I suck

I guess I am not the best blogger ever to have existed.

I post infrequently, because I vacillate between not having anything interesting to say, and worrying that what I WANT to say might offend or reach the wrong ears. I have a feeling that the true Blog Mistresses of the Universe care not about such petty things.

I will try to be better.

My sister is moving from Washington DC next week with her hubby (thank goodness) and her three adorable children. (www.threeirishgirls.com)
She hasn't lived in my town for ten years, so the idea that our children can because better friends and close cousins is exciting. I told her that I am going to being her into my circle of friends who go out together in cleavagy shirts and drinks cocktails and she just kind of guffawed at me. Not her style, apparently.

In other news, my house is messy, I need to lose four to six pounds but can't seem to, there is a dragon lady in town who hates me for unknown, gross reasons (I'll share more later) and I am currently not wearing a bra.

Good times.

--Carolyn

Am I old?

Am I? You can be honest.
I know that in ten years I will look back in disgust at my poor attitude towards the end of my 20's, but STILL. Do I look like this?

I said, be honest.
Do I have a perm and white hair and am just unaware?

Do I watch Wheel of Fortune with the volume turned way up and I just don't realize it?

This deep introspection regarding age probably has something to do with my birthday coming up this week. I used to love birthdays, reader. And I still do, as long as the specific age/number is not mentioned, a fact which is totally RETARDED and don't I know it!

I am hoping that as I get farther and farther away from my 20's, I will just accept it and move on.
I will NOT get botox and plastic surgery (as if I even had the funds) and start to look like some weird alien creature.

Such as:

I'd rather grow older with grace, like Meryl Streep or Helen Mirran or Diane Lane. Granted, those women all have good genes and beautiful faces to begin with, but one can dream. So shut up.

Love, Carolyn

Winter Optimism

Today begins my Winter Cleaning Tour '10.
This past summer my sister and I became so frustrated with the state of our homes (with seven children between us) that we came up with a new idea. A revolutionary idea. We would come up with a cleaning schedule for our houses and send it to the other. Then for each room, we'd take a dreaded, horrible, embarrassing BEFORE photo and also send that to the other.
The we'd clean said room.
Thoroughly.
Exhaustingly.
Every nook, every cranny, every drawer, every surface, under every object.
When we were done (and we had to be done by the deadline we had agreed to) we would take an AFTER photo and send that via email to the other.
The motivation? IF for some reason we procrastinated and didn't finish the room by the scheduled and promised time, the other dastardly sister would post the dreaded BEFORE picture online. Or worse yet, send it to our mother, who assuredly would come over right away and roll up her sleeves and dig into the mess herself.

I am going to go out on a ledge and post one of my BEFORE (gulp) and AFTER photos for you to see.

I have decided on a kids' room BEFORE photo, because at least then I can blame the mess on my unsuspecting child, rather than on myself.   (This is what happens when my children dump all their clothes out of their dressers. On a daily basis. Oh, how embarrassing. But I'm keeping it real, ya'll.)
 

AFTER! Whew. So much less embarrassing.    

And it gives me a calm feeling in my soul.

It's time for that feeling again, starting today!

The Eve of Christmas

Merry Christmas!
We have been busy the past couple days, watersliding and lazy-rivering and chasing after copious amounts of soaking wet children. Now we are back home (insert sigh of relief here) and have been pursuing more traditional holiday fare.
Such as:
the prime rib I made last night for dinner. Just because. It was delish, by the way.
Watching the snow fall outside. Gorgeous and fluffy.
Making Christmas cookies, bark, cinnamon rolls and other sweets whilst listening to carols wafting from the speakers.

Today we are heading over to my mom's house for a Christmas Eve dinner and general gaity.
Male Nurse works tomorrow morning (!!) so we have to squeeze a lot of the celebration into a short period of time.

And now, for your watching pleasure, a clip from one of my favorite holiday movies, The Bishop's Wife. Cary Grant plays an angel sent to earth to help a Bishop, who has been to busy to help people, and his wife remember why they love each other. In this scene, the angel and the wife have gone to the bishop's old church (the bishop was too busy) but none of the boys from the choir have showed up. Miraculously, they show up one by one and the song they sing is heavenly. One thing I like about this scene is that these boys were a real choir, and are singing live, not lip-synching. They seem very real, not 'acty'.

Enjoy!
CLICK HERE TO VIEW!

Oh, I didn't see you standing there.

I know, I know. Please don't chastise. It has been FAR too long, my friends, FAR too long. Life has been busy. Days have been full. But now I am back, at least for now, to share with you the fascinating updates of my life.

