipe you are working on will be until it is too late. You just end up feeling inadequate and Martha is somewhere in Connecticut laughing maniacally.

I just needed 8 dozen of Martha's cookies measured out by tablespoon and baked 14 minutes until crispy. Once I started baking the cookies, I had the soon-to-be birthday boy hovering. I had to tell him "You cannot touch that cookie dough!" and "No! You cannot eat a single cookie even though I am baking them for your birthday. I need them for your cake." His reply? "Why didn't you just buy me a cake?"

I didn't let Martha get the best of me today. Here's what her cake looked like:









Here's mine so far (top layer doesn't go on until you serve):










The Pastor was extremely helpful: "You needed a recipe for that? It looks like you just stuck a bunch of stuff between some cookies."

Must. Not. Throw. Cake. I've. Worked. So. Hard. On. At. My. Husband.

Now it is 10:45 p.m. and I still haven't rested like the doctor wanted me to. I haven't been at home all day, much less lay down. The doctor also wanted me to take some Benadryl - and I had to explain to him I didn't have time for a coma.

I'm going to take it now and go to bed. God created the earth in six days and then had a day of rest. I don't think it is any coincidence that this occurred after he created a woman to take care of everything for him. I imagine that woman was a lot like Martha Stewart.

we'll always have Paris

This picture taken at a happy moment in France just makes me feel sorrow.

There weren't just five of us in the picture. There were six. I was carrying around a teeny, tiny secret souvenir. I was pregnant. I couldn't have been happier.

Alas, it was not meant to be. The day we were going to make the big announcement, I went to the doctor and his heartbeat was gone.

The picture devastates me, not just for the loss, but because in a way it captures the essence of the last time I truly felt happy.

A letter I wrote to our angel baby has been published in a new book compiled by Help Inspire Others http://www.helpinspireothers.com/

I've just learned from the people at Help Inspire Others that one of the largest independent book stores in the United States - The Huntington Book Revue, New York - is featuring this book.

I'm heartbroken our baby didn't make it, but I'm blessed to have been able to carry him for a while in my body and forever in my heart. I hope through the work of Help Inspire Others and the sharing of stories from people like me, it will be beneficial to others experiencing the loss of a pregnancy.

Adieu, Mon Petit Souvenir.

food for thought

It started last week.

The Pastor said to me "would it be helpful to you if I made a list of what I like for you to cook, so you'll know what to cook."

Uhhhhhhhh, no. I know what to cook. I pretty much know how to cook a jillion, billion million things. And if for some reason I sustained a sudden brain injury, I could still type into the computer whatever ingredients I have (Eggo waffles, refried beans, ice cream, frozen pizzas) and magically recipes would appear.

I love it when the Pastor tries to "help" me.

I gently explained this to him. And the fact that when we don't eat at home, it's not because I haven't a clue what to cook, but his crazy schedule. Or the fact that we have not one, not two, but three teenagers in various places at all times. I always plan to cook - but then the day of or hours before, my plans will be derailed - because while I am planning to cook, everyone else is planning to do something else far more interesting than being at home and eating dinner.

Our discussion continued with the Pastor telling me how he doesn't understand why I don't just throw something in the crock pot in the mornings. If I did this, then he and the kids would be just fine! They can take care of themselves! They could scoop whatever out of the crockpot, be perfectly delighted while I am at my writing class, and clean up after themselves.

I reminded the Pastor I did that very thing the previous week. When I got home, he told me two of the three people who had eaten that evening did not like what I made in the crock pot (Swiss Steak). The Pastor didn't understand why him telling me that two out of three did not like something might hurt my feelings. Oh, and they left all their dirty dishes in the sink.

At this point, the only thing I'm contemplating putting in the crock pot is dismembered body parts.

But still, he rattled off a couple things he'd like for me to cook - chili and pizza burgers.

I got up the next morning. Looked up recipes. Made a list. Went to the store. Spent $225.00 on groceries, went home, unloaded and put everything up. Of course when you put everything up, that is when you discover you have to clean out and rearrange everything in your freezer, fridge, deep freezer and pantry. All this activity consumed no less than three quarters of a day.

Now on to the Pizza Burgers. I'd never heard of PB but the Pastor's mom made them and as he described them, they were nothing short of Manna from Heaven. Thanks to the internet, I had googled the recipe and gave it a whirl.

I realize I don't have a Ph.D., but I have cooked for more than 20 years with a resume that includes the fact that no one in my household has ever starved to death. Even though I don't eat the meat, I get the jist of things. I followed the recipe. One pound ground beef, hamburger buns, pizza sauce, cream of mushroom soup. Brown meat, add pizza sauce and soup, pour over hamburger buns. Top with cheese. Bake til bubbly. Except for the fact I really thought it might be too runny when I was adding the soup and sauce so I cut back on what it called for. Personally, I thought the buns should probably be baked a little before adding everything on top, but being a seasoned cook I thought I'll follow the recipe and I can tweak it next time I make it.

I served dinner and the Pastor offered up his "constructive criticism." Too runny. He's just trying to help. You know, for the next time I make it.

Let's move on to the chili. I made chili in the crock pot and the best cornbread ever - the Barefoot Contessa's recipe. The Pastor's response? There's no beans in this chili. It's just meat soup.

