Move over Bridezilla-

Here comes WIDEZILLA.

My wedding dress finally came in! My mom ordered it for me, so I tried it on when I went over there for our weekly family dinner last Wednesday. I'm sorry, I don't think "tried it on" is the right term, because that implies that I could actually get the damn thing on.

All my life, I've been between sizes. I'm one of those people who has to try everything on, and being pregnant is no exception. They tell you to order based on your pre-pregnancy size, but I don't think there is a seamstress in the world who could anticipate how big my belly is in comparison to the rest of me. (Stop rolling your eyes, dear reader. If it makes me feel better to blame it on the dress maker, LET ME HAVE THAT, OK?)

So, back the dress goes, with another one, a bigger one, on it's way. I believe the dress is being walked over from Pennsylvania, based on the shipping estimate. The other problem is that Dress V.2 is going to be way too large, and will require a great deal of altering to give the illusion of "Nicole In A Dress" and not, "I thought I was coming to a wedding, why is there a huge circus tent walking down the aisle- oh wait, it has a face! Is that... NIK?" Under normal circumstances, alterations would be a mild annoyance. In my present world? UM, YIKES. I need this in three weeks!

Well, there you go. I've felt like lately, this blog has been severely lacking in entries of the "Bitching and Moaning" variety. Up next? Probably something gooshy about Chris. We got our marriage license today!

Infectious grooves ?

Chris went in yesterday to do the routine Drug Testing for his new job, and after he was done, he picked me up from work and we went and grabbed lunch. As soon as he started up his car, reggae music came blasting through the stereo.

Him: "Sorry babe, I just felt like listening to reggae now that my drug test is over with."
Me: "What do you mean, 'now that my drug test is over'?"
Him: "Well, I couldn't listen to it before my drug test. This reggae music is potent stuff."

On writing our vows...

Chris and I are working with Revered Stan to pen out the wedding ceremony, and as we were reading a list of tradtional openings (as in "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here together...") I wondered, Do you think I could convince Reverend Stan to do this???

The Story of Us.

Tonight, I started filling out paperwork for the Reverend who is going to marry Chris and me, and about halfway through page five, when I was listing his maternal and paternal grandparents, something hit me.

I haven't practiced my new signature!

I immediately grabbed the first piece of scrap paper I could lay my hands on and started practicing. As I scribbled my new name over and over again, I thought about some of my favorite moments with Chris and felt like I had been run over by a huge Mac Truck carrying a lifetime supply of Lucky.

Often, when my mind has time to wander, I think about the first time we met. I was fairly certain I'd never find what I was looking for, and was still letting the super glue dry on my broken heart. Chris was a San Diegan who had spent the last few years in San Francisco, and had followed a job lead out to My Neck Of The Woods. As fate would have it, not only did I know his new boss, but I had caught the bouquet at his wedding. After a quarter of a century wondering about my future husband, I met him on my very own doorstep. If either one of has had done just one little thing differently, none of this ever would have happened. It's something that boggles my mind, that overwhelms me, that makes me believe in love and fate and God and makes me like a country song.

And now, aforementioned Love of My Life is home, so I'm going to exit stage left.


I can't believe I made it through an entire post with little to no sarcasm! Expect overcompensation tomorrow!

A creamy sauce for my stuffed shells, possibly?

This weekend, I'm trading in my lazy days off without the kids for two 8 hours days at work. Downside- running around all day. Upside- not only am I making some extra money, but more importantly, I'm not giving myself the opportunity to spend any money.

It's a wee bit after 10, and I stopped by the grocery store on my way home for work so I can make a dinner for Chris and I to eat together when he gets home. I know it's a little late for dinner, but hey, at least I'm cooking it myself and not leaving it up to a bunch of wiley teenagers who may or may not remember to ask if I want fries with that.

Here's a thought for you before I go back to stuffing my shells: (no, that is not a sexual innuendo. I'm much too tired for that, and I am literally making Stuffed Shells for dinner, perv.) Wait, what was I going to say? I started thinking about stuffed shells as a metaphor and kinda got lost in X rated images of my super hot fiance...

