Wow, it's been awhile since my last food post! This simply won't do. So here's a peek at what the members of my household (with the exception of the smallest one) will be eating today. Because I know your Thursday will not be complete without this information.
I've been working awhile at a decent recipe for Chicken Parmesan. And while I'm still tweaking some things, I'm getting there. Here's what I'm doing for dinner tonight...
I flatten 3-4 chicken breasts to 1/2" thickness, and dredge them in flour. Then I dip them into some beaten egg, and finally into a mixture of panko (Japanese-style) breadcrumbs, some oregano, basil, parsley, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Please note that the panko breadcrumbs are extremely important. Because the Japanese, while their gymnast guy completely wiped out on the rings last night, are geniuses in the breading department. Once you go panko, you'll never go back. When I think of all the years I wasted coating my chicken in traditional breadcrumbs...*sigh* But I'm looking beyond the tragedies of the past now and just giving my strong endorsement for panko.
Anyway, once the chicken is coated with all three elements, I cook it on both sides in a large skillet coated with a small amount of olive oil. Once both sides have browned and are cooked through, I'll place the chicken in a baking dish and pour a fair amount of marinara sauce overtop. Then I top it with mozzarella (fresh is best) and bake (350-ish) until bubbly and melty. It's good served over some whole-wheat pasta.
*****
Now you know I wasn't going to do a recipe post without including dessert. My sister and I were in the baking mood today, and we selected a new recipe that I bookmarked a few weeks ago from over at Picky Palate. Jenny's descriptive pictures of her Brownie Swirled Peanut Butter Oreo Cookies pushed us over the edge. I mean, think about it...peanut butter cookies...Oreos...brownie swirls...yeah. As we studied the dough, freshly swirled with spoonfuls of brownie batter, my sister commented, "It's like a delightfully strange mixture of things I like." I concur.
Check out the recipe here. Oh, and make it. They are fantastic.
*****
And with that, I must go. Because my three-year-old is requesting yet another round of her current favorite game - an Olympic-style medal ceremony. Picture one appropriately solemn little girl, perched on the couch, holding a large artificial flower, with a gold beaded necklace around her neck, hand over her heart (or sometimes her tummy), while I sing the "emotional anthem". I think I might always call it that from now on, because come on - that is WAY cute. But I have to admit, after multiple renditions of the anthem, I've been trying to think of ways to speed it up or cut out some parts in the interest of time. I guess that's not the greatest civics lesson, though. Ok then, off I go...
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Perhaps I should explain...
I added a banner to the sidebar of my blog last week. And I couldn't quite bring myself to explain it at the time. It was all just too much.
My very dear friend, Suzy, was diagnosed just over a week ago with breast cancer. Ugh...it's painful to even type that sentence. I think I'm still kind of reeling from the news. You know how you always sort of think of yourself as invincible? Well I've discovered that I feel the same way about people close to me. That they are invincible. Or that they should be. Suzy is one of those people for me.
We've known each other for four years now, and I am a better person for each moment of those four years because of her influence in my life. She defines the word friend, reaches out selflessly and cares for people not because she forces herself to do so, but because it's just an innate quality. The love comes effortlessly. She's faced challenges before this one, and her attitude in the face of trials has always inspired me. This instance is no exception. She already has expressed concern that speaking too often of her health issues might bring others down. (To which I say, again, Are you freaking kidding me? Stop it. We love you.) She's looking this cancer thing straight in the face and giving it attitude, and I love that.
Suzy has been a constant encouragement, a loyal confidante, and an enthusiastic cheerleader for me in everything I've walked through in the time that I've known her. It is my fervent hope that I can be the same for her now. If by posting about this here, I can solicit prayers and positive thoughts from a few more people who haven't had the privilege of knowing Suzy before this point, then I've hopefully made a small step towards doing something. Because for those of us who love her, that is our wish...to do something.
So when you visit this site and you see the "Standing with Suzy" banner, please join me in standing with her. If you're the praying kind, pray. If you'd like to get to know Suzy better and follow her journey more closely, check out her blog. And keep her family (Ian and their two beautiful little boys) in your thoughts as well.
I want to end by noting that Suzy and I met through an online "baby board", and that most of our friendship has been cultivated over the internet and across the Atlantic. I had the distinct pleasure of meeting her in person two years ago when she journeyed from her home in Northern Ireland to the windy city of Chicago (which on that day was feeling not so much windy as insufferably hot!). So I've been able to "actually" hug her, to "really" sit face-to-face and chat. But that one, treasured meeting is not what validates our friendship. She would be just as dear to me had we never had the opportunity of being in the same physical location at the same time. And if this concept is at all difficult to understand, please visit my friend Lori's blog to check out this gorgeous, spot-on, couldn't-have-said-it-better-myself post about the "reality" of friendships formed online.