And the Pastor - the one who hates to throw food away and why can't we just eat leftovers - each time since then when I've offered him the leftover chili, he doesn't want any part of my "meat soup." Also, the teenage boy doesn't want any of it, because now we are out of hot dogs and there is nothing to eat it on.

Just to be clear - I've invested all this time, effort in money into hot dogs I don't eat, chili I don't eat, Pizza Burgers I don't eat, Swiss Steak I don't eat.

There's always a silver lining. I accidentally grabbed a pair of too tight jeans out of the closet and put them on. A few hours later I realized hey! these jeans fit me now! I'm so busy cooking all this food for everyone else to complain about, I totally forgot to eat.

Muffin Top

The Pastor lovingly caressed me and told me he liked my "muffin top."

This can mean one of four things:

1. He doesn't know what a muffin top is.
2. He doesn't know how to compliment a woman.
3. He wants to die a slow, painful death.
4. He wants to buy me a very nice Christmas present.

the things we carry

the present contents of my purse:

-journal

-hand sanitizer

-all natural allergy buster nasal spray

-blue pen

-not one, but two, EOS lip balms

-flyer from Bath & Body works

-Aquaphor

-face powder

-business card holder, empty

-GPS

-Looky here. My Beats by Dr. Dre headphones! Wait a minute, those are Nate's.

-black pen

-sunglasses

-Drake's latest CD - I'm guessing that must also be Nate's

-wallet, which could be the subject of a whole other blog post

-pencil

-cupcake wrapper

-uhhhh, lipstick






-lotion

-a ring I found on the ground

-4 mini tubes of toothpaste, dental floss and 2 toothbrushes (dentist yesterday)

-page I ripped out from a Magazine

-bookmark that shows you how to check for skin cancer

-post-it note pad

-coupons

-return address labels

-schedule for cooking classes at Williams-Sonoma

-brochure, paperwork and dental x-rays for Nate's wisdom teeth removal

-Kleenex - both used and un-used

-a bar of Dove soap (how I wish it were a bar of Dove chocolate)

-my iPod, dead, complete with wadded up headphones of the non-Dr. Dre variety

-a reusable coffee cup sleeve and a coffee cup spill stopper

-one of those pens made in France that you click to change the ink color

-miscellaneous receipts, straw wrappers and assorted trash too numerous to list

-I just unearthed two more lipsticks

- and a partridge in a pear tree

Just kidding on that last one. But maybe Santa needs to bring me a pack mule before I throw out my back. Now the only question is, what could I Macgyver up with all this stuff?

my dog ate my homework

I promised my writing teacher I would get some writing done.

That was on Saturday. The day before I made Thanksgiving dinner for nine people.

Here's the plan, I told my writing teacher, as soon as I get done with Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday, I'm going to write Monday and Tuesday. Then, when I see you again on Tuesday, I'll have some writing to show you.

Good plan, huh?

I have Thanksgiving. Everyone leaves. Seriously? I did all that cooking and everyone leaves me high and dry - or rather wet - with a sink full of dishes to wash. There's another couple hours of my life I will never get back.

I finally get the kitchen cleaned, and then the Pastor shows up wanting me to help him enter scores into his grade book.

I'm exhausted. Go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day! I can get writing done on Monday, right?

Nope. First thing Monday morning, I'm at the courthouse rather unexpectedly having to take care of a landlord-tenant issue. Want to know a great way to kill half a day? Go hang out at the courthouse where you will get referred from window to window with no clerk actually ever helping you.

Then I'm off to the eye doctor. Why - didn't I just have my eyes checked?!? Here's why - I'm either going blind, about to stroke out, going crazy, or some combination of all of the above. Within the past week, I've suddenly lost my ability to focus which as it turns out is fairly important and I've developed new floating black specks when I look at things on a white background. Like when I write. I've convinced myself that I must be going blind and I'm terrified because who is going to take care of me? I take care of everybody else, and I can't even get anybody to wipe toast crumbs off the counter (more on that later.) I start envisioning (ha!) what my life will be like as a blind woman. The only upside I see (ha!) is that I'll probably use it as an excuse to eat whatever I want because I won't be able to see how fat I'll be getting. I think it's a good sign that I'm looking for a silver lining.

I get pictures taken of the inside of my eyeballs and my prescription changed.

Home finally. I get a little bit of writing done, but the change in prescription is killing me and I end up with a headache. I'm still not convinced I'm not going blind, or crazy, or both, and I spend most of the evening with my eyes shut. Yep, the creative writing juices are really flowing!

Tuesday, here we come.

This will be the day.

I just have to get my hair cut, find out why my hair is so stressed out, take the 12-year-old to get her hair cut, and take me plus one child to the dentist.

Easy-peasy.

The day starts off not so great. The 12-year-old girl in our house is acting like, well, a 12-year-old girl. In fact, that's going to be my new expletive when I get angry. From now on, I'm going to scream "12-year-old girl!" That says it all.

One of her *many* issues is the fact that I had the audacity to ask her to wipe up the toast crumbs she created. In hindsight, I remember why many a mother chooses to wipe up the crumbs herself, while deciding not to care if the child lives in squalor or grows up to be a crumb hoarder. Why did I ask? Why didn't I scream silently inside as I clean it up myself? Oh yes, I thought I'd go a different way so that I don't end up stressing myself into blindness or causing all my hair to break off. 12-year-old girl!