OH YES. What I was going to say is that I really, really hate when people have cryptic personalized license plates. My thought is that if you're going to fork over the cash to sport a vanity plate, at least make it something decipherable, so I don't waste the better part of my day trying to figure out what that random slew of consonants is supposed to mean. Because I will. And the day after that. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. I have actually wanted to pull up next to people at red lights, do the international "Roll Down Your Window" gesture, and ask what their license plate means, but I think I'm one notch above that level of desperation. I will admit, though, it is a very feeble notch.

Enjoy your weekends, yous.

Wined, Dined, and... uh...

Last night, Chris and I were collectively wooed by his next potential employer, The Viceroy. The place is swanky digs, reminiscent of old Hollywood. Yes, I could live there. Chris has had a bevy of interviews over the last week, and last night, Chef invited us to have dinner at the resetuarant. The meal was insanely good, and as I nibbled at the dessert tray, Chef told Chris that he was the top candidate for the job and they would have a definite answer on Monday, after they check a few more references and run a drug test. We both tried to keep cool, which was hard for me because I get excited like a puppy gets excited, and hard for Chris because they kept sending him cocktails and wine. This is a job that Chris is capable of doing, but a huge leap upwards for him. It's also a big leap of faith for the resort to take as well- Chris is decades younger than other people who applied for the job. He sailed through the verbal interview and kicked ass at his Iron-Chef type cookoff, but I think he is a lot younger than what they had in mind.

The whole job search was prompted by the fact that Chris's current Chef-boss, the Sickeningly Talented Aaron Barnett, is looking to relocate and set up shop in Portland. (You have been reading scout, haven't you?) Chris (and I) can't stand the thought of him staying on at his current restuarant once Aaron leaves. Chris deserves a wee bit more money, and the opportunity to work in a kitchen where there's more than two other people there who a.) care, b.) know what they're doing, and c.) don't attack him with a knife when they're angry.

The Viceroy was soooooo inspiring, it felt like the entire place was posing for a picture. I wanted to take photos of every little detail, but didn't want to look like Big Huge Touristy Geeks, especially since Chris hasn't been officially hired yet. I did sneak a couple pics of the place, which aren't great because I was trying to be as stealth as possible. For a better idea of the grandeur of the place, check out the website I linked for you up top.

Click the pictures to enlarge...

The Dining Room:


One of the pools:


And us! (This was before dinner, in our front yard.)


All right, off to work for me now, sadly.
Have a great day-
Even you, Sanjaya Malakar.

If this picture doesn't make you smile...

... then you've probably had a week like mine.

My brief attempt at optimistic encouragement, courtesey Keith M Johnson.

Expect a rant from me soon...
Properly warned ye be, says I.

I'm the fortune-ate one...

Chris and I had a delectable Chinese feast for lunch yesterday, and we got hooked up with the fortune cookies because I knew our server. We have a history of getting eerily accurate and applicable fortunes (yes, I know they're purposely generic so everyone thinks that, but I swear it's really true for us!), but this one that Chris opened has to be my all-time favorite, especially if you play the "In Bed" game.

Oh no no no no no!

Britney Spears and Howie Day?

Apparently, they met in rehab and she's fallen hard. Apparently, Howie Day is a great kisser. Apparently, I can no longer listen to a Howie Day song from now until the end of my days without thinking about Britney saying that.

Inanimate Object of Lusty Thoughts of the Day

For a mere $14.00, this print of a painting from one of my favorite movies (Amelie) could be mine. I want this really really really badly, and yet, oddly enough, not badly enough to buy it for myself. *HINT HINT*

This is from the Almost Famous shop on Etsy, where there's a whole lot of awesome going on- like the Fight Club set.



See? Told you!

And it seems to me you lived your life like a flashlight in a breeze?

