I felt self-conscious returning the 23-wine bottle stand to the store, explaining that we needed more wine space in the dining room, and that my husband had found a lovely 47-bottle, iron stand online.
A lady standing near me chimed in: Can we come over to your house?
Our next house--and the way Matt likes moving, that'll be in a year--will have a wonderful little nook in our basement for proper wine storage. Falling short of my friend's that has a 9,000-bottle wine cellar.
I chime in: please don't forget me in your will.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Future Memoirs
I found a fork on the kitchen floor while I was sweeping today, and I vaguely remembered Sam dropping it about three days ago. I shuddered at the new me. When I was dating one of those other guys, we once visited one of our few friend-couples with kids, and I noticed a piece of hotdog on their floor. I couldn't believe that a mom would allow a hotdog to linger like that, and I most certainly judged her.
It's no secret that I clean constantly. We have two spiders--big fat-bellied things--living on opposite sides of our front French doors. I vacuum there at least once a week, and I always clean up their piles of other dead, weaker spiders and bugs, but leave the two motherships in peace.
I've always had this soft spot for bugs and animals, although I eat animals, crave eating animals, and don't hesitate to feast upon them regularly. When I was a child, my parents tried, in a vain attempt, to save baby possums (these were regular possums, not opossums) whose mommy had been run over by a car (probably my great-grandfather's). I bawled every time one died, and they all eventually died.
So now, I love when Sam yells, "Mom, get a cup...there's a spider in my room!" I just hope that none of his friends end up mentioning us in a memoir.
It's no secret that I clean constantly. We have two spiders--big fat-bellied things--living on opposite sides of our front French doors. I vacuum there at least once a week, and I always clean up their piles of other dead, weaker spiders and bugs, but leave the two motherships in peace.
I've always had this soft spot for bugs and animals, although I eat animals, crave eating animals, and don't hesitate to feast upon them regularly. When I was a child, my parents tried, in a vain attempt, to save baby possums (these were regular possums, not opossums) whose mommy had been run over by a car (probably my great-grandfather's). I bawled every time one died, and they all eventually died.
So now, I love when Sam yells, "Mom, get a cup...there's a spider in my room!" I just hope that none of his friends end up mentioning us in a memoir.
Wow, I'm easy to please
Matt handed me $400 from the sale of his 1971 Mercedes that was rusting in our driveway, from the money I gave him to buy the 1971 Mercedes that was rusting in our driveway, and I bought a new lawn mower. Nothing runs like a Deere.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Richard Russo Lecture
I'm impressed with Butler University's Visiting Writers Series. It had been quite a while since I'd stepped foot in the Atherton Union, but my mom and I saw Richard Russo "speak," which is to say "read" last night. He mixed his non-fiction essays with his fiction—-my favorite, Empire Falls—-for which he's so well known, and it gave the audience an in-depth look into his childhood hometown of Gloversville, NY. The town is Empire Falls, from the Pulitzer Prize winning Empire Falls, and Bath from the book-made-movie Nobody's Fool (Paul Newman). His essays were amazing, and I came home and regurgitated them verbatim for my husband, the biology-major-turned-attorney, who has a flare for the creative, or at least for creative people. : )
But here were the weird points of the evening:
1. When Richard (Rick) finished reading, and said we'd all "be done" after a session of Q&A, I heard a cacophony of car keys being pulled from women's purses. Women are weird, and there were plenty of them there. When women hear "the end," or even "it's almost the end," they get those damned car keys ready. I, so sensitive to sound, took notice.
2. My mother was appalled by the attire worn by the bookish women in attendance. She could barely get the word "clog" out of her mouth when she was trying to describe the outfit of the quote, unquote freebird sitting next to me. Mom and I went for a glass (or two) of wine after the lecture, and she admitted that she'd been shaking her foot the entire time, trying to get the poorly-dressed women to notice her leopard-print shoes. Oh, how this woman makes me laugh.
This is why I'm earthy. This is why I read great books and don't give one hot damn about whether or not I'm wearing make-up. I'm at home with fellow English majors in Atherton's Reilly Room, even though I'm a Hoosier through and through.
But here were the weird points of the evening:
1. When Richard (Rick) finished reading, and said we'd all "be done" after a session of Q&A, I heard a cacophony of car keys being pulled from women's purses. Women are weird, and there were plenty of them there. When women hear "the end," or even "it's almost the end," they get those damned car keys ready. I, so sensitive to sound, took notice.