The plan to take the 12-year-old to the hairdresser is scrapped. I'm not going to spend that much money on someone who can't appreciate the fact that she lives in a house that allows her to have toast and asks for very little in return. I'll just go by myself and get some TLC.

When I leave the hairdresser, I see my dad has left me a voice mail that my mother has been in an accident. She's fine, everything is fine, no one is hurt - just shaken up. but I end up making a couple extra trips back and forth to my parent's house.

Me plus one has an appointment at the dentist. So I have to round up one kid, any kid, or perhaps any random person I can pick up off the street at this point, and get them to the dentist. I choose Nate. So glad I chose Nate, because I learn that he needs his wisdom teeth taken out. Really bad. Sooner rather than later. I did manage to have 15 minutes to myself in the waiting room where I actually got to work on my writing, scribbling furiously in my notebook. I told the hygienist who cleaned my teeth that coming to the dentist was the most relaxing part of my day. Her look confirmed for me what I already suspect - I am going crazy.

Then, one more trip to mom and dad's house.

Finally home. Starving. Have I eaten today? No. 12-year-old girl! I lock myself in my office with chips and guacamole. It seems like I'm too busy doing everything for everyone else to do the one thing that is important to me: write. And I don't say this in a selfless, wonderful sort of way. That I'm one of those wives and mommies who takes care of her family without complaining that there's nothing left at the end of the day for her. I'm definitely complaining.

So here I am shoving chips in my mouth between keystrokes and getting guacamole on my computer, trying to feel creative.

I wish it were simpler - like I could just blame my dog for eating my homework. I wish I had a dog. I bet if I went blind at least a dog would hang out with me and eat my tortilla chip remnants and clean up the crumbs from the toast. Maybe I could train the dog to bark if anyone got within a three foot radius of me so I could get some writing done. What to do now? Write some more? Or start looking for that dog?

Thanksgiving 2011 - Day 1 stats

Fingernails broken: One. Of course! I had a manicure today.

Turkeys dropped on toe: One. Of course! I had a pedicure today. I think this was the turkey's way of exacting revenge.

Pie crusts made: Six. That's enough for six single-crust pies or 3 double-crust pies. For the record (since this is the official record) the first batch I made seemed doughy - smooth like cookie dough. The second batch seemed much more pie crusty but it was more dry than the first batch. That's one of the questions I'm planning on asking Jesus. Why is pie crust such a magical, mystery thing? And will I be able to make it perfect in Heaven?

New Kitchen Aid mixer used: Twice :) I love my new mixer. It was a present from the Pastor. I used it for the pie crusts and cornbread.

Cooking soundtrack: Ke$ha.

Dishes planned: Twelve. Corn, Dressing, Pumpkin Pie, Pecan Pie, Apple Pie, Relish Tray, Turkey, Ham, Rolls, Mashed Potatoes, Cranberry Relish and Gravy.

Dishes Robyn could care less about: Two - ham and turkey.

I'd just as soon go eat Mexican food.

Dishes Mom is bringing: One - layered salad. It's pretty much the only thing I care about. Well, that and the pie.

Dishes on the original plan that were scrapped: Brie covered in Puff Pastry. I think we are having enough food. No one needs cheese.

Money spent at grocery store: I'm not saying. Let's just leave it at I could have eaten for days and days and days at the Mexican restaurant.

In addition to the pie crusts, tonight I made the cranberry relish.

I should note the only request the Pastor has made is that I must purchase the cranberry stuff in a can. I obliged, but I still made home-made cranberry sauce tonight. Why? I don't know. Nobody cares about the cranberry stuff. If people liked the cranberry stuff, it'd be around all year. I did back off from my original plan. I did not use my cranberry gelatin mold. I figure if no one cares about cranberry stuff, then they especially do not care what shape it is in.

The turkey is brining. The cornbread is getting stale, just like it's supposed to do for the stuffing.

I'm going to bed.

Hopefully I'll dream of Mexican food.

Funny Farm

I wish I could tell you I wasn't wearing a thrift store shirt I bought for 99 cents. And sporting red lipstick in homage to my grandmother. The crazy one.

I wish I could tell you I don't have a grocery store receipt as long as I am, from - wait for it - couponing.

I wish I could tell you I didn't come home from the grocery store, reorganize my kitchen and make home-made note cards from the cardboard packaging from my groceries.

All this while thinking about going to the new outlet mall, but telling myself "I'm too busy."

What???


What has happened to me?

At least I'm wearing great shoes. They are also Goodwill. And my shirt is pretty awesome. Fortunately the seventies revivalism big for Fall is always big at Goodwill.

Maybe crazy is the new sane.

That's what I'm going with.

Rise and Shine

I woke up to an inbox full of e-mails from the Pastor, who wanted to video chat with me first thing this morning.

I called him, only to hear him complain that I was wearing the same thing I was the last time we chatted. Of course I was! He called me last night, we video chatted, I went to bed, I woke up and called him again. There were no wardrobe changes.

In an effort to make him happy, I took my sleep-shirt off. Now he was, oddly, really displeased. He's not that kind of Pastor.

So I ran to the freezer and grabbed the package of steaks I bought for his return home next week, and I covered up with those. Maybe I could entice him with meat.

But this didn't have the desired
effect either. He was laughing too hard to talk about anything.

And I was getting frostbite.

the art of war

The Pastor is still away studying "Peace and Conflict Resolution."

