Adopting sisters just for the weekend

We are back.

Sigh. There is just nothing like a weekend in New York (or Yew Nork, as my kids like to call it). It is truly my favorite city in the entire world. Had a great time with my sisters-and-mother-in-law. Made some great memories. Ate some truly sinful food. Slept very little.

Some of the highlights were:

• Cold lemon chicken and a black and white polka dot dinner at Gabi's.
• Gabi's choreographed (and costumed) dance number during dinner.
• Heidi's lost luggage saga (never trust anyone named Doogan at the Delta Luggage Counter. He is lying when he says he will wait all night for your lost suitcase).
• Shopping for hours at H&M.
• Giving Marta the "what no one will tell you" speech about child birth at 2 a.m. (and hoping she's now not too terrified to deliver baby Bruce).
• Never getting more than four hours of sleep at a time.
• The Dali Lama cab driver waxing philosophical on gay men and people that need medication in the city (like himself, maybe? Nah).
• Burgers at the Burger Joint in Le Parker Meridian.
• H&M some more.
• Books of Wonder and the Cupcake Bakery inside.
• Talking Oma into returning the $500 worth of exfoliation skin care products she didn't need from Bloomies.
• Laughing at the giant bra Gabi did buy at Bloomies.
• Pashminas on the street.
• Oma's crinkling cookie wrappers during the middle of A Chorus Line.
• More H&M (because clearly, if you don't buy everything in the store the first and second time, then a third trip is in order).
• Sweet potato fries with maple syrup dipping sauce.
• Dinner at Carnegie Deli at 10 p.m., where the sandwiches were the size of our heads.
• Getting dessert after eating sandwiches the size of our heads at 10 p.m.
• Running for the train at Penn Station and hoping Oma doesn't have a heart attack.
• Laughing until we cried.
• Crying until we laughed.
• Having fun, being together, and returning home safe and happy to our families (although some were still without luggage).

Thanks for the memories, girls. It was great to pretend to have sisters for a few days. Let's do it again soon.

Oh, and nothing says 'welcome home, mom' like a child vomiting in the car on the way home from the airport. Remember my last trip to New York when I came home to a vomiting child?

Seriously.

Why can't they throw up on the husband's watch? WHY?!

My brush with fame and a weekend away

So you know the little thing in New York called Broadway?

And have some of you ever heard of the little play they call, "Grease?"

[Only like my favorite show EVER.]

Well, thanks to a Garden Swap that I participated in, I got a little package in the mail from an actual, real-live star on Broadway.

I feel very famous now.

And very special.

Miss Natalie Hill, currently starring in Grease on Broadway, was my swap partner. How I got so lucky, I will never know. She sent me the coolest package in the mail, and it was full of beautiful treasures.

A springtime mix CD with happy-go-lucky songs that I love, a book (that I have not read yet, Miss N., but am very excited to), a gorgeous card, and an egg plant [a real plant that will grow in an egg shell. It's very cool.] Hannah wanted to adopt the egg as her own, but I am only allowing her to look at it occasionally, lest I find a pile of dirt and broken egg shells in her doll house and her baffled look that says, "What, I didn't do it?"

So this will become my closest brush with fame (unless you count that time I saw Air Force One and got stuck waiting on the runway until it landed and de-planed the First Lady. Which I don't count as anything but annoying).

I love everything, Natalie. Thank you so much!

In other news, my blogging may be sporadic for a few days. I'm headed out to spend some time with my sistas-in-law, Gabi, Marta, Oma, and Heidi (who does not yet blog but is still beautiful and funny anyway). We'll be in the Big Apple for a few days without our husbands or kidlets. I wish we were seeing Natalie on stage, but we'll be catching this show instead. Looks to be a great weekend.

Now I just have to finish the laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, lists for the Husband, and packing.

See you next week, interpeeps.

Don't have too much fun without me.

Vacation Survival Guide

Oh, the pains of crawling out from under a sugar hangover this morning. Why must the Reeses Peanut Butter eggs tempt me so?

And why must I see the need to eat my weight in them, year after year?

But the headache and sugar withdrawals were miraculously cured the minute that I saw this beautiful sight lumbering down the street, carrying my children:

So our little mini-spring break vacation.

What to say?