2. My mother was appalled by the attire worn by the bookish women in attendance. She could barely get the word "clog" out of her mouth when she was trying to describe the outfit of the quote, unquote freebird sitting next to me. Mom and I went for a glass (or two) of wine after the lecture, and she admitted that she'd been shaking her foot the entire time, trying to get the poorly-dressed women to notice her leopard-print shoes. Oh, how this woman makes me laugh.
This is why I'm earthy. This is why I read great books and don't give one hot damn about whether or not I'm wearing make-up. I'm at home with fellow English majors in Atherton's Reilly Room, even though I'm a Hoosier through and through.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
Saturday, April 02, 2011
Bowling for general realization of the world
Matt took Sam bowling today, and text-messaged me this: I now know where to come when I'm having a low self-esteem day. That's how I feel about West Lafayette. Hooray Bulldogs. Matt doesn't realize it, but we're getting a damned bulldog soon.
Friday, April 01, 2011
U.S. Mail
We've been getting our neighbors' mail all week, as they are sunning themselves in Florida while we rot in the snow and rain. They get home tomorrow, so I have to re-seal all of their letters, and make sure to smooth out the creases of their Details magazine. I'm writing like crazy and this job is piling on the hours, but I love it. So happy to be creative.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
'Gans
Matt and my dad are on their first official date: the Willie Nelson concert at the Murat! I stayed home with Mr. Sunshine and we're watching lots-o-Backyardigans adventures. I recently "friended" Evan Lurie, musical genius of the 'Gans, as we like calling them. We own 8 Backyardigans DVDs, and Matt and I sing the music all day long in our heads.
Evan used to be in a NYC band called the Lounge Lizzards - remember them (kind of) well. I absolutley love social utilities. I don't go backstage anymore (although I am having lunch next Sunday with my friend Ken Bethea, an Old 97), but I still have the need to talk me some music with the professionals. After all these years, music is still my passion...I've simply added a few more.
My delicate little flowers are covered outside with bed sheets (what else?) because we're expecting spring snow, but the Bulldogs beat the Gators in overtime, so it's a good night. Sam and I want a slobbery bulldog. We're trying to convince Matt of their charm. I grew up with an English Bulldog named Sophia of Downey; she took a nap against me every day of my life until 5th grade, and I want to create such fond childhood memories for Sam, too. Matt grew up with a Domerman. Nothing cuddles like a Doberman. Whatever.
Time for the Swamp Creature. Some seriously good music. Thank you, Evan.
Evan used to be in a NYC band called the Lounge Lizzards - remember them (kind of) well. I absolutley love social utilities. I don't go backstage anymore (although I am having lunch next Sunday with my friend Ken Bethea, an Old 97), but I still have the need to talk me some music with the professionals. After all these years, music is still my passion...I've simply added a few more.
My delicate little flowers are covered outside with bed sheets (what else?) because we're expecting spring snow, but the Bulldogs beat the Gators in overtime, so it's a good night. Sam and I want a slobbery bulldog. We're trying to convince Matt of their charm. I grew up with an English Bulldog named Sophia of Downey; she took a nap against me every day of my life until 5th grade, and I want to create such fond childhood memories for Sam, too. Matt grew up with a Domerman. Nothing cuddles like a Doberman. Whatever.
Time for the Swamp Creature. Some seriously good music. Thank you, Evan.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Spell Check
I'm loving this new writing gig! I've spoken to 10 PR people already this week, and I've let a couple know about the grammatical errors on their websites. ;)
I've already logged many hours, written many "pieces," and I can't get enough. Go English!
My schedule is beginning to need some juggling.
I've already logged many hours, written many "pieces," and I can't get enough. Go English!
My schedule is beginning to need some juggling.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Old 97s
Old 97's are coming to town in early April. Here's a review I wrote in 2004!
PREVIEW
The Old 97's
The Vogue
January 19, 2004
Come see the first good show of the year: The Old 97's. The hypersonic genre-mixers play the Vogue next Monday to their "we've been waiting two bloody years for this" fans. Once Dallas-based, the band now collaborates via 3 cities: lead singer and guitarist, Rhett Miller, is in New York and bassist, Murry Hammond, in Cali, while lead guitarist Ken Bethea and Philip Peeples hold down their Alamos in Texas. Rhett Miller recently chatted with me and, glutted with vigor and warmth, expressed the band’s hullabaloo for their upcoming album, touting a couple of songs to pique our interest. "Murry's chord progression is the cornerstone to the song "The New Kid," which, ironically, isn’t about my 2-month-old son, Maxwell," he said. The tune "Won’t Be Home No More," from the Ranchero Brothers (former Miller & Hammond band) is being brought in from the pasture and added to the kitty as well. But with five albums, they’re sure to play the old favorites Doreen, Big Brown Eyes, 19 and Timebomb too. Miller stated, "The audience often stands slack-jawed when they don't hear old songs; it's tough to try new songs out on the road, but playing them isn't so much for the audience as it is practice for the band."