Not to be outdone, I went another direction. I stayed here and have been practicing the art of "War and Conflict Institution" with a specialization in Marital Strife, or "How to get your husband ticked off at you when he is a whole day ahead of you 101."

I was just trying to help the Pastor use some of his newfound skills?

Here's what I've learned in my intensive study plan. Turns out the Pastor's new skills are actually intended to be applied on a more global scale. Turns out the Jetson's lied and the best way to communicate (argue) about anything is not Skype, Skype chat, e-mail, e-mail chat, text messages, e-mails sent as text messages, voice mails transcribed into text messages, Youtube videos, Facebook chat, Facebook or Google Circles (I don't even know what that is). Turns out if you are going to make your husband really, really mad, maybe it is good to do it when he's been hanging around a bunch of Buddhists and some of that deep breathing and meditation has rubbed off.

I think we've kissed and made up, as best as you can from 12 time zones away. I'm not going to let the Pastor know that though. Conflict may have some negatives, but it can be good for the waistline. If I can just keep the argument going for a couple more days, I'll make my goal weight.

And that, my friends, brings true peace.

Namaste.

It's almost like having the Pastor here.

Teenager #1, standing in front of fridge: Roooooobbbbbbbbyyyyynnnn!!!!!

Me: Don't ask me to help you find something that's right in front of you.

*****

So Teenager #1 turns to Teenager #2 for fridge support. In this case, two heads are not better than one. It takes the two of them no less than 5 minutes to locate a package of cheese sitting on my shelf of cheese, the same place I always put the cheese.

I'd fear for the future of civilization, but between stuff like this - and having a new driver - I'm sure I'll stroke out long before then.

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he probably doesn't know Kim Kardashian has psoriasis either.

Me, to Pastor: Did you see Amy Winehouse died?

Pastor: Who's that?

Me: Are you kidding me? She's that singer?

Pastor, googling Amy Winehouse on his computer: I've never seen this person before in my life.

*****

I don't know what that man spends his time doing.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

He'll know how much I miss him

when he pulls up the Discover card account online.

He'll see I used it at Taco Bell and Goodwill.

Just wanted to let him know I was thinking about him.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

squaring up the sheets

This is as fancy as it gets. No Pottery Barn sheets here, just Target. No high thread count. As you can see, not even matching pillow cases. And that quilt? I hate it. Marital compromise. As you can tell, the only thing I'm interested in decorating is myself.

The Pastor has been gone for 18 days. This also means I haven't slept for 18 days. Or made the bed. When I finally collapse in the wee hours of the morning after watching all the Casey Anthony trial I could record, this is how it looks. It ain't pretty, and neither am I without my beauty sleep.

I'm to the point of needing a script for Ambien. Or one of those drips like Michael Jackson had.

Or a Pastor.

-sent from my iPhone

today is the first day of the rest of my summer

What to do, what to do, what to do!

A couple of weeks ago the Pastor and I went to Colonial Williamsburg. Then the Pastor dragged the whole family to Colorado. Then the Pastor got on a double decker plane and flew I don't know how many time zones away.

My point here - we've been gone and crazy busy. Today is the first official day of my summer.

First, I've decided to work my way through the entire Starbucks menu. I know, it's a lofty goal. I promise to do my best.

Of course, there's a weight goal. I'm also going to lose _____ pounds. The blank is my little secret. I started Weight Watchers again. It's one of the never ending stories of my life. I am high tech this time and tracking on my iPhone. This provides me with all sorts of handy, useless information. For instance, I can tell you right now my favorite foods include: string cheese, reduced fat triscuits, olive oil, tortilla chips and Weight Watchers mini cheese pizzas.

Pastor would be proud of me so far. I already took the trash out once. I know he's probably fearful that it would pile up and by the time he returned home the house would look like something out of Hoarders. Also, I got up early today and I'm already dressed and working.

Up. Dressed. Off to a good start. Except I'm not entirely on top of things. My battery is dying. I better hurry up and post this.

Here's to a good summer.

we went on a trip

96 hours left

The Pastor is here for 96 more hours before he leaves for the summer.

We'll see if he lives that long.

I just asked the Pastor if he liked the necklace he had bought me. Today is the first time I've worn it.

The Pastor expressed concern about all the stuff "he" had bought me.

No, I insisted, you really did buy this for me. You physically picked it out and paid for it. This wasn't/isn't like all the other stuff, he really did buy it!

He still didn't believe me. More details. I reminded him how we were in Kansas City. . . .

Then he remembered how he had in fact bought it for me.

I wonder if he will remember to buy me anything while he's in Thailand. I might need up help him out.

nothing accomplished here

Actual, unretouched conversation.

Pastor: do you have a fingernail clipper?

Me: No.

Pastor: how do you clip your nails?

Me: I don't.

Pastor: How is that possible?

Me: I pay an Asian person to clip them for me.

Me: Just kidding (kind of)!!! I file them.

Pastor: Do you have a file?

Me: yes (hands him file)

Pastor: (hands it back) I can't use this. These things give me the heebie jeebies.

*****

End scene. The Pastor still has a snaggly nail.

lovely times with my favorite Pastor

40 for 40 - the international foodie edition

40 for 40 - International Food Edition

It's appropriate since this is about food that I'm starting from scratch. I typed this once, inexplicably lost it (I hate you recently, Blogger) and had to start over.

This one is just for the Pastor.

