I'm preparing for Sam's 4th birthday party. So far, there are 14 kids on the list, with parents, and my entire family. Matt makes the best margaritas, after all, and adults love drinking at kids' birthday parties. It's baseball-themed this year, and I'm creating a score board as the backdrop.
Sam and I practiced making baseball cupcakes. They were very tedious and we stopped after 5, but I am his mother for God's sake; I cannot buy store-made cupcakes!
I was just about to OK an order of personalized M&M's that I created for $52 online, but I had to stop myself, click off the site and hide the address. I thought, "Does he really need these?"
Definitely when he turns 5.
I should be in the party-planning business. I'm over the top - the guest room closet is already full of "birthday stuff."
Someone stop me. "Please," says Matt. : )
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Super Fan
This week has been a surfeit of stress. My dad would describe it as low level continuous stress, such is Katie's life. People who do not grab hold of what they have, who find fault and factor in the teeny cracks of their lives (I've been guilty myself), should rejoice that they are still living, still able to complain.
A good guy died this week, along with 5 others at the Indiana State Fair, who I'm sure were good, as well. At first, before I realized I knew one of the victims, it was hard for me to validate the feeling of loss and anguish the families and friends were experiencing. When I knew it was someone I'd known for so long, someone who had always been so wonderful to me, so happy and full of life, it was difficult not to imagine the horrible last moments of life he experienced. Glenn, who worked security at the Vogue Theatre, was a jovial, happy spirit. He spoiled me in my twenties and thirties, experiencing many concerts for the first time with me on the front row shouting, "Glenn, this is a really important band. They're from _____ and they have recorded ____ records." He would just laugh and smile. He didn't care. That wasn't part of his job. He was there to protect us. He knew I was all about the music, and any time I "wished" a nettlesome guy to disappear (which was sometimes), he would wisk said guy off into the darkness of the Broad Ripple, Indiana streets.
Perhaps 3 guys were kicked out of shows in those days, just for messing with me, for trying to push me somewhere I didn't want to be pushed. I should feel guilty, but I don't feel guilty. Glenn would laugh with me now. They all had it coming. I was Eric's girl.
Don't let me confuse you. I never had a boyfriend named Eric. No, no, much better. A best friend named Eric. A guy who would stay after hours--if, let's say, I was passed out in the Vogue's bathroom--for me. If I was heartbroken, or if I wanted to meet--let's say, The Tragically Hip for the first time--a band. Eric was there for me. Eric grew up at the Vogue Nightclub - it was his first job in high school. He stacked chairs in the evening. Now Eric is one of the most sought-after production managers (perfectionist and obvious Capricorn) in the country. Yep, the country.
Eric has come to my rescue more times than I care to remember, and Eric was standing next to the Indiana State Fair stage when it collapsed last Saturday evening. My husband and our neighbors were sitting on our deck 10 miles north saying, "Ooh, isn't this a scary sky?" Little did we know the aftermath that followed these comments.
So tomorrow I'll attend Glenn's funeral, and I'll likely tell him something funny that will always remain between the two of us. I'll thank him for all of the years he took care of me, and how he helped mold me from a starry-eyed fan...into a real fan. He taught me through his sincere laugh, and I taught him through my sincere devotion to music.
What can I say, I'm a fan. A fan of Glenn's and--thank god, still--a fan of Eric's. Without such friends, my life would simply have been a series of random concerts.
A good guy died this week, along with 5 others at the Indiana State Fair, who I'm sure were good, as well. At first, before I realized I knew one of the victims, it was hard for me to validate the feeling of loss and anguish the families and friends were experiencing. When I knew it was someone I'd known for so long, someone who had always been so wonderful to me, so happy and full of life, it was difficult not to imagine the horrible last moments of life he experienced. Glenn, who worked security at the Vogue Theatre, was a jovial, happy spirit. He spoiled me in my twenties and thirties, experiencing many concerts for the first time with me on the front row shouting, "Glenn, this is a really important band. They're from _____ and they have recorded ____ records." He would just laugh and smile. He didn't care. That wasn't part of his job. He was there to protect us. He knew I was all about the music, and any time I "wished" a nettlesome guy to disappear (which was sometimes), he would wisk said guy off into the darkness of the Broad Ripple, Indiana streets.