I believe in Suzy. I still believe she's invincible. I believe in the way she lives and loves and challenges me. I believe that this cancer doesn't stand a chance. I believe it.
My very dear friend, Suzy, was diagnosed just over a week ago with breast cancer. Ugh...it's painful to even type that sentence. I think I'm still kind of reeling from the news. You know how you always sort of think of yourself as invincible? Well I've discovered that I feel the same way about people close to me. That they are invincible. Or that they should be. Suzy is one of those people for me.
We've known each other for four years now, and I am a better person for each moment of those four years because of her influence in my life. She defines the word friend, reaches out selflessly and cares for people not because she forces herself to do so, but because it's just an innate quality. The love comes effortlessly. She's faced challenges before this one, and her attitude in the face of trials has always inspired me. This instance is no exception. She already has expressed concern that speaking too often of her health issues might bring others down. (To which I say, again, Are you freaking kidding me? Stop it. We love you.) She's looking this cancer thing straight in the face and giving it attitude, and I love that.
Suzy has been a constant encouragement, a loyal confidante, and an enthusiastic cheerleader for me in everything I've walked through in the time that I've known her. It is my fervent hope that I can be the same for her now. If by posting about this here, I can solicit prayers and positive thoughts from a few more people who haven't had the privilege of knowing Suzy before this point, then I've hopefully made a small step towards doing something. Because for those of us who love her, that is our wish...to do something.
So when you visit this site and you see the "Standing with Suzy" banner, please join me in standing with her. If you're the praying kind, pray. If you'd like to get to know Suzy better and follow her journey more closely, check out her blog. And keep her family (Ian and their two beautiful little boys) in your thoughts as well.
I want to end by noting that Suzy and I met through an online "baby board", and that most of our friendship has been cultivated over the internet and across the Atlantic. I had the distinct pleasure of meeting her in person two years ago when she journeyed from her home in Northern Ireland to the windy city of Chicago (which on that day was feeling not so much windy as insufferably hot!). So I've been able to "actually" hug her, to "really" sit face-to-face and chat. But that one, treasured meeting is not what validates our friendship. She would be just as dear to me had we never had the opportunity of being in the same physical location at the same time. And if this concept is at all difficult to understand, please visit my friend Lori's blog to check out this gorgeous, spot-on, couldn't-have-said-it-better-myself post about the "reality" of friendships formed online.
I believe in Suzy. I still believe she's invincible. I believe in the way she lives and loves and challenges me. I believe that this cancer doesn't stand a chance. I believe it.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
I'm thinking relocation was a good decision for Grandma...
At dinner last night, Maya asked us who makes water. Choosing the simple answer over the scientific, we told her that God makes water. The trail of resulting, unsatisfied questions finally led to an explanation, by Mark, of how there is lots and lots of water on the earth. He gave a very nice, detailed description of rivers, lakes, oceans, etc.
Taking this all in, Maya nodded seriously and said, with understanding, "Ohhhh. Is that why the Indians live in Mexico?"
*blink*
- - - - - -
Last week Maya was feeling sad one morning about Daddy going to work, so in order to cheer her up, he hopped out the door on one foot. The plan worked, as she dissolved in giggles and waved a happy goodbye. Then she turned to me with a logical question.
"Mommy, did you do that when you used to go to work for cats?"
Me: "Ummm...did I...when I...what?"
Maya (exasperated): "Mommy! You know! When you worked at your job before I was in your tummy and you worked for cats!"
Through much sorting, I discovered that she was thinking of the story I had told her about how we came to own our second cat Bogey, after he was hanging around outside the office where I once worked. Apparently, she thought that was why I went to work - that I was paid in cats or something? Which is only slightly less odd than the scenario I was originally envisioning out of her question - that I was actually employed by cats.
- - - - - -
Maya has a fictional grandmother. This grandmother is neither of her two actual grandmas, but is a character that she brings out in conversation sometimes. Apparently, this grandmother is sometimes involved in stories from her Sunday School lessons...
(One recent conversation)
Me: "Maya, do you think you'd like to take swimming lessons sometime?"
Maya: "Oh yes! I love to take swimming lessons. They're my favorite! I used to do that with my grandmother."
Me: "Oh. Really?"
Maya: "Yes. She used to live at Sodom and Gomorrah, but she doesn't live there anymore."
(pause)
Me (inwardly): "EEEEEEK!"