1. Two words. One is Cancun. The other is Guacamole. Two more words: room service.
2. Getting to Greece after having terrible food for two weeks in Kosovo. Eating stuffed tomatoes. Were they really that good, or were we that starved for something edible? The Pastor was sick and ever since has accused me of trying to kill him that day because I had misplaced our Ziploc bag of meds.
3. Pizza in Kosovo with ketchup instead of tomato sauce. Also Kosovo - weird, white cheese.
4. Having a piece of good ol' American apple pie on the boat between Greece and Italy.
5. Being cheap in Amsterdam and not wanting to eat in a restaurant. Getting cheese, crackers and fruit at the grocery and having a picnic outside.
6. The worst international meal? Perhaps Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (Google it). It was worse than the worst school cafeteria lunch.
7. It's okay to eat a sandwich out of the package in England. I'd never do that here, the sandwich wouldn't be good. Or healthy.
8. Dessert crepes at the hotel in Costa Rica after starving all week at the jungle research facility with the rat infested kitchen. This was the 2nd meal we have eaten in a hotel that's famous for John Kennedy staying there.
9. Another Kosovo memory. The Pastor pretending to drink wine (sneaking it to me) and me pretending to eat a giant bowl of honey (sneaking it to the Pastor) when we were eating dinner at the home of one of the Pastor's Bible students.
10. Having pasta by the Leaning Tower. No, not that one, the other one.
11. Forcing the Pastor to find every Starbucks in a foreign country so that I could obtain an oversized, heavy, fragile coffee mug that I'd have to try to fit into my small and light backpack. Later, I'd find a way to put it (and other stuff) in the Pastor's bag.
12. Eating Croque Monsieurs at that cafe near the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
13. Nutella crepes on the street in Paris.
14. Fondue in Switzerland.
15. Indian food in the Indian district in Manchester. I especially loved the Indian sweet shop.
16. Eating at Nando's in Manchester - especially the night when the Pastor had just received his Ph.D., yet a fellow diner mistook him for a waiter.
17. While the Pastor was working on his Ph.D., I'd walk down the road in Didsbury to the Illy Cafe where I'd get my latte. The barista would always call me "Love" because that's what boys call girls in England. I'd go next door to get my gingerbread man.
18. Having High Tea with the kids at the Alice in Wonderland themed tea shop in Oxford.
19. Walking to the Cafe Nero every morning in Oxford to get the best Caramel Lattes of my life.
20. Towards the end of our European adventure, laying in bed thinking about what I was going to order at the Mexican restaurant the day we got home.
21. Eating French pastries at that cafe when we went to the Cathedral in Chartres, France.
22. Is the Bahamas international enough to count? Not being able to eat my food, because the Pastor's food had an eyeball in it that was staring at me.
23. Dining at the original Hard Rock Cafe in London so that we could get our "free" sundaes after eating our $20 burgers.
24. Thank you England. If not for you, I never would have known about delicious flapjacks.
25. The hotel we stayed at when we went to England for the Pastor's graduation. Every morning we had croissants, cheese and lattes for breakfast.
26. This number is dedicated entirely to Nutella. I know I mentioned you in #13, but that's not enough. I didn't discover Nutella until my first trip to England in 2005. That's when I found what I'd been missing the first 33 years of my life.
27. We are fancy people. We went to the Louvre. We ate at the McDonalds. Le Filet of Fish. We went to Stonehenge. We ate at the McDonalds.
28. The Pastor realizing his backpack was so heavy after he'd carried it all the way across Europe. The Pastor realizing it was heavy because I had filled it with cans of coffee. Coffee, you know, that stuff that's one of the world's most plentiful resources.
29. The Pastor showing me the map of all the places we were going to go overseas and all the things we were going to do. Me, being excited, not at seeing the famous church on the map (much to the Pastor's dismay), but at seeing a cookie shop. We did go to that cookie shop.
30. Having hummus for breakfast in Israel.
31. Having a bagel in Old Jerusalem. That was a good bagel.
32. The market in Munich.
33. Me and Nate and Cam having tea and scones with clotted cream - yum! - at St. Michael's Mount.
34. Fish and Chips. In London and at the beach, Exmouth. With smashed peas in Manchester.
35. The Fire and Stone Pizza place in Oxford where we took the kids every Thursday for 5 pound pizzas, that's price not weight.
36. Eating at the oldest restaurant below sea level in Manchester.
37. Eating a grocery store picnic on the train from Scotland to England because we hated Scotland so much we decided not to stay there.
38. The grocery stores in England. More gingerbread men. Olive bars. Candy bars.
39. Eating Greek yogurt at the base of Areopagus.
40. And finally, my favorite. We didn't eat him/her, but the cow someone ate. Seeing the cow everyday tied to our front porch in Kosovo, and then getting to see the bar-b-q.

Thanks Pastor. I love you.

How?

How can I have lost another blog post?

Aaaaarrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh.

40 for 40 - the foodie edition

I love food. I love cookbooks. I love Food TV. As I type this, I'm watching Ina Garten finish up a key lime pie for Jeffrey just before he walks into the door.

In honor of my 40th year, here's a list of 40 entirely devoted to my love of food.