Perhaps 3 guys were kicked out of shows in those days, just for messing with me, for trying to push me somewhere I didn't want to be pushed. I should feel guilty, but I don't feel guilty. Glenn would laugh with me now. They all had it coming. I was Eric's girl.
Don't let me confuse you. I never had a boyfriend named Eric. No, no, much better. A best friend named Eric. A guy who would stay after hours--if, let's say, I was passed out in the Vogue's bathroom--for me. If I was heartbroken, or if I wanted to meet--let's say, The Tragically Hip for the first time--a band. Eric was there for me. Eric grew up at the Vogue Nightclub - it was his first job in high school. He stacked chairs in the evening. Now Eric is one of the most sought-after production managers (perfectionist and obvious Capricorn) in the country. Yep, the country.
Eric has come to my rescue more times than I care to remember, and Eric was standing next to the Indiana State Fair stage when it collapsed last Saturday evening. My husband and our neighbors were sitting on our deck 10 miles north saying, "Ooh, isn't this a scary sky?" Little did we know the aftermath that followed these comments.
So tomorrow I'll attend Glenn's funeral, and I'll likely tell him something funny that will always remain between the two of us. I'll thank him for all of the years he took care of me, and how he helped mold me from a starry-eyed fan...into a real fan. He taught me through his sincere laugh, and I taught him through my sincere devotion to music.
What can I say, I'm a fan. A fan of Glenn's and--thank god, still--a fan of Eric's. Without such friends, my life would simply have been a series of random concerts.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Lake Tippy
Our goal is to vacation as much as possible before:
1. Summer ends
2. The United States careens further into financial disaster.
Matt says, "Not to worry, the stock market has crashed before!" I told him to please buy stock in Marvel Comics while it's down. ; )
We went to Lake Tippecanoe (Battle of Tippecanoe, if you know your Indiana history) over the weekend with our super fun, super nice, fast-becoming-our-best-friends Kelly and Mike, and their friends, Jason and Sandy (lest we forget the 5 kids in attendance). Lake "Tippy," as one would say, was very pretty, very Hoosier. It was in the town of Leesburg, which was near the town of Wabash (which I thought was only a county), which was accessible only via small town after small town on State Roads 37, 15 and 13. I'm maybe a little more comfortable on 465. I have definitely been to more places outside of Indiana than in Indiana. Shame on me. Better brush up on my Indiana history.
Once we arrived, once Matt and I stopped arguing over directions, once I had a PBR in my hand, it was bloody awesome:
Sam tubed.
Sam soaked up rays.
Sam drove the boat with Mike, drank a beer with his dad, and swam with his (previous lifeguard) mommy.
Sam...did crafts? Whoa.
...and Sam did NOT sleep in the room deemed "for children." Oh, that little mama's boy.
What a great mini-vacation.
Next up: The Outer Banks!
1. Summer ends
2. The United States careens further into financial disaster.
Matt says, "Not to worry, the stock market has crashed before!" I told him to please buy stock in Marvel Comics while it's down. ; )
We went to Lake Tippecanoe (Battle of Tippecanoe, if you know your Indiana history) over the weekend with our super fun, super nice, fast-becoming-our-best-friends Kelly and Mike, and their friends, Jason and Sandy (lest we forget the 5 kids in attendance). Lake "Tippy," as one would say, was very pretty, very Hoosier. It was in the town of Leesburg, which was near the town of Wabash (which I thought was only a county), which was accessible only via small town after small town on State Roads 37, 15 and 13. I'm maybe a little more comfortable on 465. I have definitely been to more places outside of Indiana than in Indiana. Shame on me. Better brush up on my Indiana history.
Once we arrived, once Matt and I stopped arguing over directions, once I had a PBR in my hand, it was bloody awesome:
Sam drove the boat with Mike, drank a beer with his dad, and swam with his (previous lifeguard) mommy.
Sam...did crafts? Whoa.
What a great mini-vacation.
Next up: The Outer Banks!
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
The Wood Pile
Summer was rolling on nicely; M's garden was growing with few weeds:
Sam's playset was finally finished:
Sam learned how to swim (pretty well):
And then M bought a chainsaw:
...now it's back to work for us all.
Sam's playset was finally finished:
Sam learned how to swim (pretty well):
And then M bought a chainsaw:
...now it's back to work for us all.
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