Me (outwardly): "Oh, I see. Well...great, then. So, about those swimming lessons..."
- - - - - -
Three-year-olds. Their minds collect information so quickly that it results in a delicious combination of incredible insight and total confusion.
Taking this all in, Maya nodded seriously and said, with understanding, "Ohhhh. Is that why the Indians live in Mexico?"
*blink*
- - - - - -
Last week Maya was feeling sad one morning about Daddy going to work, so in order to cheer her up, he hopped out the door on one foot. The plan worked, as she dissolved in giggles and waved a happy goodbye. Then she turned to me with a logical question.
"Mommy, did you do that when you used to go to work for cats?"
Me: "Ummm...did I...when I...what?"
Maya (exasperated): "Mommy! You know! When you worked at your job before I was in your tummy and you worked for cats!"
Through much sorting, I discovered that she was thinking of the story I had told her about how we came to own our second cat Bogey, after he was hanging around outside the office where I once worked. Apparently, she thought that was why I went to work - that I was paid in cats or something? Which is only slightly less odd than the scenario I was originally envisioning out of her question - that I was actually employed by cats.
- - - - - -
Maya has a fictional grandmother. This grandmother is neither of her two actual grandmas, but is a character that she brings out in conversation sometimes. Apparently, this grandmother is sometimes involved in stories from her Sunday School lessons...
(One recent conversation)
Me: "Maya, do you think you'd like to take swimming lessons sometime?"
Maya: "Oh yes! I love to take swimming lessons. They're my favorite! I used to do that with my grandmother."
Me: "Oh. Really?"
Maya: "Yes. She used to live at Sodom and Gomorrah, but she doesn't live there anymore."
(pause)
Me (inwardly): "EEEEEEK!"
Me (outwardly): "Oh, I see. Well...great, then. So, about those swimming lessons..."
- - - - - -
Three-year-olds. Their minds collect information so quickly that it results in a delicious combination of incredible insight and total confusion.
Friday, July 18, 2008
10 Years
10 years ago today, I married a guy who just about four years earlier had been a 15-year-old boy, sitting next to me on the band bus, asking me to be his girlfriend.
10 years ago today we were both nineteen. We were children, really.
10 years ago today we had no idea what was ahead of us. All we knew is that we were vowing to face it together.
10 years ago today we stood in front of 200 friends and family members in a wedding ceremony that we laughingly agree we would do quite differently if we were planning it today. Looking back, it really didn't match our personality as a couple, didn't really mirror who we were. But then again, did we really know who we were at that time?
10 years, 3 homes, 2 beautiful children, 2 oft-neglected cats, countless joys, many arguments, quite a few changes (for two people who don't handle change all that well), and multitudes of memories later, here we are. All grown up. (Well, kind of.) Different people than we were. But still, and even more so, ridiculously happy together.
You could say we were too young, or that we hadn't experienced enough life yet. You could say that we didn't know ourselves enough at that point to know what we wanted. We would simply say, however, that we knew. Without a doubt. And still do. And I look at it this way - I was blessed enough to have a jumpstart on a lifetime spent with the man I love.
Happy Anniversary, honey. I'm looking forward to the next ten years. And I love you like crazy.
10 years ago today we were both nineteen. We were children, really.
10 years ago today we had no idea what was ahead of us. All we knew is that we were vowing to face it together.
10 years ago today we stood in front of 200 friends and family members in a wedding ceremony that we laughingly agree we would do quite differently if we were planning it today. Looking back, it really didn't match our personality as a couple, didn't really mirror who we were. But then again, did we really know who we were at that time?
10 years, 3 homes, 2 beautiful children, 2 oft-neglected cats, countless joys, many arguments, quite a few changes (for two people who don't handle change all that well), and multitudes of memories later, here we are. All grown up. (Well, kind of.) Different people than we were. But still, and even more so, ridiculously happy together.
You could say we were too young, or that we hadn't experienced enough life yet. You could say that we didn't know ourselves enough at that point to know what we wanted. We would simply say, however, that we knew. Without a doubt. And still do. And I look at it this way - I was blessed enough to have a jumpstart on a lifetime spent with the man I love.
