Falsies

that's right, falsies. i'll come right out and say it. i'm not ashamed. i love the way they look and feel and i love the speed at which they can turn heads and bring focus to one very specific part of my body.

my eyes.

i am not what you might call "glamorous". i have the potential to be--i'm 6' tall with a textured buzz cut and basically no chest. i am a drag queen waiting to happen. except i'm a woman.

my aunt got married last night (BEAUTIFUL ceremony--possibly the most well thought out, classic, fun wedding i've been to), and with all of the yuck going on with my sister (see here), i was selfishly in need of a pick me up.

and then it dawned on me. a few months ago i bought fake eyelashes in an effort to surprise my husband. if you can't follow where that's going, you might want to stop reading my blog. if you can follow, don't bust out your "YOU GO GIRL" just yet. because i never wore them. i was too busy being un-glamorous to make it happen. that's the kind of wife i am. 

but i had a rockin glittery dress to wear (which, consequently turned my son into a gaga-esque drag queen because he was OBSESSED with the glitter, would grab it, try to eat it, and end up covered it in as the night progressed) and some pretty fabulous jewelry (which i had to remove as the night progressed because of baby gaga's equal obsession with it and my desire to keep the hole in my ear just that, and not a gash). so the eyelashes were whipped out. or peeled, whatever.

i got them from target for $4. 

they looked amazing.

i wore the most bland ones i had (i bought 3 pairs... don't judge). now, bland fake eyelashes don't really exist, but these didn't have glitter or feathers or varying height. they were straight across, just a bit longer than my real lashes.

but they made a world of difference!! and they were SUPER easy to apply!!! holy moly! my eyes looked sooooo much more dramatic! i found myself staring in mirrors all night and making plans to get up every morning so i could carefully decorate my peepers in preparation for the day's activities (which would include feeding my 8 month old son, playing with him, changing his poopy diapers, making more food, getting thrown up on, sweating while cleaning, and then passing out while drooling).

when it came time for the reception, i passed my sleepy son to my disinterested father and they went home so mama could PARTY!!! WOOOO!!!!

so i hit the dance floor! and immediately a slow song comes on. well EFF, my husband is 1000 miles away. and everyone here saw me with a kid, plus i'm wearing a GIANT wedding ring set, sooooo nobody is going to ask me to dance. i would have been better off as a drag queen.

the obvious decision if you can't dance is to hit the open bar (hello long line of pink margaritas!). 

bartender: "what can i get you?"

me: "something delicious that doesn't contain vodka"

INTERJECTION!!!!! if you are at a wedding and feeling fabulous in a short littler glittery number, donning falsies and overly excited about your first night out without a baby in 8 months, and you ask for something delicious, bartenders assume you are drunk off your ass.

bartender hands me drink

me: "what's in this??"

bartender: "rum" 

me: "ooou, i like rum! thanks!"

so i take a sip.

it is straight whiskey. STRA-RAAAAAAIGHT. JACK. DANIELS. whaaaaaaa!?!?!?!!?!? I CAN'T DRINK THIS!!! I'M NOT DRUNK ENOUGH!!!! the point of going to the bar was to work my way UP to straight jack daniels!!!! frick!

by now we're back to the real songs, and wouldn't ya know it, "bad romance" blasts through the speakers.

so i grab my cousin's lady friend and as we're going to the floor, i kid you not, 3 complete strangers tell me "oh, you could totally pull off gaga!!"

now, i'm a little thrown by this comment. i realize it's meant to be a compliment, or at least i assume so, because they were smiling.

but it could very well mean "lady, you'd make one fine drag queen! hell, for all we know, you ARE one fine drag queen!"

i decided it didn't matter. whether people thought i was a lunatic or friggin hot, their opinions would never be able to derail the awesomeness of our interpretive dance to journey's "don't stop believing", or the sheer mind-blowing glory of my aunt and i as we rocked out to "footloose".

buy fake eyelashes. they will change your life. at least for a night. when combined with liquor. and glitter.

also, if you think of it, please pray for my sister, brother in law, and their tiny baby. again, you can check out the story here

Beet it!

ok, let's talk about farmer's markets. i love 'em. i love farmers. they're so quaint! and rude!!!