Cowpokes with brains, the 97’s are all avid readers and the band’s eloquent writers, Miller and Hammond, construct most of the songs. "I sing the songs that I write and Murry sings the songs he writes—we're even getting Ken to sing a song which he's never done in his life," said Miller. Their catalog casts the net wide, bringing in styles from the Ramones, Jason and the Scorchers, Hank Williams and the band X. Miller's former band Killbilly purveyed his "deliverance" of Bluegrass and they all retain their native y'alt-country style. Hammond named the group from a song sung by Johnny Cash, The Wreck of the Old 97, though "accelerate" seems more their nature. Their music flies open like unfastened shutters in a Texas tornado, executing precision and flare with double-time alacrity. You arrive at their show tired and return home unable to count any sheep.
Miller, rock-n-roll's haute du jour, is the type of guy who answers, "Ah, shucks" to a compliment. Any girl who's ever had an interest in their music has secretly hoped he'd turn up as her mystery date, though he recently became Old 97s-number-4 to marry. Raised in a family of music lovers, he began playing guitar at age 12 and was playing Dallas gigs by age 15. Known as the "weird kid who played folk songs" (or so he said), he opened for the Pixies' Frank Black when he was a mere 18. He opened for Hammond’s band Peyote Cowboys in 1986 and the Old 97's was born. Collectively, the 97’s have all had solo or side projects; most notably, Miller recorded a 2002 solo album on Elektra, The Instigator, that won high acclaim as the perfect pop album. Several local radio stations picked up the single "Come Around," and I spun it a few thousand times myself. The album's infectious lyrics and charm are unyielding and frustrating to critics who love to pan, and its danceable mixture of rhythms forces even the most stubborn toes to tap. Miller should be performing surprise (oops, sorry) solo acoustic songs off Instigator at Monday's show (or so I asked).
The 97's have new management: Vector, to be exact (Lyle Lovett, Emmylou Harris) and after their January tour lite the band will begin recording their sixth album in February. It will arrive mid-summer 2004 on the New West label. Miller's next solo album, also on Elektra, will fall on the heels of the 97’s’. For now, Miller's greatest ambition and achievement are simultaneously the birth of his son. He sang me Maxwell's favorite song, the backwards alphabet, saying, "We call it his ZYX's – he loves when I sing to him." Ah, the beauty of rock-n-roll.
--Jill Brooks
PREVIEW
The Old 97's
The Vogue
January 19, 2004
Come see the first good show of the year: The Old 97's. The hypersonic genre-mixers play the Vogue next Monday to their "we've been waiting two bloody years for this" fans. Once Dallas-based, the band now collaborates via 3 cities: lead singer and guitarist, Rhett Miller, is in New York and bassist, Murry Hammond, in Cali, while lead guitarist Ken Bethea and Philip Peeples hold down their Alamos in Texas. Rhett Miller recently chatted with me and, glutted with vigor and warmth, expressed the band’s hullabaloo for their upcoming album, touting a couple of songs to pique our interest. "Murry's chord progression is the cornerstone to the song "The New Kid," which, ironically, isn’t about my 2-month-old son, Maxwell," he said. The tune "Won’t Be Home No More," from the Ranchero Brothers (former Miller & Hammond band) is being brought in from the pasture and added to the kitty as well. But with five albums, they’re sure to play the old favorites Doreen, Big Brown Eyes, 19 and Timebomb too. Miller stated, "The audience often stands slack-jawed when they don't hear old songs; it's tough to try new songs out on the road, but playing them isn't so much for the audience as it is practice for the band."
Cowpokes with brains, the 97’s are all avid readers and the band’s eloquent writers, Miller and Hammond, construct most of the songs. "I sing the songs that I write and Murry sings the songs he writes—we're even getting Ken to sing a song which he's never done in his life," said Miller. Their catalog casts the net wide, bringing in styles from the Ramones, Jason and the Scorchers, Hank Williams and the band X. Miller's former band Killbilly purveyed his "deliverance" of Bluegrass and they all retain their native y'alt-country style. Hammond named the group from a song sung by Johnny Cash, The Wreck of the Old 97, though "accelerate" seems more their nature. Their music flies open like unfastened shutters in a Texas tornado, executing precision and flare with double-time alacrity. You arrive at their show tired and return home unable to count any sheep.