Happy Anniversary, honey. I'm looking forward to the next ten years. And I love you like crazy.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
My Story, over and over
My brokenness, your holiness, meet in this desperate prayer
I've pushed through walls of pride and shame to find you waiting here
A wounded heart, a weary soul, I lift with trembling hands
Arise, my Lord, deliver me. For nothing else has
Come
dry my eyes
Give me hope
Give me life
Come
take all I have
Take these dreams
Take this song now
My search for truth, my wandering eyes, drawn back again to you
Your words flow down in waterfalls that fill this empty room
So intimate, it's worlds apart from all I've ever known
Yet all my senses, overcome, remind me that I'm home
So
swept away
in this love,
falling harder
Come
closer still
Search these words
Search this song now
Come
hear me sing,
lift you high
Hallelujah
Come
take your throne
Live in me
in this song now
Come take me, search me, live here
Come take me, search me, live here
Come take me, search me, live here
In my song to you...
* * * * *
Have I mentioned that we recently bought a piano?
Closing comments on this one. Not sure why, other than that I think I'm supposed to share it without living for the feedback. But I love you for reading it anyway!
I've pushed through walls of pride and shame to find you waiting here
A wounded heart, a weary soul, I lift with trembling hands
Arise, my Lord, deliver me. For nothing else has
Come
dry my eyes
Give me hope
Give me life
Come
take all I have
Take these dreams
Take this song now
My search for truth, my wandering eyes, drawn back again to you
Your words flow down in waterfalls that fill this empty room
So intimate, it's worlds apart from all I've ever known
Yet all my senses, overcome, remind me that I'm home
So
swept away
in this love,
falling harder
Come
closer still
Search these words
Search this song now
Come
hear me sing,
lift you high
Hallelujah
Come
take your throne
Live in me
in this song now
Come take me, search me, live here
Come take me, search me, live here
Come take me, search me, live here
In my song to you...
* * * * *
Have I mentioned that we recently bought a piano?
Closing comments on this one. Not sure why, other than that I think I'm supposed to share it without living for the feedback. But I love you for reading it anyway!
Vacation Memories, June '08
The sunrise over Ohio on a quiet Thursday morning.
Waking the kids as we pulled into a Bob Evans for breakfast.
Maya's oft-repeated exclamation, "This is going to be the Best TRIP EVER!"
Going to bed at 9:00 PM for the first time in many, many years.
Surprisingly beautiful Pittsburgh, ornate homes dotting the tree-covered hills, tunnels leading to the water-framed skyline, a small-town feel in a big city.
Enjoying a morning meal at the local bagel shop, where a group of elderly men met for their regular morning social time, joking with each other and with passers-by as they sipped their coffee. And, in a nod to the changing times, each one had his cell phone casually placed before him on the table, ready to take a call from a wife or grandchild at home. Such delicious contrast between old and new.
Pink sparkly sand, multi-colored rice, huge tubs of water, a Mr. Rogers Neighborhood exhibit, and an afternoon gelato treat all adding up to a delightful day at the Pittsburgh Children's Museum.
Purchasing a coveted pink baseball cap (reading: "Pennsylvania"), along with some not-great sandwiches, at a rest stop along the PA turnpike.
Thanks to the people at Wee Sing, several hundred repetitions of "Jimmy Crack Corn" sung by a three-year-old who only knew four lines of the song, one of them incorrect. ("...Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't caaaaaare, he lives on Drury Lane!" [repeat]) Then having the question occur to us as we walked through a Target store still being serenaded quite loudly by said tune, that it could, possibly, have racist undertones. And having that worry confirmed by a quick Google search on Mark's Blackberry. And then quickly encouraging another song as the anthem of the evening, while making mental notes to hide that CD for the rest of the trip.
Hershey's Chocolate World. Complete chocolate overload with giant walking Kit Kat bars and a ride featuring singing cows ("there's real milk in Herrrrrshey's Milk Chocolate..."). In other words, a preschooler's heaven!
Also at Hershey's Chocolate World - the older woman who insisted on locating her husband by standing in the center of the chocolate aisles with her hand on her hips, angrily bellowing "Mitchell! MITchell!! MITCHELL!!" (rather than strolling over a few rows to where he was innocently checking out some M&Ms) thus causing me to jump a mile and my sleeping son to wake prematurely from his nap. Thanks, lady. And Mitchell...run. Run like the wind.
Happening across "A Day out with Thomas" along our route from Hershey to Philly, fairly certain that we wouldn't be able to get tickets for the train ride at such late notice...and the joy of finding out that we could! My sweet girl in her new pink hat peering down the track to see Thomas pulling in to give her a ride...well, I don't think I'll ever forget that.
My constant thanks to the makers of the Leappad, which occupied Maya for hours and hours of drive time.
One miserable evening spent attempting to get to a restaurant...any restaurant...as bedtime approached and the confusing center lanes of the highway caused us to reroute frustratingly close to several dining options that we just couldn't seem to access. Ending up at a Red Lobster and wolfing down dinner just before Noah entered meltdown mode.