First, Vivie. The other day I discovered clumps of freshly shorn hair on my living room chair. Apparently Vivienne got sick of her awkward-growing-out-the-bangs stage and decided to take matters (and scissors) into her own hands. I tried to even things out, but what can you do? There are clumps missing. Here is Vivie with a wig of mine on, and she looks like Rosanne Rossanadanna.

Then, today, I had a USO fundraiser show, in which I had to dress up and sing as Dorothy Lamour. A fun little side perk to my life---- and when I got home, the children were fascinated with my fake eyelashes, which I had just peeled off in front of gaping children. They each wanted to try them on, so I let them, and snapped a shot of each moment.

Here is Vivie-- obviously comfortable with her new glam look.

Next comes Clara-- who couldn't stop staring at how grown-up she looked!

Poor little Audrey didn't know what she was getting herself into.

And this is Elijahs' version of a "pretty lady." They apparently fold their hands and have large lips.

More to come, hopefully.
And may I add my sincere and hearty CONGRATS to Sarah in the light of their glorious news? Alright then, CONGRATS! They will make wonderful parents who will probably never put false eyelashes on their baby.

--Carolyn

The wonderful world of wanting

.. has only begun to pervade my existence in this new and inconvenient way as of late.  Of course, along with this pending baby business comes the part of pregnancy.  And with pregnancy, some women are reported to display all manner of strange symptomology.  Most of which seem mythical and fictional to those who have heard the tales but have yet to experience them firsthand.  I found it hard to understand how a craving  for something could be so pronounced... so loudly echoed within the silence of one's brain that there is just no mistaking the fact that your body is calling for one obscure food item or another.  So far, it has been for me only vague whispers that frankly, could be easily dismissed or even ignored.  Now, I have been instructed by more than a few that these 'cravings' are to be had for a purpose, and as a responsible mother-to-be, it is my duty to respect them for what they are and obey them, within reason of course.  I am not allowed to humor just any and all whims mind you, but if the body is calling for something, or even is crying out in vehement avoidance of something, I should pay attention and heed my body's signals.  Never did I imagine that they could be heard so clearly and so loudly as they were last night.

Veterans' Day yesterday heralded a rare occasion in our household, wherein both my husband and I both had the same day off.  Usually this pleasure is reserved for only the most major of holiday, and it is rare that we should both be together on a weekday in the sunlight hours.  So, seeing as we have just accumulated a burgeoning list of 'to do's' around the house, we decided to take full advantage of this extra day and get some prep work done on our house so we can do some major painting this weekend.  And as you may well be aware, prep work can sometimes be far more laborious than the actual act of painting itself!  All that crouching and taping and scraping and tarping and plate-removing and furniture moving and blah blah blah.  It's a horrid job which I despise, but alas, we tackled the task with aplomb and accomplished our goals for the day.  I even have sore butt muscles from crawling around on the floor on my hands and knees and scaling the ladder a few times.  Yay, butt!  Anyway, we were feeling proud of our efforts as we settled in for the evening to relax a bit and enjoy dinner and whatnot.  We frittered away the remainder of the evening until around 9 or 9:30, wherein my hormone-ridden body was to give me my first really clear crave experience.  I knew all at once and in an instant that I was DESTINED to have a warm chocolate chip cookie in my mouf that night, nomatter what happened.  I was not given a choice in this matter, as my brain was sending signals so loud and clear that I basically just opened my mouth and words came tumbling out... those which echoed off the walls and bounced back to my ears and were practically a surprise when I heard them.  "I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies now.  I must have them. Now. "   Joe looked at me as he pleaded to make me understand the weariness in my own body.. as if he knew full well that indeed, I was too tired to go and start this mess, and I damn well should know this without him having to tell me.  I mean, do you know how ridiculous that sounds coming from another person?  "Oh, you shouldn't.  You're really too tired to do that now, dear."  And the strange part is, he'd be exactly right.  Now I'm not sure who exactly has control of my brain,  my body or my words anymore, given that none of the opinions about me are really coming from me anymore.  It's either my pregnant self, or other people who know me well and are overriding my irrationality for my own well-being, God bless them.  But nonetheless, I trudge on, listening to most anything and believing it.  Including the demand from my inner core to get my ass into the kitchen and start baking, sore butt or not. 