Miller, rock-n-roll's haute du jour, is the type of guy who answers, "Ah, shucks" to a compliment. Any girl who's ever had an interest in their music has secretly hoped he'd turn up as her mystery date, though he recently became Old 97s-number-4 to marry. Raised in a family of music lovers, he began playing guitar at age 12 and was playing Dallas gigs by age 15. Known as the "weird kid who played folk songs" (or so he said), he opened for the Pixies' Frank Black when he was a mere 18. He opened for Hammond’s band Peyote Cowboys in 1986 and the Old 97's was born. Collectively, the 97’s have all had solo or side projects; most notably, Miller recorded a 2002 solo album on Elektra, The Instigator, that won high acclaim as the perfect pop album. Several local radio stations picked up the single "Come Around," and I spun it a few thousand times myself. The album's infectious lyrics and charm are unyielding and frustrating to critics who love to pan, and its danceable mixture of rhythms forces even the most stubborn toes to tap. Miller should be performing surprise (oops, sorry) solo acoustic songs off Instigator at Monday's show (or so I asked).
The 97's have new management: Vector, to be exact (Lyle Lovett, Emmylou Harris) and after their January tour lite the band will begin recording their sixth album in February. It will arrive mid-summer 2004 on the New West label. Miller's next solo album, also on Elektra, will fall on the heels of the 97’s’. For now, Miller's greatest ambition and achievement are simultaneously the birth of his son. He sang me Maxwell's favorite song, the backwards alphabet, saying, "We call it his ZYX's – he loves when I sing to him." Ah, the beauty of rock-n-roll.
--Jill Brooks
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Inevitable Vulnerability
The Ba-Ba Beenie Club was at our house today: Sam, Cole and Teddy. I made pizza for them, but Cole suggested "sugary cereal" instead, so they had Fruit Loops, with a chaser of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. I want them to like me.
Yesterday, I had a flashback of the time at the Blue Point Bar when Steve Simon said we should all tell of a time when we were the most vulnerable, an embarrassing moment in our lives. For me, these moments, these chocolate-sauce-dripping-down-a-new-white-shirt occurences are frequent, and I had one yesterday.
I'm very organized, but hugely impatient. Do it now, talk about it later. Go on, do it. Get it done.
Sam's teacher--the kind of person who deserves a "bless her heart" after her name--puts her "all" into Sam's class. She writes down everything the kids do each month, prints the reports out in color and does not leave one Painted Rock Day unturned. Sometimes I'm too busy for these lengthy accounts.
She sent a sheet home last Friday explaining that the kids would be making vegetable soup on Monday. Bring a vegetable. This is all I needed to know. I did notice an italicized "bring ONE," and I moved on to my next project after marking it in my brain index. One veggie. Monday. Next.
I thought it was a little weird, one veggie, and I even commented about it to Matt over the weekend. "Isn't that strange...one veggie? What if it's a mushroom? One mushroom? What about a green bean? One? How weird."
Never thought to re-read the teacher's three or four paragraphs because I already knew it all: Veggie soup. One veggie.
We bought fresh French-style green beans over the weekend, and I put two in a plastic bag. I took them into to Sam's class on Monday, telling the teacher and her assistant, "Well, they're French, so we brought two," as if we were being somewhat generous. The teachers looked at me incredulously.
I noticed that other moms were bringing in entire gardens of green beans, peppers, mushrooms. I drove my 8.5 miles home and re-read the memo. It read:
If the chosen veggie is a carrot, please bring ONE carrot, because I'll also be bringing carrots to class.
So, poor Sam represented two small French green beans in his class soup and, from what I hear, he ate most of it, too.
Matt almost choked he laughed so hard.
Yesterday, I had a flashback of the time at the Blue Point Bar when Steve Simon said we should all tell of a time when we were the most vulnerable, an embarrassing moment in our lives. For me, these moments, these chocolate-sauce-dripping-down-a-new-white-shirt occurences are frequent, and I had one yesterday.
I'm very organized, but hugely impatient. Do it now, talk about it later. Go on, do it. Get it done.
Sam's teacher--the kind of person who deserves a "bless her heart" after her name--puts her "all" into Sam's class. She writes down everything the kids do each month, prints the reports out in color and does not leave one Painted Rock Day unturned. Sometimes I'm too busy for these lengthy accounts.
She sent a sheet home last Friday explaining that the kids would be making vegetable soup on Monday. Bring a vegetable. This is all I needed to know. I did notice an italicized "bring ONE," and I moved on to my next project after marking it in my brain index. One veggie. Monday. Next.