Well, we took the kids up to Chicago Wednesday night. Left behind the five-day rainstorms that had plagued our town, hoping for sunshine and blue skies.

Which we got.

Until the six inches of snow blew in. And suddenly we found ourselves pining for the wet rains of St. Louis. My life is absolute living proof that the grass IS NOT GREENER. Punch anyone in the kidneys who tries to tell you that it is. It's not.

We did have a great time, but I learned a few things on this trip. Thought I'd share my them with you, my interpeeps, in case you ever find yourself trapped in a tiny hotel room with three children over spring break.

Stie's Spring Break Survival Guide: What Not to Do Edition

When passing through a town with this sign, know immediately that you do not now, nor will you ever, belong here. Accept the fact that everyone you know would immediately laugh at your return address because they know you.

And you are anything but normal.

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When staying at a hotel with your children, never assume there is going to be a pool. Sometimes at big, fancy, downtown hotels, they don't have pools.

But they do have gyms, and you will gladly remember your sudden, extreme need to exercise for the chance of a few minutes to yourself. Even if that means you actually will have to, you know, exercise.

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Hotel beds are perfect for doing things that are not allowed at home. Like jumping or simultaneously falling flat on your face to see who gets there first.


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The Children's Museum at Navy Pier is the absolute coolest museum ever. Plan on opening and closing the place down, with only a brief intermission for lunch. Your kids will not want to leave thanks to the endless hours of learning, entertainment, and play.

And the best part? There are benches and chairs everywhere so you can sit and watch the learning, entertainment, and play. Without having to learn, entertain, or play.


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Standing in front of a fun house mirror will give you insecurities all day that you really might look like this:

Or worse, this:

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Sharpay is fully to blame for the slightly awkward, very diva-like pose that your daughter will strike every time a camera is near. When asked about it, she will proudly say that she looks like Sharpay, but sings like Gabriella.

WhatEVER.

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And when returning eagerly to your non-snowy state, try not to drown yourself in a bowl of cereal when you look outside to see snow falling in droves on Easter morning.


Monday WILL come, and they WILL return to school.

And you might just find that you miss them a little.

Recovering from a facelift and time with the children

Do you like my new face lift? Do you?

I love it.

Credit goes to Jo Lynne at DCR Designs. She's just begun her new bloggy design business and you should really go check out some of her work. On top of her very funny, well-written everyday blog, she has a beauty product review blog, Chic Critique, and now this. As you can see, girlfriend knows how to work the html so it has nice, pretty shapes to it. I am so excited about my new look. I just love it. And I just love her.

In other news, we just got home from a little spring break vacay with the kids. Pictures and details coming [hopefully] soon.

Providing I do not get lost in the gorging of the Easter candy tomorrow.

Which is entirely possible since the Easter Bunny always brings Cryptonite Reeses Peanut Butter Eggs.

I'm just saying.

The day it all began

Fourteen years ago today, as the early morning sun came up over the Wasatch mountains, the Husband and I were married.

We were young, dumb, and oh-so-in love. He was 21, and I had just turned 20. We had a whirlwind courtship that surprised no one around us. It just felt right. It was meant to be.

As I look back on the last 14 years, I am struck by depth of my heart that he still holds today. If I had known just how lucky I was on that spring day, I would have shaken that 20-year-old girl with a bad perm and told her that this was the first day of the rest of her life. I would have told her that everything she knew about herself to that point would grow and change over the next few years. I would have warned her that she would move somewhere beyond the life she had known, and that it would challenge her to do things she had never done or even dreamed of.

For him. This skinny, shy boy that came along quite by accident.

Him, the boy she loved with all of her inexperienced heart.

But we can't go back and tell ourselves to appreciate it, can we? All we can do is look back and smile at the memories and moments that now make up our history together. And laugh at him because he can't remember half of them.

Like the pans and pans of peanut butter bars I made in the cinder block one-bedroom apartment, and how we wondered why both of us were gaining so much weight.

And the quiet drives up the canyon in the white VW Fox, where we planned and dreamed of our future together.

Or the roller blades we thought would be so practical in Minnesota, and how we only used them twice.

But the memories that most fill my mind are the ones we have made as parents, and as a family. I could not have known what an amazing father you would be. You have made our babies your entire world. You gave up golf, a hobby you loved, because you couldn't bear to spend a whole Saturday away from us.