The palpable excitement as we drove into Sesame Place amid light rain showers on our way to Breakfast with Elmo. And having a fully-satisfying experience (despite the less-than-stellar buffet options) as Maya's eyes grew wide with wonder watching her TV friends approach to give her hugs and say hello. So priceless. Actually, there was a price, but we're choosing not to think about that...
The rain clearing as we left breakfast to go explore the rest of the park, beginning with a successful merry-go-round experience, a terrifying Elmo ride "I didn't like the up-and-down, Mama!", and the redeeming teacups, hot air balloon chase, and Elmo fish attractions.
The somehow cozy atmosphere in spite of the theme park setting. Seeing the same families throughout the day, and having plenty to do without feeling overwhelmed by territory to cover.
Three stage shows, where the best entertainment was watching Maya's eyes dance along with the characters.
The "Rock around the Block" parade, which didn't disappoint, even as it left me humming Huey Lewis' "The Heart of Rock and Roll" and Gloria Estefan's "Conga" alternately for several days straight afterward.
Spending hours in the shallow sections of the water park, enjoying the sight of Maya tirelessly scampering through the sprinkling jets and tiny fountains, and letting Noah have the first feel of his tiny feet in the pool.
Uneaten $8.00 chicken strips, passed over for the far-too-tempting Elmo cupcake. Why did we allow that? Vacation mindset, I suppose.
Dinner at Macaroni Grill that night, where watching Maya was like watching an addict come down from a high. And taking a huge piece of cheesecake back to the hotel to share after the kids were asleep.
A peaceful drive from Philadephia to Baltimore, immediately followed by a hair-raising leg from Baltimore to Washington D.C. Highway driving + screaming six-month-old = frayed nerves.
Having family portraits taken by a stunningly talented photographer who also happens to be a friend that we got to meet in person for the first time.
All of us sleeping in one morning after a few particularly exhausting days, getting an unexpected but so totally worth it late start on our next travels.
Eating dinner one-at-a-time a couple of evenings as Noah decided that he had been traveling for too long to allow us a peaceful restaurant experience close to bedtime. He did become the official greeter at the Outback Steakhouse in Maumee, OH one such evening, however - charming all who entered, even as he protested entering personally.
The joys of traveling with a GPS device and constant internet access. So freakishly cool...I don't ever want to do it another way again. Spoiled? Yes. But admitting it is the first step.
10 days of hotel stays and restaurant meals. My kind of vacation!
The close proximity of everything on the East Coast. Several major cities within a couple hours of each other, compared to the wide expanses between areas of activity in our Midwestern surroundings.
The realization, once again, of just how big the world is. And the wonder of God's creation as reflected in the familiar flatlands of Indiana and Ohio, the gorgeous green hills of Pennsylvania, the brilliant views from the edge of the Appalachians...as well as in the beautiful uniqueness of each person we were privileged to cross paths with - the vast array of differences that remind me that the world doesn't revolve around my life and circumstances, and the similarities that underscore the elements of humanity that bind us together.
The incredible love and appreciation I have for my husband and children. I am blessed beyond belief.
It was fantastic.
Waking the kids as we pulled into a Bob Evans for breakfast.
Maya's oft-repeated exclamation, "This is going to be the Best TRIP EVER!"
Going to bed at 9:00 PM for the first time in many, many years.
Surprisingly beautiful Pittsburgh, ornate homes dotting the tree-covered hills, tunnels leading to the water-framed skyline, a small-town feel in a big city.
Enjoying a morning meal at the local bagel shop, where a group of elderly men met for their regular morning social time, joking with each other and with passers-by as they sipped their coffee. And, in a nod to the changing times, each one had his cell phone casually placed before him on the table, ready to take a call from a wife or grandchild at home. Such delicious contrast between old and new.
Pink sparkly sand, multi-colored rice, huge tubs of water, a Mr. Rogers Neighborhood exhibit, and an afternoon gelato treat all adding up to a delightful day at the Pittsburgh Children's Museum.
Purchasing a coveted pink baseball cap (reading: "Pennsylvania"), along with some not-great sandwiches, at a rest stop along the PA turnpike.
Thanks to the people at Wee Sing, several hundred repetitions of "Jimmy Crack Corn" sung by a three-year-old who only knew four lines of the song, one of them incorrect. ("...Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't caaaaaare, he lives on Drury Lane!" [repeat]) Then having the question occur to us as we walked through a Target store still being serenaded quite loudly by said tune, that it could, possibly, have racist undertones. And having that worry confirmed by a quick Google search on Mark's Blackberry. And then quickly encouraging another song as the anthem of the evening, while making mental notes to hide that CD for the rest of the trip.