go into a farmer's market wearing skinny jeans, giant bug-eye sunglasses, spikey peep-toes and a deliberately tattered t-shirt. they will make fun of you. roll their eyes. and when you ask "what's this?"  while holding up a bell pepper, they will walk out of the barn and laugh at you. hysterically. i've seen it happen. don't ever mistake a farmer for a fool.

i'm into this whole green/organic fad society's got going on. we use cloth diapers, i make my own baby food, i garden, we drive one car, and we even bought energy efficient light bulbs.

move over al gore, we got this.

i made an attempt this summer to plant foods that i'm unfamiliar with. of course i included my cliche buddies--tomatoes, peas, cucumbers, and a host of herbs (all of which are doing beautifully). peppers and lettuce were an introduction for my green thumb. okra and beets would meet my taste buds for the first time.

the peas are doing alright. the okra, lettuce, cucumber, cayenne, and petite bell pepper plants are surprisingly prolific.

the beets failed. one beet made it, and it's really not that impressive and probably will never be edible. i was not entirely upset about this.

when i think of beets, i imagine eating something that looks, tastes, and stains like a heart. even doug funny's excitement over beets couldn't convince me.

i went to a local farmer's market yesterday to get some fresh vegetables for a summer salad. wide variety of peppers for $.35 each? yes please. banana, italian, green bell, serrano... mmmmm... sweet corn, red potatoes, plums, peaches, sweet potatoes, butternut squash (a bit early!!!!), red onion, yellow squash, eggplant, green beans....

I'M IN HEAVEN!!

and then i saw it. a container of beets. i almost walked by. but my mom loves beets and she was so excited about having a garden overflowing with them, and my poor research skills had left her out to dry. (fyi, beets DO NOT transplant. they just die.) so i grabbed a container of 4 and walked out with plans to make her a beet and onion salad, which i would have no part in eating.

back home. roasted/grilled/sauteed everything with fresh herbs. let me just tell you now, the smell created by fresh vegetables and herbs is unlike anything that produce from your super wal-mart could ever rival. magnificent.

as i peeled the skin from my roasted beets, i couldn't help my fascination at how little they smelled like what i assume a heart does. they weren't bleeding either!! no aorta to be found.

and the color these little bulbs left on my hand was literally brilliant in every sense of the word. i couldn't resist. i skeptically popped a wedge in, fully expecting a giant squirt of beet-heart-blood-juice to infiltrate my mouth causing immediate vomiting all over my mom's beet salad.

beets are delicious. they have this taste that vaguely resembles roasted corn, but so much better. and the texture is unbelievable. it's a marvelous food.

so i scarfed down an entire bowl of beety, oniony deliciousness. my mom and i are fighting over the leftovers.

one major downside to beets? aside from the strange looks you get from people when you rant and rave about how amazing they are (you would think you were telling people you were eating a beating heart!)...

you pee pink.

yep. you read it right.

so if you aren't prepared, you'll go to the bathroom, stand up, clean up, turn around, look down and GASP because you have obviously filled the bowl with blood from a UTI that you didn't even realize you had.

now, on the PLUS side of that scenario-- UTIs that cause blood in the urine are usually pretty bad. as in your-kidneys-are-already-infected-bad. but since you won't be feeling any burning, pain, or frequent urges to hit the john, you will suddenly believe that you must have developed super-hero caliber pain tolerance overnight.

downside to that? you might try to jump off your building cheerleader-claire style. you will break.

but when your loved ones are nursing you back to health while you sit calmly in traction (sedatives, anyone?), hopefully someone will remember that beets are a powerhouse food, bursting with folate (great for pregnancy), potassium, fiber (both great for digestion), vitamin c, and iron (also both great during pregnancy!). they also boast the highest natural concentrations of sugar of all the veggies, with shockingly low calorie content-- about 74 calories per cup.

i also hope, for your sake, that someone realizes that your pink pee came from beets. wouldn't want to get you on unnecessary antibiotics. because obviously at that point antibiotics would be one of your biggest concerns.

support your local farmers and your body!! EAT MORE VEGETATION!!!