Dead celebrities are screwed. I'm still all muddled up with feelings of ickyness about the Kurt and Courtney movie, and first thing this morning I'm getting bombarded with Anna Nicole Smith's diaries. Ok, as much as I'd like to be indignant about this, I don't really think Anna Nicole would oppose everyone and their grandmother reading her diaries. This is the same woman who made a characticure out of herself on a reality television show. I don't consider it being invasive either, it's more like evidence or an opportunity to understand more how this strange woman became such a strange woman. Maybe it will finally answer the question, "How smart is Anna Nicole, I mean really?"
And diaries. I think everyone has to realize that at one point, they might fall into someone else's hands. Anne Frank and Harriet the Spy are both prime examples. As I was reading clips of Anna Nicole's entries this morning, I couldn't help but feel that they were written for that very purpose. On an online poll this morning, 75% of voters said that publishing Anna Nicole's diary was disrespectful, but only 32% of voters said that they would not read them, if published. I hate hypocracy almost as much as I hate poor grammar, which is why I will probably stay away from reading the diaries in their entirety. Although, if someone wanted to read them for me and then give me a detailed report, well, that's ok.
Maybe this is sick and twisted, but I really hope that Elton John records a version of "Candle in the Wind" for Anna Nicole. And I hope Weird Al collaborates with the lyrics. You know what? I think I just figured out how I'm spending my Friday night!

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

So, they're casting the upcoming Kurt and Courney biopic. Ewan McGregor and Lindsey Lohan? How about Jared Leto and Drew Barrymore?

The Scoop: Casting for Kurt & Courtney

Whatever it is, it can't be as disappointing as Last Days.

OR CAN IT?

American Idle : And then there were 8

"Two legends collide: Tony Bennett meets Sanjaya." From Ryan Seacrest's mouth on Tuesday's show to God's ear, apparently, because another week has gone by where Sanjidol isn't even in the bottom three. I don't get it, and it's making me really hate Howard Stern. At first, I thought he was garnering the magicially appearing votes from the tween contingent, like Kevin Covais/Chicken Little from the previous season, compounded with the fact that he's the first Indian American to be a finalist on the show. Now? Now I think I just hate Howard Stern. And, as usual, I agree with Simon- if Sanjaya wins, I'm quitting the show too. (Here's something scary- on an AOL poll I checked this morning, Sanjidol was ranked #1. No, that was not a typo.) Sanjaya's a nice kid... a nice, shaggy haired, soft-spoken, hula-dancing kid, but an American Idol? Kelly Clarkson would eat him for breakfast. Hell, Clay Aiken would eat him for breakfast. Look, I just gave myself the option to segue into a gay joke, and I'm not taking my own bait! I'd much rather talk about Haley Scarnato's legs. And I will, I promise.

Tony Bennett coached the Idols tonight, and it seemed like most of his direction involved encouraging the contestants to perform the songs more like he did. I'm not about to argue with Tony Bennett, but he seemed to discourage every performer from messing with the classics. After seeing what some contestants did on British Invasion week, that probably wasn't a bad idea. On the topic of bad ideas... um, Mr. Bennett's yellow blazer. He looked like he should be hosting a cable-access game show.

Blake was the first to perform last night, which kind of ruined the whole "I can't wait to see what Blake's going to do!" thing, but that's ok because it wasn't very good anyway. He sang "Mack The Knife" which will always remind me of the big McDonalds Moonhead guy singing about a Big Mac. Sigh. The judges were happy enough- actually, a lot more positive than I was. I don't think Blake has to worry about going home for the next few weeks, but I've come to expect a lot more out of him. Blake, you've let me down. You're going to have to try super hard to find a wiggity-wigga-way back into my heart.

Phil was up next, and all I could think about was how much he looks like Nosferatu. And the guy from the movie Powder. It's just creepy, I don't care what he sounds like. He sang "Night and Day", which the judges thought was disconnected, lacking passion, and gloomy. (I would expect nothing more from a vampire.)

Next up was Melinda. She's so good, even Simon can't think of anything negative to say, much to his (and my) chagrin. Really, she's awesome. I'm not sure if I still believe that suprised "Who, me?" look she gets on her face every time she's complimented, but she does seem humble. I think her only problem in this competition is that she seems like she's in a completely different league from the rest of the contenders/contestants. First of all, she seems much older than everyone, and not exactly the same level of "fresh" and "hip" that we get from Jordin, Blake, and Chris. I think she will have a fabulous recording career in front of her, I'm just not sure she is the right one to win the competition. She does have the same last name as my grandparents. I will investigate the liklihood of us being relatives.

Chris Richardson! It's my completely unprofessional but strong opinion that he gave the best performance of the night, as far as modernizing a classic goes. He sang the hell out of "Don't Get Around Much Anymore", and although it looked like he was dressing up like Justin Timberlake for Halloween, it really worked. This week (and last!) he gave the performance I was expecting from Blake, which means I am now a huge Chris Richardson fan. You should be too, ok?