1. I trace my love of Mexican food back to the days of being a small small kid and going out to eat every Friday night at the Taco Palace on 39th Street. The place is long gone, but in my mind I can still smell the chips. Of course, years later, my parents said we stopped going there because we started getting sick every week, but I'll always love you Taco Palace, a name that combined my love of Mexican food and all things royal.
2. Fred Gangs on 23rd Street. I have been a vegetarian for 20+ years, but if I could go back in time to my 90 lbs., 12 year old self and the opportunity to eat one of their giant burgers with cheese, avocado, bacon and olives, I would not hesitate.
3. My college graduation. I went to Henry Hudson's after. I know I had a tequila sunrise. I know I had one other drink. And nachos. How did my 110 lbs. self handle that? The next morning I went to Jimmy's Egg with my dad and had a waffle and bacon. Oh how I wish I could still eat like that.
4. Getting ice cream at Braum's after special events like dance recitals and piano recitals. Strawberry Cheesecake.
5. Speaking of ice cream, the place I cannot remember the name of where they would bring family- size sundaes out to your table in a kitchen sink.
6. One of the best meals I've ever eaten. The Elote Cafe in Sedona, Arizona. It was a lovely New Year 2010 celebration with the Pastor.
7. Eating a hot dog at the Texas Motor Speedway, tailgating before a Nascar race. My Dad telling me after the fact that he thought he had mistakenly given me one of the real hotdogs and not one of the vegetarian ones.
8. J. J. Tippins. Oh how I miss you. French Onion soup. Your thick, giant corn bread with honey butter. And the pie? French Silk? Dutch Apple? It was all good. The giant salad too.
9. All the wonderful times I've been to In-N-Out Burger. No meat for me, but In-N-Out can make a grilled cheese that good. I knew the french fries were wonderful, but it changed my life the day I found out you would put cheese and dressing on the fries. Delicious milkshakes.
10. Eating at On the Border with the Pastor on a non-date when we were "just friends." He talked on the phone nearly the whole time and we had tortilla soup with extra crispy things and extra cheese. It's a good thing that we were "just friends" because there's no way I would have put up with a date like that. : ) He touched my arm on the way out the door. I thought it might have meant something but later I found out that was just his "non-threatening elbow touch."
11. A New Year's Day meal at the Grand Canyon lodge with the Pastor. The food, the view, the Waiter, the rainbow taco dessert - it was magical.
12. Getting to eat at one of my faves - Big Bowl - in Chicago with the Pastor, Nate and 3Ven. Fresh Ginger Ginger Ale and Mongolian BBQ.
13. Cheever's Cafe. I've been there too many times to count with the Pastor. Wedge Salads. Rolls and real butter. Juan Queso Chihuahua which is a bowl of cheesy mexican goodness. And the desserts! Giant cakes. Ice Cream balls.
14. Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans. Fried dough and a powdered sugar bath. What more could a girl want?
15. Ted's Cafe Escondido. The spicy atomic sauce with chunks of avocado. Homemade tortillas. Cheese Enchiladas with no onions and sour cream sauce. I eat here at least twice a month. At one point the relationship was so serious that we had a picture of one of the waitresses hanging on our fridge. Of course she had given us her engagement picture, we were helping to finance the wedding with our tips.
16. Ingrid's German Restaurant. I don't know what your heaven looks like, but mine includes a never ending supply of their thumbprint cookies.
17. Getting to spend the night at my grandparents. Getting to stop at 7-11 on the way and get an Icee drink and a giant Butterfinger.
18. Getting to eat fish tacos and portobello mushroom tacos at Rubio's. Another thing I always look forward to when we go to Cali or Arizona.
19. Thanksgiving 2009 when I prepared the Williams Sonoma meal.
20. I would never say no to a chocolate cupcake with the white frosting and chocolate chips from Gigi's.
21. The good ol' days when I could eat Hardee's Biscuits and Gravy with Hash Rounds. Now I know you can't eat a breakfast that contains more fat than I should eat in a month.
22. My Great Aunt Hazel's pea salad with chunks of cheddar cheese. Of course I don't have the recipe.
23. The oatmeal cookies I force my Mom to make for my b-day every year. I've been known to be a selfish hoarder with these, but I've been pretty generous this year. I've been one of those people who, what do you call it, oh yes - shares!
24. Discovering I could make my own fettucini alfredo. And sauteed mushrooms. And artichokes.
25. Starbucks coming to town. Before Starbucks, we got a Barnes & Noble and that was my first taste of the nectar of the goddesses, the Caramel Macchiato.
26. Some ethnic restaurant the Pastor and I ate at when we went to Brooklyn, New York. I couldn't tell you what ethnicity. I couldn't tell you what we ate. But it was good.
27. Eating at the Greek Festival every year. I usually get a dinner and a pastry sampler box. I try my best to split the pastries with mom, I eat half that night and the other half the next morning for breakfast.
28. The fish-n-chips, Parker House rolls and Boston Cream Pie at the Parker House Hotel, the place where John Kennedy proposed to Jackie, and where the Pastor and I had a delightful meal.
29. Getting to eat a cupcake, cannoli and sample goodies at the Cake Boss bakery.
30. Eating at the oldest bakery in Texas. Not that special.
31. The Horsey cookies at Clark's Pastry Shop. It's within walking distance. However, walking over there doesn't justify eating that many cookies.
32. My newest obsession. Yes, I get fixated on restaurants and I want to eat there over and over and over again. The Ghengis Grill. More Mongolian Bar-B-Q.
33. I love Thai food. Super spicy. Tofu. Potatoes. Some kind of curry sauce. Rice.
34. Thin crust pizza from Papa John's. Light sauce. Extra cheese, of course. Then all vegetables except onions. Add some of their garlic dipping sauce.
35. How could I not include Pei Wei? When Pei Wei opened in October, 2004, I had just lost my job and my boyfriend, the Pastor and I ate there every single day the first week they opened. It's usually Dan Dan Noodles with extra sauce and veggies on the side for the Pastor. Kids meal for me - Honey Seared Tofu and Brown Rice. Edamame. Lately we've thrown in some crab wontons. Always two fortune cookies, which determines everything about our future.
36. Every time I see Kentucky Fried Chicken I think about being pregnant with Nate and craving it. Nate's always loved chicken.
37. Everything about this list explains my 8 year relationship with Weight Watchers.
38. Fried Pickles from Sonic. Why did they take these off the menu? Of course they wouldn't be complete without a Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper.
39. The hand-cut french fries at VZD's. With a grilled cheese with their spicy mayo, tomatoes and pickles.
40. A new love. The Republic. A bag of yummy cake donut holes for dessert, with three different dipping sauces.