I thought it was a little weird, one veggie, and I even commented about it to Matt over the weekend. "Isn't that strange...one veggie? What if it's a mushroom? One mushroom? What about a green bean? One? How weird."
Never thought to re-read the teacher's three or four paragraphs because I already knew it all: Veggie soup. One veggie.
We bought fresh French-style green beans over the weekend, and I put two in a plastic bag. I took them into to Sam's class on Monday, telling the teacher and her assistant, "Well, they're French, so we brought two," as if we were being somewhat generous. The teachers looked at me incredulously.
I noticed that other moms were bringing in entire gardens of green beans, peppers, mushrooms. I drove my 8.5 miles home and re-read the memo. It read:
If the chosen veggie is a carrot, please bring ONE carrot, because I'll also be bringing carrots to class.
So, poor Sam represented two small French green beans in his class soup and, from what I hear, he ate most of it, too.
Matt almost choked he laughed so hard.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
A spoon full of medicine ball
I've been steadily working out now for nearly three months at my little gym where nobody knows my name. I love that. Cheers in reverse.
On the days Sam doesn't go to school, I've been trying to get up around 6:30 am and get my workout in before Matt and Sam even roll out. All other days I go right after I drop him off at preschool, and right before my venti latte and a stroll around Clay Terrace mall. JOKING.
The "trainer" at wee gym said that I should always begin with weights, but I begin with a run. I have to, otherwise the A.D.D. kicks in after weights and I can sometimes be found walking to my car. Gotta get the real sweat out of the way...the weights feel like pencils when my heart's already pounding.
I want to choke those people with 13.1 and 26.2 stickers (except my neighbor, who is very nice and therefore allowed to put any sticker she wants on her car). My brother's sticker would read 140.6. Go to hell with that kind of attention span.
But, strangely, I'm loving the treadmill. I can zone on a treadmill unlike on the street, where I have to keep track of my footing vs cracks, rocks, twigs and ants (I cannot kill anything). I can finally watch Fox News, which we all know I just wuv, or Kathy Lee and Hoda, equally as news-filled, without interruption! (Trainer Boy said that they once put CNN on, and two extremely old people never came back...haha).
My favorite part, though, is the Core. I love Dead Bugs and Mountain Climbers. I'm having a little love affair with the medicine ball. I don't think Matt minds this affair, either. : )
When I was sick a few weeks ago, Sam said, "Mom, use your medicine ball!"
I love that kid. True love.
On the days Sam doesn't go to school, I've been trying to get up around 6:30 am and get my workout in before Matt and Sam even roll out. All other days I go right after I drop him off at preschool, and right before my venti latte and a stroll around Clay Terrace mall. JOKING.
The "trainer" at wee gym said that I should always begin with weights, but I begin with a run. I have to, otherwise the A.D.D. kicks in after weights and I can sometimes be found walking to my car. Gotta get the real sweat out of the way...the weights feel like pencils when my heart's already pounding.
I want to choke those people with 13.1 and 26.2 stickers (except my neighbor, who is very nice and therefore allowed to put any sticker she wants on her car). My brother's sticker would read 140.6. Go to hell with that kind of attention span.
But, strangely, I'm loving the treadmill. I can zone on a treadmill unlike on the street, where I have to keep track of my footing vs cracks, rocks, twigs and ants (I cannot kill anything). I can finally watch Fox News, which we all know I just wuv, or Kathy Lee and Hoda, equally as news-filled, without interruption! (Trainer Boy said that they once put CNN on, and two extremely old people never came back...haha).
My favorite part, though, is the Core. I love Dead Bugs and Mountain Climbers. I'm having a little love affair with the medicine ball. I don't think Matt minds this affair, either. : )
When I was sick a few weeks ago, Sam said, "Mom, use your medicine ball!"
I love that kid. True love.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Cookin'
I do amaze myself. This week I cooked rack of lamb crusted with coriander, stuffed steak pinwheels, and chicken carbonara.
Luckily, I worked out at the gym every single day.
I'm enjoying the tone, especially since we're gourmands. My sister calls to see what we're whipping up each day - she said it's like calling a restaurant.
Luckily, I worked out at the gym every single day.
I'm enjoying the tone, especially since we're gourmands. My sister calls to see what we're whipping up each day - she said it's like calling a restaurant.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Weekenders and Anniversaries
My husband, what a guy. He told Sam and me to pack our bags because we were going to Chicago for a the weekend! He booked a room at the Palmer House because he knows I'm an old-fashioned girl who is a sucker for Art Deco and Grecian frescoes.Jason and the boys met us up there. We spent several hours at the terribly expensive and super marginal Shedd Aquarium, where a "snack" cost each party $30. I kept asking where the big sharks and some whales could be seen. No such things. Such a big city rip-off.