Mommy long legs??

i realize that for many women this would be nothing to complain about. but those women have obviously never been mistaken for a flamingo while wading in the ocean.

ok, that might not have happened. BUT IT COULD! however, that would mostly be due to the horrific color of reddish-pink that i turn after too many hours in the sun with too little sunscreen.

my parents are polar opposites in a great many ways. my mom is 5'2.5", animated, decorative, and has a tendency to be a little dramatic. you may thank her for my personality. my dad is 6'3" if he stands up straight, quiet, republican, a master handy man, and lives in the garage. you may thank him for my height.

my mother prides herself on her "amazing calves". my father has flamingo legs.

let's interject here. i think the term "chicken legs" is ridiculous. have you ever seen a chicken's legs!?! they can't compose more than 1/30th of a chicken's height. flamingo or emu legs is much more accurate--how often do you use the term "chicken legs" with someone whose legs comprise .03% of their body? NEVER.

ok, back to the topic at hand. or at leg. i'm not sure where we are any more...

LEGS

seeing pictures like these makes me cringe. first of all, could i be more awkward and lame? no, i don't think i could. second, why am i so white? cripes leanne, go get a freakin spray tan. third, why are my legs longer than the nile and thinner than my split ends?

if i'm going to be forced to live with legs like ghandi's, i think i should be canonized right now. logically, ghandi had stick legs, i have stick legs, he was a saint, i want to be a saint to. but i don't want to do any of the nice stuff.

i have often wished in silence that somehow my legs would get blown off and i could get prosthesis that were 3 inches shorter than my current legs are. the major problem with this is finding a way to legitimately blow off both legs at in or around the same spot without drawing suspicion. or bleeding out. that's a concern too.

you know, come to think of it, losing limbs sort of gives you a pass on the whole "suspicion of criminal activity" thing. thanks for that life lesson, harrison ford.

so, what i need now is a way to get rid of my legs. do you think there's a leg bank out there where i can donate my excess to someone in need?

just be sure to tell them that the legs are lacking. not in inches. in genetic make-up. anybody who gets my leftovers is risking developing an awkward personality, irreversibly pale melanin, and an obnoxious level of narcissism.

wait.

if i get my legs blown off, i will no longer be able to see over crowds or threaten my mother with "if you don't stop, i am going to step on you". i will also lose my ability to leap across a room in 3 steps and stop my son from slicing his fingers off on a box fan.

i think i'll hang on to my mommy long legs and focus on that personality transplant i'm going to need before i start modeling for ann taylor.

The Hard Times.

i am sadly a part of a generation that expects everything to just be handed to them. let me clarify, i do not think that my friends (for the most part) feel that way.

but let's talk for a moment about teenagers who get new cars for their 16th birthdays, or whose parents pay for every cent of their college education and living expenses whilst they party away and change their major 12 times, or the kids who demand that their parents shell out thousands of dollars for a wedding that unites a couple who consider hangovers "the hard times".

i'm annoyed by these people. mostly because i envy them i suppose. i would love to have had life handed to me on a silver platter. my life was by no means horrific, but it hasn't exactly been peaches and ice cream and puppies and rainbows.

we didn't really hear much about my parents' early years of marriage until we were a bit older. well, we probably heard about it but kids develop hearing disorders from about age 9-19. they can't hear anything adults say unless it's "i have something for you". we also don't remember much about it.

my parents ate beans and hot dogs for a year. literally. we did too. i think mac and cheese was thrown in there. they bought a house and had a daughter. they got pregnant with me 3 years later and because of an enormous property tax increase that year, their mortgage literally doubled. my dad's company laid off every supervisor that year as well. except my dad. he stayed and over the next year while they struggled and refused to ask for help, he worked his way up the money ladder. there was no WIC, they didn't qualify for welfare (because they had too much in assets. way to encourage homeowning, gov't). they just had to do it.

when my parents talk about that time in their life, they still sound disturbed by the whole situation. it was hard times. they almost didn't make it.. but they also sound proud, because somehow they DID make it, marriage in tact, children healthy and nutritionally balanced.

