Love notes

Last week, I found baby girl furiously scribbling a note to one of her classmates. She was writing and re-writing, crumbling up little post-it notes, wanting to get the wording just right.

When I peeked over her shoulder, this was the note causing her so much grief:

Apparently, a boy in her class had demanded a note from her stating whether or not she would be willing to kiss him.

What do you think it would take to get that note copied and distributed to every boy within a 50-mile radius in, say, seven years or so?

I'm thinking the Husband would gladly spend thousands to make it happen.

P.S. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your sweet words on my little headshot project. You can see the new one over there on the right. You all rock. Way to make a sista feel good about herself.

Narcissism, sick days, and headshots

McKay is home sick today with "The Flu."

You know the one - it causes you deep stomach pain, nausea, and anxiety from nine o'clock at night until about one minute after school starts the next morning?

Poor baby.

I was ditching him to go meet friends for lunch at Bread Co. (because, clearly, I care so much) and he managed to summon all his remaining strength to lift his head off the pillow and, in a weak voice, ask me to bring him back a giant cinnamon roll.

Ah, the wonders of modern medicine. A cinnamon roll cures the flu.

Whatever. He works hard all the time and never misses school. I'll cut him some slack.

But as punishment (along with sharing a bite or two of said giant cinnamon roll) he was tasked with playing photographer for me today. Because my hair looked really cute. And I never have any pictures of me. And what if I died today and they all had nothing to remember me by? And what would my friend Beckie blow up to poster size and paste on the ceiling to haunt the Husband and his new 20-year-old wife with?

Okay. Maybe not that last one.

But I am really sick of looking at the same picture over there on the sidebar from, like, four or five years ago.

Girlfriend has got herself some new wrinkles! They must be seen!

Anyway, your job (along with sending me your most heartfelt compliments on my new pictures) is to tell me which one you like the best for my new headshot. If I was on top of things, and not so busy criticizing staring at myself, I would have numbered them for you. Oh well. Tell me anyway, will you?

Which me is the best me I can be?

Gracias.

Crazy being the operative word here

Over the weekend, the Husband and I went to dinner and a movie. Because we are both trying to stay away from the siren song that is heroin sugar, we opted for Crazy Bowls and Wraps.

I know. We live big around here. What can I say?

We've been to other locations, but this particular franchise was a new visit for us. Seeing as how I am so boring diversified, I opted to get the same salad that I always get. When my salad was brought to our table, I noticed that the usual dressing on the side was missing.

I looked up at our server and asked if she could bring me some dressing. She looked at me like I had just asked for a large bucket of deep fried baby and said, "Um, we don't have any salad dressing."

I looked back at the Husband and then back to our server. "You don't have any dressing? Like at all?"

"No. We don't serve our salads with dressing."

Exsqueeze me? Are you on the same planet I'm on? Eating salad without dressing is like eating rocks or nails. For fun.

That is the whole point of eating a salad. So you can put some dressing on it.

When I told her that the last time I ordered this salad at another location, it came with a very tasty dressing, served on the side, she simply rolled her eyes and went back to the kitchen.

She returned and, with a smile stolen straight from Satan's lips, placed a dish of what I am sure was mayonnaise topped with pepper in front of me. "Here. Try this dressing. It's really good."

Fearing it was actually mayonnaise, pepper, and spit, I left it on the table. Along with most of my very dry, very boring, very unsatisfactory salad.

Tell me I'm not alone in this. Salad MUST have some sort of dressing, right? It doesn't have to swim in it, but a little bit of moisture? A little bit of sauce?

Don't worry, though. I totally made up for it at the movies with a large bucket of popcorn and some Reeses Pieces.

And, of course, a jumbo diet coke.

P.S. The movie was amazing. I would highly recommend it.

Snow day, baby

Sleeping late, cuddling under warm blankets.
Fire roaring, mugs of hot cocoa in hand.
Empty schedule.
Novels waiting to be read. Movies waiting to be watched.
Heaven.

Revenge is a dish best served covered in chocolate frosting

When Hannah was about two, she got into a little bit of trouble.

I found her one afternoon, standing at the open door of the fridge, eating fistfuls of cake.

From a seven-layer, made-from-scratch, five-hours-worth-of-my-life cake.

[Okay, maybe it was only a two-layer cake. I exaggerate.]

But it took a really long time to make, and was resting comfortably in the fridge for the Husband's birthday celebration that night.

That is, until baby girl got to it:

[Not the actual photo. I am sure I was too busy yelling and squawking to actually pull out the camera and document the crime. But you get the general idea - a happy, guilty, adorable chocolate face.]

So, last weekend, when my three children worked together to make a cake, I laughed really hard when we all discovered that someone had done this:

[No, it wasn't me. ]

It was someone who's name rhymes with Bosh. Also known as the Flusband.

I think it's one of those full-circle moments that make parenting worthwhile, don't you?

My new favorite thing: Book flowers

While browsing one of my favorite furniture stores this weekend, I stumbled upon something so lovely and adorable that I instantly tried to purchase one or twelve. Tragically, they were not for sale, and I was told they were merely decorations.

(Why? Why put something on the showroom floor that you have no intention of selling? Mental.)

Behold the lovely, adorable, and not-for-sale book flowers:



No, I didn't steal them (though I was sorely tempted). I studied one for so long that the sales woman finally took pity on me and told me how to make one of my very own.

And because I love you, I am going to show you, too -- in nine easy steps (or five if you're less indecisive and crazy than me).

[Had I been in less of a hurry, I would have gone to the thrift store and bought a really old, yellowed book. I think it would look even better antiqued. And how cool to be made from a book that I love, like something Austin perhaps? But alas, impatience is my middle name.]

[Also, make sure and roll them all in the same direction.]

Pretty cool, eh? Took me all of 15 minutes to do one book. Do not be surprised if my entire house is filled with them by, oh, tomorrow.

Happy crafting. Send me any links or snapshots of your own book flowers. It'll be like a decorating party!