We grabbed drinks in the Palmer House's lobby, and had an amazing dinner of Spanish tapas at Mercat a la planxa, a restaurant that Matt had discovered through being a total foodie. It was really a sight to see the three young boys devouring filet, lamb, scallops, sausages and flatbreads. We loved it, until the bill came. ;0
Liam and Finn gave at least 10 dollars to the homeless on our walk back to the Palmer, and we were scolded by a little Chinese man when we brought our 3 little bulls into his china store after dinner. Jason even said, "You look really nervous, sir." He had no idea what that meant; he just kept saying, "No touch...no touch!!"
In the morning we toured Millenium Park, which is far more inviting in the summer, grabbed breakfast at the West Egg (sweetly reminiscent for me and my many hung-over mornings after concerts back in my singlehood) shopped at Burton and Jonathan Adler, and ate pizza at the ever-famous Gino's East. Sam fell asleep at the restaurant, which he never does - those little legs were tired.
It was a perfect trip, and I'm so glad that Jason made the effort to join us. The real treat: Matt's and my anniversary! Let's toast to that!
There is definitely a saving-of-one-another involved in marriage. I was so independent that I never wanted to be saved, never thought of it that way. I never in my life "looked" for a husband, but I see more and more how Matt swooped in and took me into his life, and I'm so very grateful. And I saved him, too. Oh, how I saved him. When we talk about it, Matt just wipes his brow. ; )
Happy Anniversary, sweet Matt.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Party Nook
No matter where you have a party, everyone ends up in the kitchen. Matt and I had a few neighbor friends over the other night and, not only did we all congregate in the kitchen, we stayed in the kitchen nook the entire night! What a waste of a perfectly clean house (Sam mopped!).If I'd put the beer and wine in the mud room, along with our gerbil, that's where were would have gathered. Next time, as a test, I'm going to put all of the alcohol on top of the washer/dryer and see what happens. Maybe I can get guests to help fold.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Celebrating the Birthday Boy
I surprised Matt with a getaway weekend in ... Louisville, KY! Who says I'm not a great wife? There were lots of "y'alls" and thick country accents (no one ever sounded smart with a country accent...I stole this line from a comedian), but it was extremely charming.
The best part: Matt's friend, John, from UVa and his wife, Jacquie, drove up from Chattanooga, TN and surprised him. John and I set this up in November, so we've been scheming for months.
We took Sam with us a). because John & Jacquie wanted to meet the fine fellow, and b). because we take him everywhere.
We stayed at the 21c Museum Hotel, which had a modern art gallery in it. What a cool place. Outstanding. Matt, Sam and I went out to dinner Friday night, as we had a much shorter drive and J& J hadn't yet arrived. I was trying to keep everyone awake, kept texting John about his ETA. Our plan was for them to knock on our door when they arrived.
After dinner, the three of us went back to our hotel room, and Matt changed into his comfy clothes. I was chuckling at the thought of him being in his underwear when they finally got there, but that didn't happen. J&J knocked on our door at 10:30 pm--SURPRISE--and I made Matt go out and get drunk with them. Good wife!
Matt was completely surprised, and it entertained me as much as seventh-grade socials to witness this. : )
John suffered from his Friday night martinis the rest of the weekend, but we ate a delectable lunch at Ramsi's "Food of the World" on Saturday, and ate dinner at Proof on Main, which was noted in Esquire magazine as one of the best restaurants in the country. Oh, it was good. They made Matt cotton candy!
Sam was the only child in the hotel. Sam was the only child dining at Proof. They asked if he needed a straw, and with a tsk, I replied, "He's fine, thanks."
We "hit" the Louisville Slugger museum for good measure. A lot of baseball names were brought up...all flying right over my head. John loved it, because he's a New Yorker. They eat baseballs for breakfast.
Now we're planning a weekend trip to Nashville, TN (Dede, can you babysit?), and a ski trip with J&J. Quickly, I need some snowboarding lessons.
Matt, Sam and I ate lunch at McAllister's Deli, somewhere off 65 N. in Clarksville (Clarksburg--Clarksomething) and: oh, my. That's all I have to say about that.
Birthday Boy is having a great day...he's cooking dinner for us, of course! He is allowed to listen to whatever music he wants...just this once.
Happy Birthday, Matt! xo
The best part: Matt's friend, John, from UVa and his wife, Jacquie, drove up from Chattanooga, TN and surprised him. John and I set this up in November, so we've been scheming for months.