I could go on. I certainly didn't have any trouble thinking of 40 things for this one!

This list helps me to know deep in my heart I could never commit murder. Because if I did, there's no way I could ever narrow down a last meal before they executed me. See? My love of food makes the world a safer place.

my pretty pretty princess birthday party

40 for 40

It's a lot harder thinking of lists with 40 things than I thought it would be. I have several in the works, but here are -

40 random things about me
1. I am a good speller.
2. I am like a crazy old lady ripping recipes out of magazines. And cookbooks are like porn to me.
3. I like doing arty crafty things.
4. I drop my phone. All the time. That is, when I actually know where my phone is. I have to look for my phone at some point. Every. single. day. I wonder what I used to do with all that time before I had a cell phone.
5. I am quite flexible and good at yoga.
6. I never have wax in my ears.
7. To my knowledge I'm still free of gray hair.
8. I'm bored with being a vegetarian. I can't imagine eating meat again, so I am trying new foods to mix things up.
9. I was supposed to be named Cari Sue.
10. My college degree was Insurance. What did think I'd do with that?
11. I went to vo-tech and got a certificate in Office and Secretarial sciences. I learned to type on a typewriter.
12. I took a shorthand class. Every once in a while I'll remember some random symbol when I'm writing. Anyone remember shorthand? It's a primitive form of what you young people do when you text. LOL. ;)
13. I love vintagey, antiquey, garage sale junk.
14. I have been to Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Florida, Hawaii, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Louisiana, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Nebraska, Nevada, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, Washington, and Wyoming. That's 32 states.
15. I hate to exercise.
16. I've lived in ten residences in my life. Four of those have been in the past six years since I married the Pastor.
17. I like to smell my food.
18. I fall asleep incredibly fast. Like powering down a robot.
19. I had a Camaro, another Camaro, a Grand Am, a Ford Focus, a Ford Explorer, another Ford Focus before I married the Pastor. Since then I've had a Honda, a van, another Honda and another van. All I really want is a Volkswagen Bug.
20. The top played songs in my ITunes library include The Neon Trees, The Mamas & The Papas, Britney Spears, Paramore and Dolly Parton.
21. The Pastor and I were going to elope but we were told it would be frowned upon. I had a gorgeous coral dress I was going to wear.
22. I have bad vision. -8.5.
23. I have a complete set of Nancy Drew books. Thanks Dad!
24. I collect sit by the sink sponge holding frogs.
25. The Pastor claims I'm horrible at reverse driving. He's right.
26. Every Thursday is donut day and Nate and I have donuts. It's been a tradition for 7 years.
27. On this number I had something written about the Pastor and I. He wanted to keep it a secret.
28. If I won a million dollars I would still shop at Target and think it was fancy. I would probably pay someone to flat iron my hair everyday and match all the socks.
29. My blood type is B-. I try to donate but about half the time my iron is too low.
30. I don't wear a watch but I think I am going to start because I hate relying on the cell phone so much.
31. I am not a morning person. I'm not a night person either. Nate just told me I'm not very pleasant in the middle of the day either. (Happy Mother's Day!) (Happy Birthday!)
32. The last book I read was Bossy Pants by Tina Fey.
33. Whenever I pick up something like a stapler or salad tongs I have to click it twice. That's not even the weirdest OCD thing I do.
34. I hate clothes that button down the front.
35. I don't hold a pencil/pen the correct way.
36. I have been to the Greek Festival every year for the past 17 years. That's a lot of baklava.
37. I hate ceiling fans.
38. I'm allergic to cleaning supplies. Especially bleach. Which is all very sad, because I do like to clean.
39. I've never mowed a yard.
40. I've taken cooking classes for sauces, appetizers, truffles, tofu, and French Pastry.

40 for 40

There's this woman I know, I'll call her Mom. Mom claims I am going to be 40 this year, but she is quite old and probably senile. I'm sure she hasn't any idea what she's talking about.

I thought I'd play along though, just to pacify her. To celebrate my charmed life, I thought I'd start making some lists. Here's the first.