i went to target yesterday to hit a 75% off sale on summer goods. i was picking out items that would match the colors i'm trying to build my home around (red in the kitchen, blue/green in the dining room, black and white in the living room, etc.). i have that luxury now, to spend $30 on items that fit my visions of home decor.

and that made me want to cry, because less than 2 years ago, that wasn't the case.

i had gotten married while my fiance was on his 18 day vacation from iraq. he left and the place i was living very suddenly became not so livable, due more to my own discomfort than anything else. i decided to just move to my husband's base, where i would have been going in 3 months anyway.

this was a bad idea. i had nothing, and i mean NOTHING. there was no microwave in the apartment and i had utensils, a few cooking instruments (think spatula, spoon, ladle, whisk, rice cooker, and hand blender), and 3 pyrex baking dishes. i had a set of miniature antique bowls, plates, and tea cups. they were neither microwavable nor big. not that it mattered, i had no microwave, so i couldn't make large servings of anything anyway because it was wasteful.

i slept on an air mattress with my computer next to my bed so i could skype with my husband. this is literally every piece of tangible anything that i owned: an air mattress, a few blankets, 2 pillows, my clothes (no hangars and no dresser), a few rubbermaids, a jewelry case (with no jewelry), my computer, utensils, a few cooking supplies, 3 pyrex dishes, and a sheer brown curtain (no rod). i think there were a few picture frames.

i made a visit to my sister's place and she saved my life. she gave me a trash can, a sheet set, a wicker chair, a computer desk, hangars, a small plastic end table, some candle holders, and the most useful gift of all-- a pot.

i got home and tried to fill our nearly 1200 sq ft apartment with our new goods. guess what? i failed. too much space, not nearly enough stuff. but it was better than before.

for the next 1.5 months i lived on macaroni and cheese, rice, and cholula. no lie. they could both be re-heated with some degree of ease in the pot and if i added canned chicken i had most of my basic nutritional needs covered. fruit came from bananas and ketchup. not together. that's just disgusting.

my husband was in the last group of men to come home from iraq, nearly 3 weeks later than everyone else. while he was stuck in kuwait he robbed a bunch of men blind playing poker. those poor dumb men bought us a brand new queen sized-pillowtop mattress and cherry sleigh bed set, a cherry dresser, a dining room table, a microwave, washer and dryer, entertainment center, 40" flat screen, a couch and love seat, and a host of other goodies (including a curtain rod for that sheer curtain, which went up in our bedroom).


H came home from iraq to a furnished home and full, functional kitchen (his father and stepmother supplied us with two of the 10 greatest gifts anyone has ever given me-- an all-clad skillet and sauce pan. incredible pieces of cookware. absolutely amazing.). he deserved it. i had spent a month and a half living meagerly. H spent 14 months that way in iraq.

18 months later, i can drive to target and shop the clearance rack for decorations and extras. that's a quick turnaround. i bought 3 dresses this summer and 6 new tops. H has new things too. oh, and we have a 7 month old baby, did i mention that?

we've spent more than 1/3 of our marriage in different states. we've seen some rough times, and i suspect we will see even more over the years. i still shudder when i think about living off of rice and mac'n'cheese, sleeping on a lonely air mattress and picking out my clothes from a stack on the floor. i still only shop the racks that are 75% or more off unless it's absolutely necessary that i look elsewhere.

but i'm already proud of us too. and i know we can get through a lot of life's trials without really bickering or freaking out. we've learned to pick our battles. we've learned a little bit about what's worth fighting for and what won't matter in 3 days.

hint: most of it won't matter in 3 days.

i wonder what percentage of my classmates from high school, or even college, will be able to say that in 10 years. i wonder who will think that hard times is driving two cars that are both more than 5 years old. i wonder who will be in debt up to their ear-balls trying to impress people who don't even matter.

and i wonder how many people will really have had hard times, who might have a slightly overgrown hair cut and a home-dye job, whose shirts won't be dry cleaned and will still have remnants of spit up and sweat, who will be driving their cars into the ground and still shopping the clearance racks.

and i wonder how many of those people will become bitter and how many will become wiser.

i hope i end up in the wiser group. and i hope we all go shopping at an outlet mall and run to the clearance racks.

and i hope i find better deals than everyone else :)