We took Sam with us a). because John & Jacquie wanted to meet the fine fellow, and b). because we take him everywhere.
We stayed at the 21c Museum Hotel, which had a modern art gallery in it. What a cool place. Outstanding. Matt, Sam and I went out to dinner Friday night, as we had a much shorter drive and J& J hadn't yet arrived. I was trying to keep everyone awake, kept texting John about his ETA. Our plan was for them to knock on our door when they arrived.
After dinner, the three of us went back to our hotel room, and Matt changed into his comfy clothes. I was chuckling at the thought of him being in his underwear when they finally got there, but that didn't happen. J&J knocked on our door at 10:30 pm--SURPRISE--and I made Matt go out and get drunk with them. Good wife!
Matt was completely surprised, and it entertained me as much as seventh-grade socials to witness this. : )
John suffered from his Friday night martinis the rest of the weekend, but we ate a delectable lunch at Ramsi's "Food of the World" on Saturday, and ate dinner at Proof on Main, which was noted in Esquire magazine as one of the best restaurants in the country. Oh, it was good. They made Matt cotton candy!
Sam was the only child in the hotel. Sam was the only child dining at Proof. They asked if he needed a straw, and with a tsk, I replied, "He's fine, thanks."
We "hit" the Louisville Slugger museum for good measure. A lot of baseball names were brought up...all flying right over my head. John loved it, because he's a New Yorker. They eat baseballs for breakfast.
Now we're planning a weekend trip to Nashville, TN (Dede, can you babysit?), and a ski trip with J&J. Quickly, I need some snowboarding lessons.
Matt, Sam and I ate lunch at McAllister's Deli, somewhere off 65 N. in Clarksville (Clarksburg--Clarksomething) and: oh, my. That's all I have to say about that.
Birthday Boy is having a great day...he's cooking dinner for us, of course! He is allowed to listen to whatever music he wants...just this once.
Happy Birthday, Matt! xo
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Super Heros
Sam has gotten some awesome presents, and Santa hasn't even been here! Dede got him some great costumes: Superman, Batman and Robin.
Last night, Sam said, "Pick one, Mommy!" I chose Batman, because he has the best song. : )
Sam was Superman.
Sam said, "Here, Daddy, you're Robin." Matt said, "I don't want to be Robin - being Robin blows!"
I begged Matt to allow me to photograph him in his Robin costume. He kindly said: No "Freaking" Way.
Santa comes tonight, a night early, and then we're off to the O.C. Rainy, high 60's, but it beats the snow.
Merry Christmas.
Last night, Sam said, "Pick one, Mommy!" I chose Batman, because he has the best song. : )
Sam was Superman.
Sam said, "Here, Daddy, you're Robin." Matt said, "I don't want to be Robin - being Robin blows!"
I begged Matt to allow me to photograph him in his Robin costume. He kindly said: No "Freaking" Way.
Santa comes tonight, a night early, and then we're off to the O.C. Rainy, high 60's, but it beats the snow.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Living the dream
I'm about to wrap-up my final story for the sizable writing project I've been working on - and I'm over a month ahead of schedule!Poor Sam has spent some pretty boring days around the house, when he's not at preschool, with Mommy typing away on her computer. I'm about to make that all up to him as we're going to spend the entire week next week going to movies, Monkey Joe's, Chuck E. Cheese--whatever he wants!
Matt and I asked him what Daddy does for work. Sam shrugged and said, "He works in a tower." We asked him what Mommy does, and he said, "She's a writer." He's a good man, that Sam.
Even Matt tells Sam to play guitar!
We're heading to California next week for an entire week of sunshine. It's been 87 degrees there all week. I cannot wait. We're going to take a trip up the coast again, and take Sam with us this time. There's so much adventure waiting for us. Sam has definitely had more life experiences than most children his age, and he's absolutely wonderful to hang out with. Whenever I pictured the type of child I might have someday, Sam was definitely in the dream.
Sam slept between us the other night, and Matt said, "Can you imagine how comforting it is to be sandwiched between your parents like this? Sam will never feel as safe as he does right now."
This was also part of my dream. : )
Sunday, December 05, 2010
A Visit to Santa
After a day of sledding on the "Carmel Hill" yesterday, we took Sam to meet Santa at Clay Terrace. They had a pretty swanky set-up, as Santa rested inside a little gingerbread house that had a Tom Roush car give-away parked right in front, insuring that no one could take a decent photograph.