Hershey's Chocolate World. Complete chocolate overload with giant walking Kit Kat bars and a ride featuring singing cows ("there's real milk in Herrrrrshey's Milk Chocolate..."). In other words, a preschooler's heaven!
Also at Hershey's Chocolate World - the older woman who insisted on locating her husband by standing in the center of the chocolate aisles with her hand on her hips, angrily bellowing "Mitchell! MITchell!! MITCHELL!!" (rather than strolling over a few rows to where he was innocently checking out some M&Ms) thus causing me to jump a mile and my sleeping son to wake prematurely from his nap. Thanks, lady. And Mitchell...run. Run like the wind.
Happening across "A Day out with Thomas" along our route from Hershey to Philly, fairly certain that we wouldn't be able to get tickets for the train ride at such late notice...and the joy of finding out that we could! My sweet girl in her new pink hat peering down the track to see Thomas pulling in to give her a ride...well, I don't think I'll ever forget that.
My constant thanks to the makers of the Leappad, which occupied Maya for hours and hours of drive time.
One miserable evening spent attempting to get to a restaurant...any restaurant...as bedtime approached and the confusing center lanes of the highway caused us to reroute frustratingly close to several dining options that we just couldn't seem to access. Ending up at a Red Lobster and wolfing down dinner just before Noah entered meltdown mode.
The palpable excitement as we drove into Sesame Place amid light rain showers on our way to Breakfast with Elmo. And having a fully-satisfying experience (despite the less-than-stellar buffet options) as Maya's eyes grew wide with wonder watching her TV friends approach to give her hugs and say hello. So priceless. Actually, there was a price, but we're choosing not to think about that...
The rain clearing as we left breakfast to go explore the rest of the park, beginning with a successful merry-go-round experience, a terrifying Elmo ride "I didn't like the up-and-down, Mama!", and the redeeming teacups, hot air balloon chase, and Elmo fish attractions.
The somehow cozy atmosphere in spite of the theme park setting. Seeing the same families throughout the day, and having plenty to do without feeling overwhelmed by territory to cover.
Three stage shows, where the best entertainment was watching Maya's eyes dance along with the characters.
The "Rock around the Block" parade, which didn't disappoint, even as it left me humming Huey Lewis' "The Heart of Rock and Roll" and Gloria Estefan's "Conga" alternately for several days straight afterward.
Spending hours in the shallow sections of the water park, enjoying the sight of Maya tirelessly scampering through the sprinkling jets and tiny fountains, and letting Noah have the first feel of his tiny feet in the pool.
Uneaten $8.00 chicken strips, passed over for the far-too-tempting Elmo cupcake. Why did we allow that? Vacation mindset, I suppose.
Dinner at Macaroni Grill that night, where watching Maya was like watching an addict come down from a high. And taking a huge piece of cheesecake back to the hotel to share after the kids were asleep.
A peaceful drive from Philadephia to Baltimore, immediately followed by a hair-raising leg from Baltimore to Washington D.C. Highway driving + screaming six-month-old = frayed nerves.
Having family portraits taken by a stunningly talented photographer who also happens to be a friend that we got to meet in person for the first time.
All of us sleeping in one morning after a few particularly exhausting days, getting an unexpected but so totally worth it late start on our next travels.
Eating dinner one-at-a-time a couple of evenings as Noah decided that he had been traveling for too long to allow us a peaceful restaurant experience close to bedtime. He did become the official greeter at the Outback Steakhouse in Maumee, OH one such evening, however - charming all who entered, even as he protested entering personally.
The joys of traveling with a GPS device and constant internet access. So freakishly cool...I don't ever want to do it another way again. Spoiled? Yes. But admitting it is the first step.
10 days of hotel stays and restaurant meals. My kind of vacation!
The close proximity of everything on the East Coast. Several major cities within a couple hours of each other, compared to the wide expanses between areas of activity in our Midwestern surroundings.
The realization, once again, of just how big the world is. And the wonder of God's creation as reflected in the familiar flatlands of Indiana and Ohio, the gorgeous green hills of Pennsylvania, the brilliant views from the edge of the Appalachians...as well as in the beautiful uniqueness of each person we were privileged to cross paths with - the vast array of differences that remind me that the world doesn't revolve around my life and circumstances, and the similarities that underscore the elements of humanity that bind us together.
The incredible love and appreciation I have for my husband and children. I am blessed beyond belief.
It was fantastic.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Pass by quickly and carefully on your way to The Gap.