Cupcake Chicken

that's right. cupcakes. chicken. together at last.

it's the combo you've been waiting for. tender, moist, juicy chicken topped with decadent, creamy, sweet cream cheese frosting.

if you're mouth is watering with anticipation, you should consult a psychiatrist immediately. don't delay.

on a recent trip to this place:

we got to spend some WONDERFUL quality time with family, including my cousin andrew, who consequently is an amazing chef and has the second cutest kind on the face of the planet (the first of course is my son). he introduced us to cupcake chicken.

the trip to the lake house was our first time to see my husband in a month, and it was a 4 day weekend for him, so we got plenty of daddy time. after we parted ways and both went to our temporary homes, we were chatting on skype one night.

me: what was your favorite part of the trip?
h: i can't really pick one...
me: ok, your top 3.
h: jp climbing all over me in the bed in the morning, jet-skiing with you, and cupcake chicken.

(NOTE! WE DON'T CO-SLEEP!!! when jp wakes up at 7am, i am still too groggy to function, so he plays in bed with me while i wake up. this routine was started before i discovered coffee.)

so, obviously, cupcake chicken has amazing powers.

while transplanting my tomatoes into bigger pots this morning (in case you were wondering, planting nearly 40 seeds of tomatoes because you're afraid most will die is a poor idea. you'll end up with more tomato plants than you can ever give away.), i noticed that some of my plants needed pruning, the thyme in particular.

i ended up cutting off nearly half of the plant and didn't want to let fresh thyme go to waste. we happen to have my sister and BIL in town (and she's prego!) so we have quite a few mouths to feed-- cupcake chicken it is!!

literally cupcake shaped chicken. it's on the grill right now. if only i could grill up some of these along with it

but alas, they are not yet ripe!

want the recipe for this miraculous chicken? i knew you did.

Dry rub:

1/2 c brown sugar

1/4 c paprika

1 tbls each salt, pepper, garlic salt, onion powder, chili powder

1 tsp cayenne pepper

12 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs

muffin tins

grease up those cupcake tins!

open up the chicken thighs and cut the bone out of each one

rub some of your bbq-y concoction all over the inside

roll it up with the skin on the outside and put the bottom of you chicken thigh-ball into the muffin tin. it should look like a muffin with a chicken skin top. 

slather some more of the dry rub atop those puppies

do it to all of 'em

bake/grill at 275 until the internal temp reads 165 degrees

pull the skin off and CHOW DOWN!!!!!

feel free to share some delicious grill ideas with me. i basically idolize food. 

Sleeping Beauty

nevermind that the previews show movies that are coming out in fall of 1997. disregard the fact that we almost settled on aurora as a fitting name if we were to have a daughter. try to ignore the fact that i'm watching it on vhs and every time i pause it and press play again i lose about 1.3 seconds of sound. all of those things alone could easily make me giddy while i sit here on my dad's recliner staring at the t.v.

sleeping beauty is one of disney's greatest animated creations. think about it.

maleficent is one of the most wicked, sexy, powerful villains to ever fill out a burka. i think the stepmother in cinderella rivals her, but they could be related.

sleeping beauty herself is stunning, the fairies are hilarious and dumb as bricks, maleficent's animals are as creepy as they come, and i personally think the fight scene outside of maleficent's castle is the scariest animated battle of them all. the sheer awe created by the (sadly) outdated chorus trumpeting out narrations swells my heart.

i start melting when i hear "i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream..." what girl doesn't dream of a perfect man? to be the girl who actually finds that man, at 16, in the middle of the woods on your birthday while pulling off baby-blonde locks and a 36-13-34 figure... well, that's why they call it a fairy tale.

and let's focus on that prince for just a moment, shall we? we shall.

Prince Phillip. capital p's. he deserves them.