Sam had a runny nose all day, which should have been red flag enough to postpone this event. He fell asleep in the car on the way there (5 minutes), so we took him into the sporting goods store to liven him up a bit -- his sleep coma remained. We decided to forge out into the snow and wait our turn to see Santa, with the shiny new Chevy parked outside the gingerbread house. There really was no line, just us and the Chevy.
After a few moments, I rapped on the door (because, after all, this is a Christmas story), and Santa's grouchy, middle-aged elf, let's call her Sheila, came outside and snarled, "It'll be a few minutes!"
We hadn't planned to purchase photographs, given Sam's slight cold and physical torpor, but I knew that Sheila was really trying to say, "We have paying customers in here!" I told Matt to get his credit card ready.
We decided to walk across the street and grab two coffees and a hot chocolate while we waited. While in the store, Matt realized that Sam's gym shoes (I completely forgot to buy the child snow boots!) were caked in mud, which was now covering the floor of the Gelato boutique. I tipped the guy three dollars because I knew he'd be responsible for mopping after we left.
We could see the paying customers leaving Santa's house, dressed in red sweaters, smiling as snowflakes gently landed on their faces. We gave Sam's nose a good wiping and headed back to wonderland.
I'd dressed Sam like the little brother wearing all the winter gear in the movie A Christmas Story. Layers upon layers I'd layered, and it was beginning to hit me that this might be causing Sam's state-of-mind. "He's hot!" I said to my husband, and so right there in front of God and everyone (Santa, Sheila, two girls taking expensive photographs), I began stripping Sam down.
Sam had no interest in Santa after he'd told him about the big green gun and fishing pole that he wanted, but we tossed him on Santa's lap, anyway. Sheila tried using some kind of baby rattle to entice a smile from Sam, but he wasn't having it. "Snap, snap, snap!" Three horrible digital photographs. The girl turned her computer screen so that we could see how awful the photographs were, and she knocked my large coffee off the table, and onto Santa's floor.
Sheila seemed really pissed. We were down $11.00 at this point, and still had to buy a picture.
Sheila threw Matt and me into the frame along with Santa and Sam and yelled, "Smile!" We heard one more snap, and that was it. That was going to be our Christmas photograph, no matter what.
"It's terrible," Matt said, "We're not giving this to anyone!"
We shall not speak of this experience again.
Sam had a runny nose all day, which should have been red flag enough to postpone this event. He fell asleep in the car on the way there (5 minutes), so we took him into the sporting goods store to liven him up a bit -- his sleep coma remained. We decided to forge out into the snow and wait our turn to see Santa, with the shiny new Chevy parked outside the gingerbread house. There really was no line, just us and the Chevy.
After a few moments, I rapped on the door (because, after all, this is a Christmas story), and Santa's grouchy, middle-aged elf, let's call her Sheila, came outside and snarled, "It'll be a few minutes!"
We hadn't planned to purchase photographs, given Sam's slight cold and physical torpor, but I knew that Sheila was really trying to say, "We have paying customers in here!" I told Matt to get his credit card ready.
We decided to walk across the street and grab two coffees and a hot chocolate while we waited. While in the store, Matt realized that Sam's gym shoes (I completely forgot to buy the child snow boots!) were caked in mud, which was now covering the floor of the Gelato boutique. I tipped the guy three dollars because I knew he'd be responsible for mopping after we left.
We could see the paying customers leaving Santa's house, dressed in red sweaters, smiling as snowflakes gently landed on their faces. We gave Sam's nose a good wiping and headed back to wonderland.
I'd dressed Sam like the little brother wearing all the winter gear in the movie A Christmas Story. Layers upon layers I'd layered, and it was beginning to hit me that this might be causing Sam's state-of-mind. "He's hot!" I said to my husband, and so right there in front of God and everyone (Santa, Sheila, two girls taking expensive photographs), I began stripping Sam down.
Sam had no interest in Santa after he'd told him about the big green gun and fishing pole that he wanted, but we tossed him on Santa's lap, anyway. Sheila tried using some kind of baby rattle to entice a smile from Sam, but he wasn't having it. "Snap, snap, snap!" Three horrible digital photographs. The girl turned her computer screen so that we could see how awful the photographs were, and she knocked my large coffee off the table, and onto Santa's floor.
Sheila seemed really pissed. We were down $11.00 at this point, and still had to buy a picture.
Sheila threw Matt and me into the frame along with Santa and Sam and yelled, "Smile!" We heard one more snap, and that was it. That was going to be our Christmas photograph, no matter what.
"It's terrible," Matt said, "We're not giving this to anyone!"
We shall not speak of this experience again.
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