You are a man who walks in the door, never needing to unwind after a hard day at work. You want us. You've missed us. You are not only ready to just be with your family, but you crave it. We know that we are your whole world, and our children are better for it. Your first thought after a long business trip is of me, and providing me with a break from the kids. It's you half the time who suggests a girl's night out. You, who happily takes off work so I can get away for a few days with my girlfriends.

Your unselfish nature is but the tip of the iceberg.


I love that you would do anything for me, if it made me feel pretty. I want new clothes? Go for it. Make-up and makeovers? Whatever I want. Shopping sprees? You deserve it, baby, you say. I know how lucky I am.

I just want you to know that I know it.

I don't always show my gratitude. I know it's hard to hear me complain when you're in another state, working 90-hour weeks for nightmare clients, and I'm whining about trivial, everyday stuff. Problems you'd love to have right at that moment. But to your credit, you take a deep breath, and tell me how sorry you are that I'm feeling that way, and ask what you can do to help.


You never complain or look disgusted when you walk in the door and I've got yesterday's matted ponytail and a pair of sweats on. You smile, hug me, and make me feel as though I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.

You are always supportive of how I spend my time, even when it's going to daytime movies by myself, reading novels, or spending time blogging. I wonder if the tables were turned, could I be as big a person as you are? Could I work so hard knowing this person was being less productive than they could be?

Whatever I do, whatever I say, I am grateful. I am grateful that you support me staying at home. I am grateful that you never question how I spend my time. I am grateful that you love our kids. I am grateful that you love me, in spite of my many flaws. I am so grateful that you were able to look past the fuzzy hair, terrible clothes, and neurotic insecurities 14 years ago and take me as your wife, your partner. I cannot imagine my life without you.

Chiche though it may sound, you really do complete me.


I love you more today than I could have imagined on that early spring morning. Here's to many more years of adventure, laughs, and growth.

I love you,

Your little Stie

But he had no legs with which to kick the bucket

Remember the worst birthday gift ever given by another child? The one that came in the mail and said "LIVE TADPOLE" on the box?

Well, our little pet, Sir Croaks-A-Lot has finally croaked.

And not the kind of croaking that says he was a healthy, full-grown frog ready to live free in the wild.

He literally croaked.

Chase made the discovery late last night and spent over an hour in tears. He cried, and sobbed, and wondered what he did wrong. I assured him over and over that he was the best pet owner that ever lived, and told him it was just Sir Croaks-A-Lot's time.

Truth be told, that stupid tadpole never did anything that he was supposed to do. The paperwork that came with him said he would lose his tail within two to four weeks, and that he would happily eat his food every day.

Well, three months later he still had a tail and no legs.

And I think he ate very little, though Chase fed him every day.

Whatever the cause, we are mourning that smelly, green friend.

Chase woke up early today and constructed a headstone to mark the grave:
Sir Croaks-A-Lot will spend his final days resting in an Anne Klein watch box, buried in a place of prominence in our backyard. I am praying a squirrel doesn't decide to dig it up in a week or two. I don't think they could handle the horrors.
Chase delivered a rousing eulogy in which he spoke of Sir Croaks-A-Lot's many virtues. Apparently, he was a really good listener and always tried hard to swim his best.

After Chase's tear-filled words, he picked a single yellow flower from the neighbor's yard and gently laid it on the headstone.

I prayed they weren't looking.

One last final wave to the little pet that failed to thrive:

We followed the funeral with a light luncheon at the bar in our kitchen. Chase chose to honor Sir Croaks-A-Lot's memory by eating leftover green pancakes that I thoughtfully made this morning for St. Patrick's Day, I mean, Sir Croaks-A-Lot.

He was somber, but still managed to get through. He really seemed to enjoy his pancake peanut butter sandwich.

I really seemed to enjoy knowing there were no live animals in my house anymore.
Not willing to miss an opportunity for a special treat, McKay suggested we make frog cookies in Sir Croaks-A-Lot's memory.

Is it possible to think he just wanted cookies? Nah. Couldn't be.

Chase put on his brave face and managed to decorate and eat quite a few little frogs.

[We promise never to do this in your honor if any of you die.]

And now, behold the only pets we will ever have again:
Plastic ones. They don't eat, stink, pee, poo.

Or, most importantly, die.

RIP, little stinky green thing.