I faced a fear head-on this weekend. I wish I could say that it was one of those inspiring, courageous leaps that would earn me one of those little feature spots in Readers Digest, my picture placed next to the tale of a triumph over adversity. But alas, it was instead one of those fear-facing moments that caused me to (literally) turn on my heels and go scuttling back in the direction from whence I came, certain to never make the same mistake again...
I entered a Hollister clothing store.
Oh, I've walked by them many a time. Averting my eyes so that the half-dressed teenage employees standing at the entrance with glassy-eyed expressions that prove their coolness will not have the opportunity to beckon me with their mumbled "welcometoHollistereverything's 20percentofftoday" enticements. But I've never actually entered one. For two reasons. One, I'm nearly twenty-nine years old. Which makes me approximately twice as old as their typical shopper. And two, the place scares the bejeebers out of me. I mean, there are those aforementioned scary kids at the door. Then there's the throbbing music that you can feel pulsating through the floor as you pass by. But the weirdest thing? It's, like, pitch black in there. Seriously, were it not for the music and mumblers outside, I'd have no clue that the store was even open. I read once that cats can see perfectly in a dark room using only the light from a VCR clock. So I have a theory that pre-teens are part feline, in that they can see inside a Hollister store simply using the light from the cash register. Or each other's cell phones.
Anyway, why did I go in? Particularly when I have such an aversion to this store that I've already placed a lifetime ban on my children shopping there? I know, looking back it was totally hypocritical and completely regrettable. But you see, I was in a cargo pants-induced frenzy. My sister and I hit the outlet mall to find me some clothes that actually fit. Shedding this pregnancy weight, while lovely, has left me with very few pairs of pants that don't hang off of me. So I found some jeans, but I really wanted a pair of lightweight cargo pants for summertime. My old standby, Old Navy, let me down. Seriously, their stuff is weird this year. And after scouring several more stores, we were stumped. Where were the cargo pants? Out of style? I don't care. Finally, my sister turned to me and said, exhaling deeply, "Ok...we could look at Hollister."
We stared at each other solemnly, neither one of us wanting to face the reality of what she had just suggested. But she's a few years younger than me and about a million times more style-conscious, so I knew that if there were cargo pants to be found, she'd know where to find them.
"Can we even do that?", I asked.
"Yes." She answered. "It's scary and it's weird and we'll hate it. But they might have cargo pants."
And so focused was I on the task at hand that I agreed.
As we approached the store, she gave me a pep talk, "Let's just move quickly...and don't look directly at anyone while we're in there..." And soon, that cave-like entryway was right in front of us, the freakishly loud music already making it hard to hear each other. With a deep breath, we pushed our way into the chaos. Another element that you can't appreciate from the outside? The smell. Teenage perfume, apparently piped in through the vents, and covering everything with the subtle scent of hormones. Peering into the darkness, we made a beeline for what we could just make out as a clothing rack about 20 yards ahead. Shirts? Pants? Who knew. They really need to provide seeing-eye dogs for any shopper over the age of twenty-one.
On the way there, an employee called out (they're louder inside) "How are you today?"
"Hrmna mrnma", we mumbled, careful not to make eye contact.
When we reached the rack, we hurriedly brought a couple of articles of clothing a few inches from our faces, in an attempt to determine what exactly we had stumbled upon. Pants! But (going completely on feel, here), apparently corduroy flare trousers. Strike one. "Over here!", my sister shouted. I followed the sound of her voice to another rack, where she had found something with promising zippers and buttons. "Hmmm, no!", she called over the music. "They feel like capri-length!." Strike two. We lurched around the check-out station which had suddenly appeared to our right, as we stepped quickly in time to the driving beat of the music. "Hey, I think my eyes are adjusting!", I said, spotting a row of pants that appeared as though they may be in the cargo family. They were...but they were also men's. We had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the store. Strike three. I'm out. "That's it, I'm done!", I said. And we rushed toward the light, the fresh air, the calm and quiet of the outside.
"Well." We walked thoughtfully a few moments before mutually deciding, "Won't do that again."
We ended up back at The Gap. The nice, calm, unscented Gap. Where the light switches were set to the "On" position, the music played at an appropriate volume, and the employees were fully dressed and appeared old enough to drive. And I did buy a pair of pants there. They weren't exactly what I had been hoping for, but they will do. And I purchased them, in part, in thanks to a store that didn't make me feel like I needed to shower immediately after leaving the premises.
So that is the harrowing tale of my search for cargo pants. The moral of this story is, pants - no matter how comfortable, flattering, adjustable, and fun - are not worth ignoring that little voice in your head. And I'm not talking about God's voice this time, although certainly pants aren't worth ignoring His either. I'm talking about that voice that says, "Don't go in there. You're not part-cat anymore. And you will hate it."