07-04-03-04
Uploaded by greateggs

Jordin Sparks was up next. This girl is adorable! Incredibly, she's the same age as Sanjaya, but a million times the better performer. Ryan Seacrest has predicted that she'll win the comptetion, and although she's not my choice for number one, I would love to see her in the Top 3, and wouldn't think it crazy if she took the whole thing. Tuesday night was a little boring for me, though.

Who knew this would be the week Gina Glocksen went home? I thought she sounded pretty good. Then again, what do I know. It's not like I was voting for her anyway. For the record, though, I did anticipate her staying around much longer than Phil and Haley, and in a perfect world, outlasting Sanjaya. Poor Gina looked upset at the results, and who could blame her. It's one thing to know it's your time to go, and quite another thing when you're standing next to an oiled Barbie and told that she got more votes than you.

Following Gina that night was the man, the myth, the legend, the Sanj. I've been trying to watch my language lately, but this really deserves a "WHAT THE FUCK?" I'll admit that I loved Sanjaya in the very, very, very beginning, but once Hollywood week was over, I thought it was time for the cute little sentimental boy to go home. Why is he still here? I sing with more enthusiasm in the shower. It's gotta be all the hype from stupid stupid VoteForTheWorst.com. If he sticks around longer than some of the really and phenomenally talented people, I think he's going to get assasinated. Not by me, mind you, but it seems most of America is pretty riled up about this. Once Phil, Haley, and Sanjaya leave, the show is going to get really interesting.

I would gladly keep Sanjaya around for another week if we could all please, please just send Haley home. If I have to watch her wiggle all over the stage with her plunging necklines, coy expressions and overly-greased legs, I'm going to scream. I roll my eyes so many times durning her performances that I have blurry vision for the rest of the night. Her voice? It's not horrible. Her body? Wow. But Haley needs to stick to the beauty pageant circuit. Maybe the auditions for that Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders reality show were right next door to the American Idol auditions, and the poor thing got confused? I know she's nice to look at, but think of it this way: the faster she gets kicked off, the faster she'll be posing naked somewhere.


Last up was LaKisha, who always seems to end her songs with a mean ole pout. The girl's got some massively large... pipes! I don't really like her as much as Melinda and Jordin, and definitly not as much as Chris R. and Blake. She seems to be loved by the judges and has stayed out of the bottom groups so far, so I'm assuming she'll last for another few weeks as well. Look, I don't really care, I'm just hoping to get rid of Phil, Haley and Sanjaya so the real competition can commence!

And Paula? Paula. Please, please please fire your stylist. You only look good to you, and that's because of the drugs. And maybe you could do something other than the same exact ponytail you've been sporting for the last few weeks? You paid a lot of money for those extensions, you should really be showing them off.

I just realized how long this post is. I am so sorry. No judgement, ok? ;)

Don't show this to Chris, I don't want to spoil the surprise...

... but this is what my wedding dress looks like!!!

I *wish* I could add this to our wedding registry.

Who wants to bother with a troublesome flask when you can smuggle booze somewhere AND give your breasts the illusion of grandeur?

Multi-tasking? I'll drink to that.
Even if it's through a hose connected to my bra.

Signs that we might be watching too much TV:

1. When my 3 yr. old sings his ABC's, it goes "...H-I-J-K-Elmo-Pees..."

2. When pretending to sneeze, my son says "Picachu!" instead of the traditional "achoo".

3. I overheard Maddy say this to Brady today while they were playing together: "Brady, stop singing! You don't know the right words! Where's Simon Cowell when you need him?"

Return Address of the Jedi

My son, although only three, knows almost as much about Star Wars as your average twenty-something male superfan. (Things they also have in common: virginity and living with their mother.) Ok, that was mean. Point being, the best part of his day is when we drive by the R2-D2 mailbox. I really earned some Mom points today by letting him get out of the car and see it up-close. (That should make up for forcing him to eat tacos for dinner every night this week.)

Have a good day, and
Mail the force be with you.

Happy Birthday To You, You Live In A Zoo, I'm Not Just Teasing, It's Actually True.