HANDS DOWN he is the hottest prince of any disney movie. prince eric (no capital letters for him) comes close, and i think aladdin is my bronze medal. that may be in part because i know who did the voice over for aladdin.

but prince phillip... daaaaaaaaaaaang. that little cap... that strong jaw... that gorgeous voice... am i swooning over a cartoon character? i am. and you wanna know something?

i'm not the only one.

 i can't honestly tell you if this makes me feel better or horrified.

what i can tell you is that i love me some disney movies, and i'm delighted to be spending my son's naptime watching my favorite.

when he wakes up we're throwing fantasia in. that way he'll know what an acid trip is like. by the time his peers offer it to him he'll just sneer at them-- "seriously, you guys are just figuring out how crazy that stuff is now? i was over that by the time i was 4. get a new hobby"

Obligation

i don't really have anything significant to post about, but it's been a few days, and i feel like i should say something or this whole thing is just going to fall into that pile of things that i've started and never finished.

that pile is already enormous and composting, so if this gets thrown on top, it's going to get eaten by the bacteria created by guitar lessons, running, daily baby massages, half of the jobs i've worked, shaving my legs more than once a month, wearing make-up, and all the other failed endeavors of my life. :)

the herbal tea for JP's ear infection is doing its job. the antibiotics? notsomuch. the initial dose was too low and the infection spread to the other ear and to his chest. the day before we got on a plane for an impromptu trip to see daddy.

i warned everyone who sat around me. i also gave the boy benadryl before boarding. i had a nice ring of free space created by annoyed travelers who wanted nothing more than to be as far from a screaming baby as they could legally get, and he slept the whole plane ride. WINNER! he's on a higher dose now and things are clearing up, in case you were concerned.

on the topic of obligation, let's talk about ham.

i hate ham. hate it. all forms. no piggies for me. i ate vegetarian for quite a while-- pregnancy made me lose so much weight that i had to come back to my old friend meat to put pounds back on so my cute little sea monkey could grow. but i've never been able to reconcile with pork.

i'm not sure why i hate pork so much. i could make up reasons for the sake of being funny--something about an attachment to porky pig or thinking that pork was made from toes from playing too much "this little piggie", but the truth is, i just don't like it. i don't enjoy the texture, flavor, or color.

when my brother passed away 5 years ago, we got 4 (FOUR) entire hams. ENTIRE. whole. frickin. hams. we were told it's a polish thing? funeral hams? ham is some super food and if you freeze it, it lasts forever (yet another reason, in my opinion to be scared of it). none of us like ham.

i find myself dreading going to other people's holiday celebrations because i'm always afraid that someone will have raised, killed, cured, and honey baked a ham in their backyard and will be offended if i do not eat it. or they will have shelled out ungodly amounts of money for a ham and will likewise be offended, even though they put no work in and were dumb enough to spend that kind of moolah on a FRICKIN HAM.

perhaps ham has a direct influence on my love for jews?

anyway, i was in labor with my son for 28 hours, and modern day docs won't let you eat while in labor (there is no legitimate logic to this. i can't even make jokes about it. if you look up the reasons why you aren't supposed to eat, it's part of an obnoxious cycle started by impatient doctors. but that's a soapbox rant, and this is not a soapbox. it's a blog. it's not even 3 dimensional). so when i finally had my son at 6:37 am, we finished things out, got him into the nicu, and breakfast was served. i WOLFED it down. we're talking takeru kobayashi style. and then i asked for another tray.

nurse- "oh, honey, we're serving our christmas lunch today!! it's going to be a huge portion, i promise you're going to want to save room!!"

this nurse was angelic to me during my 28 hours of labor. she was hilarious, understanding, just great. so i felt obligated to take her advice, against my better judgment (and the screams from my STARVING body).

3 hours later, a tray is presented to me. my son is still in the nicu, i have all this time to eat and relax. i slowly, happily open the lid, expecting an enormous serving of turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, apple and pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes, the works.

it's a chunk of freakin ham. one measly scoop of mashed potatoes, and that's it. this is what i've waited 3 hours on an empty stomach for. now i have nothing to eat for lunch. hilarious. awesome. wonderful. even better?

baby came back from the nicu at dinner time. aside from babysitters, i have not eaten a single meal without interruption since then.

let this be a warning unto you: just because someone has spent 28 hours staring at your cash and prizes and coaxed you through the pain of pushing a watermelon out of a lemon, that does not mean you have to do what she says. feel free to hit her and demand more pancakes.

you'll thank me for that later.