I entered a Hollister clothing store.
Oh, I've walked by them many a time. Averting my eyes so that the half-dressed teenage employees standing at the entrance with glassy-eyed expressions that prove their coolness will not have the opportunity to beckon me with their mumbled "welcometoHollistereverything's 20percentofftoday" enticements. But I've never actually entered one. For two reasons. One, I'm nearly twenty-nine years old. Which makes me approximately twice as old as their typical shopper. And two, the place scares the bejeebers out of me. I mean, there are those aforementioned scary kids at the door. Then there's the throbbing music that you can feel pulsating through the floor as you pass by. But the weirdest thing? It's, like, pitch black in there. Seriously, were it not for the music and mumblers outside, I'd have no clue that the store was even open. I read once that cats can see perfectly in a dark room using only the light from a VCR clock. So I have a theory that pre-teens are part feline, in that they can see inside a Hollister store simply using the light from the cash register. Or each other's cell phones.
Anyway, why did I go in? Particularly when I have such an aversion to this store that I've already placed a lifetime ban on my children shopping there? I know, looking back it was totally hypocritical and completely regrettable. But you see, I was in a cargo pants-induced frenzy. My sister and I hit the outlet mall to find me some clothes that actually fit. Shedding this pregnancy weight, while lovely, has left me with very few pairs of pants that don't hang off of me. So I found some jeans, but I really wanted a pair of lightweight cargo pants for summertime. My old standby, Old Navy, let me down. Seriously, their stuff is weird this year. And after scouring several more stores, we were stumped. Where were the cargo pants? Out of style? I don't care. Finally, my sister turned to me and said, exhaling deeply, "Ok...we could look at Hollister."
We stared at each other solemnly, neither one of us wanting to face the reality of what she had just suggested. But she's a few years younger than me and about a million times more style-conscious, so I knew that if there were cargo pants to be found, she'd know where to find them.
"Can we even do that?", I asked.
"Yes." She answered. "It's scary and it's weird and we'll hate it. But they might have cargo pants."
And so focused was I on the task at hand that I agreed.
As we approached the store, she gave me a pep talk, "Let's just move quickly...and don't look directly at anyone while we're in there..." And soon, that cave-like entryway was right in front of us, the freakishly loud music already making it hard to hear each other. With a deep breath, we pushed our way into the chaos. Another element that you can't appreciate from the outside? The smell. Teenage perfume, apparently piped in through the vents, and covering everything with the subtle scent of hormones. Peering into the darkness, we made a beeline for what we could just make out as a clothing rack about 20 yards ahead. Shirts? Pants? Who knew. They really need to provide seeing-eye dogs for any shopper over the age of twenty-one.
On the way there, an employee called out (they're louder inside) "How are you today?"
"Hrmna mrnma", we mumbled, careful not to make eye contact.
When we reached the rack, we hurriedly brought a couple of articles of clothing a few inches from our faces, in an attempt to determine what exactly we had stumbled upon. Pants! But (going completely on feel, here), apparently corduroy flare trousers. Strike one. "Over here!", my sister shouted. I followed the sound of her voice to another rack, where she had found something with promising zippers and buttons. "Hmmm, no!", she called over the music. "They feel like capri-length!." Strike two. We lurched around the check-out station which had suddenly appeared to our right, as we stepped quickly in time to the driving beat of the music. "Hey, I think my eyes are adjusting!", I said, spotting a row of pants that appeared as though they may be in the cargo family. They were...but they were also men's. We had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the store. Strike three. I'm out. "That's it, I'm done!", I said. And we rushed toward the light, the fresh air, the calm and quiet of the outside.
"Well." We walked thoughtfully a few moments before mutually deciding, "Won't do that again."
We ended up back at The Gap. The nice, calm, unscented Gap. Where the light switches were set to the "On" position, the music played at an appropriate volume, and the employees were fully dressed and appeared old enough to drive. And I did buy a pair of pants there. They weren't exactly what I had been hoping for, but they will do. And I purchased them, in part, in thanks to a store that didn't make me feel like I needed to shower immediately after leaving the premises.
So that is the harrowing tale of my search for cargo pants. The moral of this story is, pants - no matter how comfortable, flattering, adjustable, and fun - are not worth ignoring that little voice in your head. And I'm not talking about God's voice this time, although certainly pants aren't worth ignoring His either. I'm talking about that voice that says, "Don't go in there. You're not part-cat anymore. And you will hate it."
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