We celebrated Maddy's seventh year of hell-raising on planet Earth this week with a family shindig over at my mom's house. My mother showed off her Cake Goddessery by making a strawberry-and-vanilla checkerboard cake, which was equal parts delicious and confusing.


How do they do that?


Seven years. Whoa. Seven sounds exponentially older than six, which sounded exponentially older than five, etc. The morning of Maddy's birthday, I was getting very sentimental about my baby girl, being so grown up. In a lot of ways, I don't think of her as a daughter, but more like my sidekick. Sometimes I get sad when she's at a friend's house or with her dad because I want to spend time with her, because there's things I want to tell her, things I'd like her opinion on, like she is a peer. For a long time, it was just Maddy and me against the world, and that team connotation often times is more prominent than an overwhelming maternal feeling. She doesn't give me much of a chance to feel maternal, since she's been out-diva-ing me since she was two. These were the things I was thinking about as I was watching her get ready for school on the morning of her birthday, watching her as she checked out her reflection, making sure her bangs were perfect, then doing a full turn to check out her outfit in the full-length mirror. All growds up.


I was reminiscent that morning almost to the point of being morose, despite the fact that Chris and I were heading straight to my doctor's after we dropped the kids off at school. Chris was extremely excited- it was the day of the potentially-gender-determining-ultrasound, but I couldn't get too jazzed- I was so preoccupied thinking about all things Madelynn. I was also trying not to get my hopes up because both of my children required multiple ultrasounds to figure out what sort of equipment they were packing. Imagine that- my kids, shy? No, I don't think that's it, I think of it more as them being uncooperative. Ah yes, makes perfect sense.

Once we were in the dark ultrasound room, watching our baby on TV, I snapped out of my melancholy. There was Baby, wiggling and waving, face pressed right up against my uterus. And then there was the baby's body in profile, where the sound waves from the ultrasound machine projected such a clear image that it cast shadows through the spinal column like rays of sunlight through clouds. As the ultrasound technician moved the wand over my belly, the baby turned it's head to look at us dead-on. That part was kind of creepy... but, you know, really awe-inspiring at the same time. And, on the morning of my not-quite-a-baby girl turning seven, I got a present- the opportunity to do it all over again with another baby girl.

Here's to more pigtails, more bows, and more pink cakes in our future!

"Foodie" is short for "Food Snob"

(That's my honey in the background in case you don't get the joke. He gets paid to cook very hoity-toitily.)

And with only minor burns to show for it!

Invitations: Check.
Photographer: Check.
Exorbitant Stress: Check and Check.

Worth 1,000 Words

Ryan the Jovian took some awesome pictures at our BBQ last weekend, here's a few of my favorites:

Brady. Jovi gets the photo credit, but I'm the one who made him cute.


My adorable almost-niece, Skylar:


Andrea, from scout, doing some scouting of her own:


And there's some more photographic deliciousness this-a-way: Ryan Jovian's Virb Photos

I love my friends, and continue to hang out with them for the excellent company and the hope of gleaning talent through osmosis.

Chris won't let me touch his pot.

We hosted a fairly large-ish engagement party BBQ this weekend over here at Camp Cantwell. The entire day came as a not-so-gentle reminder that I am not as extroverted as I am inclined to expect myself to be. The amount of people who showed up for the BBQ is a fair representation of how many people will be at our wedding, and although I adore each and every one of them (EVEN MY FUTURE IN-LAWS!) individually, the grand mass of people as a whole is totally overwhelming. I am never, ever complaining about not being able to invite more people to the wedding again.

Aside from the chocolate covered strawberries and the deviled eggs, the best part of the day was when everyone had left, the kids were in bed, and Chris and I sat on the living room floor opening our presents. It's hilarious that we were so excited about things that we had essentially picked out for ourselves, but we were like little kids on Christmas. We ripped open presents, screamed, and were near delirious with glee. Well, except when Chris opened up the gift from his grandparents. When Chris saw that he had an All-Clad pot and pan in front of him, to call his very own, he looked as if they had been set in front of him by Jesus Christ Himself. I will state here for the record that my fiance ain't no sissy man, but he got tears in his eye. I think I tried to snap him out of his religious experience with his new cookware by saying, "You can use those to make something for dinner tomorrow night!" He looked at me like I had just suggested Rachael Ray run for president, or that I had told him I was really craving some frog legs. "Oh no no no no Honey," he said in a church-whisper. "I can't use these! I can't get them dirty!" Right. I'm sorry. I didn't realize when we were doing our registry that those were shiny stainless steel works of art we were asking for. Silly me. One can understand my confusion- they were right there in the middle of the cookware section. Next up, we opened up the coffee maker of our dreams. After the whoops and the high-fives, I made sure to clarify that we were actually allowed to use it. For coffee. We are.