40 places I've been

1. Yellowstone National Park
2. Disneyland
3. Martin Luther King Jr.'s church
4. Graceland
5. St. Michael's Mount
6. 30 Rockefeller Center
7. The Coliseum
8. Salem Witch Museum
9. Coca Cola World
10. The Eiffel Tower, Las Vegas
11. Le Petit Palais
12. The Fantasy Factory
13. Plymouth Rock
14. Gerald Ford Presidential Museum
15. Carlos Bakery
16. Voodoo Donuts
17. Winchester Mansion
18. Tillamook Cheese Factory
19. Magnolia Bakery
20. Neuschwanstein Castle
21. Parker House Hotel
22. Medieval Times
23. Carhenge
24. Stonehenge
25. Hoover Dam
26. Tiffany & Co.
27. The Big Texan
28. Weight Watchers
29. Cafe Du Monde
30. the Heart of Northern Indiana Amish Country
31. Michael Jackson's house
32. Abbey Road
33. Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (Trust me, Google it)
34. San Diego Zoo
35. The Red Light District
36. Mt. Baldy
37. Watonga Cheese Festival
38. the jungle
39. The Texas Motor Speedway
40. The Jordan River

All but five of the places were with the Pastor. He's even been to Weight Watchers with me! Probably because he's also been to the bakeries and donut shop with me.

Looking forward to new adventures -

-Robyn

"Every disappointment in life is the result of an unmet expectation,"

says the Pastor. That's how he counsels newlyweds.

I told him for my 30th birthday, I received 30 presents.

Now I have an expectation that on my 40th birthday, I will receive 40 presents. (It's not my fault, my mother clearly didn't think through the ramifications when she threw my 30th party.)

The Pastor told me his expectation is to spend $40. Wow, that's a lot of stuff from Goodwill, but I don't know if it's 40 stuffs. Based on my experience, that's about ten suitcases. At most, 26 pairs of underwear.

I wonder who's expectation will be unmet. The good news is we have a built-in counselor in this relationship. He may be biased, but at least he'll be handsome in his clerical collar when he counsels me on my disappointment.

wax on, wax off

Thanks to the Pastor for demonstrating to me, on our anniversary, the proper way to slide open and slide shut the closet doors.

How did I survive 39 years of closet door opening and shutting without him?

fair is fair

Pastor: Can I have blah blah run the vacuum in here?

Me: Yes.

Me: Just to clarify, you can have blah blah or anyone else you want clean anything in this house. You can have anyone you want vacuum, sweep, wash dishes, scrub a toilet. Anything. I don't care.

****

But then they all left. And I'm just sitting here. If they are not going to do it, I'm not going to do it either.

I guess the world will never know.

I just spent hours on a post.

Only to unexplicably lose it.

Aaaarrrrrgh.

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

Hot date with the Pastor tonight.

I'm all dressed up.

We're going to go see a film. Notice I said film and not movie.

It's in German. I don't speak German.

There will be subtitles. I like watching my movies with a minimum amount of effort.

We're not eating until after the movie.

Megamind. Black Swan. Those are movies I wanted to see. They don't have subtitles. They are in English. Still haven't seen them. Now have to rent them.

I just want to go see Arthur.

how can I?

How can I blog about the Pastor? How can I write about him when he only does things like bring me Venti coffee drinks, gets me flowers and is making me such a lovely Easter basket? OK, in all fairness, he doesn't necessarily know that he is making me an Easter basket. I'm helping him.

But he has been extremely well behaved. Well, with the one teeny exception of "helping" me by deleting the 500+ very important emails I was going to get to in my email in-box, he has been extremely well behaved.

That doesn't make good writing fodder.

And I did need to clean out my email.

Super Chocolatey Goodness. And Badness.

At the end of January, something terrible and wonderful happened.

I went to my favorite bookstore, Borders, and had a Super Chocolatey Mocha served with chocolate whipped cream and chocolate shavings. This set off a panic in me that no doubt some of you have experienced. The fear you feel when you see the words "for a limited time only."

This Mocha, the most delicious coffee drink to ever pass my lips, inspired a new trajectory in my life. Screw Starbucks! Now I would start my days off in the bookstore. I would enjoy the limited time only that me and Mocha could have, no matter how short lived our romance was meant to be.

But then the snow felt. For days on end, I was home bound, with my delicious Chocolatey Mocha feeling like a star-crossed lover. Then I was forced to travel even further away. I enjoyed my romantic Valentine's getaway with the Pastor in a secluded cabin in the woods, but Mocha, you were always on my mind. On the trip I learned Borders bookstores and the Seattles Best Coffee shops nestled inside them would be closing across the country. Say it isn't so! Not mine, please not mine.

The day I got home, I got in my car and made my way to Borders. The coffee shop, still open, looked like a ghost town. Megan, the Barista, dealt the last blow as I ordered my final dose of the nectar of the Gods. That day would be the last day the coffee shop was open.

I had ordered a decaf but somewhere around three that morning I wondered if Megan, perhaps feeling a little peeved that I had been grieving the loss of my ability to buy a $5 drink while she was losing her job, gave me regular shots.

The next day, I opened up my email and there was an email from Borders. A coupon for a free drink. Thanks Borders! Twist the knife. Twist it.

Love hurts. I hope someday the pain will subside. In the meantime, I'm here at Starbucks mourning my loss.

-Robyn
Thankful for: the two Super Chocolatey Mochas I got to experience.
Good about me: I have the courage to overcome these obstacles in my life.

dirty laundry

fresh out of the dryer

I go to fold his pants

even in the laundry

my panties found a way

to velcro to his crotch