And I'm sorry for anyone who, from the nature of the subject line, assumed I was referring to drug use. NOT THAT SORRY, FOOLED YOU! NEENER NEENER NEENER!!!

In the meantime: I'm not dying, we won't know till next week, and babies still like me.

I've been remiss in my blogging duties lately, which I feel guilty about. Is that odd? Is there something wrong with me? Am I missing some vital component that makes me wholly unresponsive to my growing piles of laundry, but completely conscience-stricken when I let my blog go a few days without seeing any action?

Here's what I've been swimming in lately:

1. I got my biopsy results back today. I am cancer-free! I am even pre-cancer free! I almost didn't believe the nurse practitioner when she told me. I had convinced myself, beyond shadow of doubt, that I had cancer. Since I don't have to worry about that anymore, I've cleared up loads of time to devote to stressing out about the wedding, and about the baby.

2. Speaking of Baby, we'll be taking a peep inside my belly via ultrasound in a little over a week. Hopefully we'll come away from the visit knowing that our baby is developing properly, and particularly, what exactly our baby is developing properly.

3. I spent some time with my friends' son over the weekend. It's been a long time since I've been around a 1-year old, and I was really excited to take a refresher course in Baby 101. I only watched him for about two hours, and I was sad to see him go. Here's a picture I took of Jacob:


Thanks for bearing with me while I neglected the updates...
You'll be hearing more out of me soon!

Photo Friday

Because The Crazy Hip Blog Mamas say so, I am posting this pic for this week's Photo Friday: Your Silly Little Baby Face. So, this might not techinally be the silliest photo I have on record, but the brilliance behind it is that while this shot is completely candid and taken mid-fit, Brady actually looks like he's having fun. This was a tough day... If you didn't catch the pic/post the first time around, it's right over here.

The rest of the submissions will put a smile on your face. Go give them a look-see if you have time. If you're intersted in anything crazy, hip, blog, or mama related, there's some brilliant blogs over there!

I don't allude to high school girls in bikinis until paragraph seven. Bear with me.

Planning a wedding reminds me a bit of being on Prom Committee. My school didn't technically have a prom committee, because we didn't technically have a prom. I went to a private Christian school, where the absence of such a notorious rite of passage was explained to us in a simple mathematical equation: Prom = Dancing = Pregnancy. When I ended up pregnant the summer after my freshman year at a Christian college, I was really confused. I hadn't danced with anyone, I swear!

I do remember sitting in homeroom in 11th grade, where my entire junior class- all 25 of us- were trying to plan our quasi-prom, the Junior/Senior Banquet. We had a class budget which we democratically tried to allocate, and I remember being thankful that I wasn't Class President, because I could care less if we sent out invitations that were hand-written by a calligrapher, or if we had three rather than four options for entrees. The only contribution I made to the entire shindig was suggesting that we hire a professional DJ, which was shot down by the majority of the class because apparently, "Javier's cousin" was a DJ and would do it for dirt cheap. I think we ended up paying him just enough to cover the cost of the four AA batteries it took to power up the boom box he used that night. Believe me, there's nothing like hearing Jars of Clay played from a boom box with a microphone propped up next to one speaker.

If someone would have warned me that planning Junior/Senior Banquet was going to prepare me for one day planning my own wedding, I might have stopped doodling long enough to pick up a few pointers. At that point, though, I thought I had a better chance of being the first woman to eat fried chicken on Mars than I did of getting married. I think the only thing I really gleaned from that experience was to NOT have Javier's cousin DJ my wedding.

I know that my wedding is supposed to be one of the most special days of my life, if not the primary placeholder. Most girls have been planning their famous walk down the aisle for years. I've only really thought about it for a month. The truth is, after spending the last seven years completely jaded, I'm kind of over it. Don't get me wrong: I do really want to be married, and marriage is something that I look forward to. The actual wedding, though? Is that really for me? I just picture a young, virginal bride being walked down the aisle by her father, and the whole connotation just seems a little too fairy-tailed for me. Like I could even wear a white dress without making the guests snicker. Would I rather spend money on flowers, or paying off my Target Visa? This is one area where my practical side wins out.

I'd probably be singing a different tune if someone else were paying for the wedding, and that tune would be called "A Serenade For Monique Lhuillier (Please design me a dress)". I might enjoy making decisions about all the details if I wasn't so preoccupied trying to calculate exactly how many hours of work it's going to take to cover the cost. We've got a baby on the way and debt that needs our monetary attention, and I'm supposed to coordinate a huge party where not only do I have to foot the bill, but I CAN'T EVEN HAVE THE DAMN CHAMPAGNE. Funny. Real funny. I love Chris, and I want to be with him forever. That doesn't cost me a penny, but I feel so much pressure to spend more money than I make in a year to announce that to our friends and family.

My first order of bridal duty was to work out the invitations. Wedding Invitations are such a big hoopla. (I use the word hoopla when I don't feel it's appropriate to say "pain in the friggen ass," just so you know.) There's a lot of pressure there because everyone says that the invitation sets the theme for the enire wedding. Knowing that, I searched high and low for invites with a "Shotgun" theme. (By the way, Chris doesn't think that joke is funny. And it is, of course, a joke.) After being astonished by the prices for everything that I "kinda" liked, I got frustrated and just went with the easiest, cheapest invites that I could tolerate. Easy & Cheap: of course that's the tone of the wedding. Of course. Now that just screams "NIK!"

I'm sure everything will turn out perfectly in the end. I just wonder if I can hire the local high school's prom committee to help me get to that point. Or maybe they can at least help me wash cars as a fundraiser for the wedding... I have enough friends with dirty minds- I MEAN CARS- to pay for "Trista & Ryan"-caliber nuptuals.

And now, for your daily dose of "WHAT THE $@&%!!!"

Tuesday, quickly.

Good morning!


Good night.

Boldog Születésnapot!

That's "Happy Birthday" in Hungarian, in honor of my grandmother. I'm actually not allowed to refer to her as a grandmother, because she thinks it makes her sound old. As long as I could speak, I've called her "Baba"- a nickname given to her from her Hungarian parents, which means "Baby." And I'm her baby still, which is a huge blessing (she helps me out more than I'd like to admit) as well as a huge frustration, at times (she can bring me to tears easier than anyone else in the world.) I love this woman more than I can express, and I couldn't imagine life without her. She's got so many qualities that I hope I can cultivate in myself, although I could live without ever becoming obesessed with a poodle. (Although I have to admit, it's part of her charm.)

When I called her today to wish her a happy birthday, I asked if her dog baked her a "pup cake", and I'll tell you, I was so proud of my spur-of-the-moment pun.
"Oh, no," she said. "Cookie just signed my birthday card 'Yours Drooley.'"

See? See where I get it?

Happy Birthday, Baba!

Baba & Nik, circa 1985 (?)


My favorite women on the planet, Christmas 2006
Baba, Myself, Madelynn, Mom, Jadyn
(You have to click on the pic to see my sister. Sorry J!!!)

Get In My Belly!

In other news...

It's hard for even me to wrap my head around, but the world hasn't stopped because I had (minor) surgery. Go figure. Yesterday, Maddy lost her front tooth, making her look like a Jack-O-Lantern. (A really adorable one, of course.)



I also finished the bloody invitations. I have to say that as much as I was dreading another trip to Michael's, it was actually a squillion times better than I was bracing myself for. I got a parking spot right up front, there was no line, AND I discovered a different way of putting the invites together that was just as cute and a heck of a lot easier. Mmmmm-mmmm, this Humble Pie tastes delicious. (I'm pregnant. Any kind of pie is welcome.) Here's how they came out:


And believe me, I'm thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have to tie each invite up with raffia like I was originally planning.


SEE WHAT I DID THERE? "Thank my lucky stars"???? Oh, I kill me!!!

Allllllllllllrighty then, I'm going back to my lazy Sunday. I just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I'd invite you over for breakfast and Nintendo, but then I'd have to get out of my jammies, and I'm so not ready for that yet.