Long story short (too late!), I did.  I baked.  I lined sheets with parchment, readjusted oven racks, softened butter, dug bags of stuff out of the back of shelves and carefull measured and leveled, sifted and stirred, measured by teaspoons and timed them like a pro.  Good God, tired or not, I'm still going to do it right.  Or else, why bother!  (thanks, Mom)  As I was finishing putting everything away, getting the kitchen back in order, letting the cookies cool in neat little rows on their assigned cooling racks, turning off the glaring overhead lights I had on to work, ect ect., I sidled up to the counter to take my first rewarding bite.  That bite of cookie that imparts the initial essence of what makes fresh cookies so great.  A little crisp, a warm soft center, melted chocolate that pervades your tongue with warm sweetness, the decadance and simplicity of it all.  Yes, I took taht first bite... and nearly horked all over my kitchen.  No, there wasn't a thing wrong with my classic little cookies.  It was a cruel trick of nature, planted squarely on the unsuspecting pregnant idiot.  The one where your brain tells you that you really reaaaaally need something, until you have it and try to eat/drink it.  And then the tables turn and you are faced with the cruel reality that it was all a Toll House Hoax.  The cruelty of it all is almost too much to bear.  Poor, poor me.


~Sarah

So long and far away

...was the time since I last wrote something here.  But I am here to do a couple of things.  One of which is, to make myself determined to return to the keyboard more regularly and utilize this outlet for a few of my meaningless thoughts on things.  Hey, it's good for me and is basically harmless, as I don't believe anyone but perhaps a teensy handful of people (maybe.. one or two?) actually read this blog anyway.  Unless of course there are lurking thousands of folks voyeuristically peering into Carolyn's and my own little world of nonsense.  How would we know?  People don't generally comment on anything.  Which actually works to everyone's advantage.  It keeps me with a sense of security that this is practically a private diary, and that I have no standard to uphold wherein I oversensor myself due to desperate fear of offending someone or revealing too much of myself.  Also something I ought to overcome, don't you think?  It rather implies that I am insecure in myself and my beliefs, which is the sign of a weak character.  And that's the last thing I want to be thought of as, for heaven's sake!  Goodness no, this lass is stalwart!  (meh.)  The other is to use this forum to track my ideas and fleeting moments on a rather big development where, let's face it, only those presumably with an 'in' on this info could really see it in the first place.  Cause here's what.. this girl is pregnant.  That's right, me and the hubby are about 8 weeks into baby-making land, and the amount of babywhitenoise between my ears is deafening.  It needs to come OUT.  And God knows, facebook is no place for that.  My lower-level management's sister-in-laws daughter's babysitter's phlebotomist doesn't need to know these things.  I think in fact that a major resource to a woman like me - on my way to being a first time mom, God-willing, and no spring chicken! - are her mommy friends.  Of which I have a good handful.  In fact, every single one of my closest friends are mothers, and if they have not been tapped completely by my questioning, they soon will be.  My coblogger is essentially a proffessional in fact, and I trust her opinion explicitly.  Between my close family and friends, I am witness to the rearing and care of over 20 children at any given time, and have heard and seen so much of their lives.  They and their parents have been laden such joys, triumphs, pains, heartaches, laughs, love and the utmost of the complete range of emotions.  I am so frightened yet to eager to venture into their world .. the world of being a parent.  (apparent?)   My husband and I have a long road ahead of us, and to this day, I am still not entirely open with revealing to most people that I am even pregnant, being that we are still amid first trimester risks.  But for the life of me, and probably even moreso for the life IN me, I cannot remain silent on all fronts.  This news is too big and too wonderful not to express somehow.  Not to mention, the sickness is too debilitating not to complain about either.  I have rights, dammit. 

Here's the whatwhat.... I'm 8 weeks gestation, which is in my case, about 7 weeks pregnant (or so).  I had an early ultrasound due to a little scare earlier on, and was blessed to witness everything just as it should be.  Including witnessing for the first time a fluttering heartbeat.  My God in heaven, how magnificent a moment.  How I was able to maintain myself was a miracle too.  I think had I not been alone, due to a last minute problem with Joe's works schedule, I would have been a complete mess.  But I knew I had to hold it together, walk out of there and finish my day and drive home with nothing but the radio.  The first pair of living eyes I met after that experience... was our dog.  And even the familiar warmth of her happy-dog look when I walked in the door was enough to let me release my joy to bounce off the walls of our empty house.  I was able to savour the joy within the peace of my own heart before I shared it with my husband, which also was a magical moment.  I think maybe that's one of the blessings of being a mother.  That you can reserve that moment and savour it and let your soul embrace the wonder of it in a most indulgent way.  I still cannot believe that this is actually happening to us, and moreso, within myself.  I am eager for more moments like this, with each new development, feeling, discovery.  It may be so that I cannot eat or sleep, that I am uncomfortable all night and irrationally crazy at any given moment, that I am nauseous almost constantly and forever weary... I am committed to suffer this happily and be grateful for each day that passes that I am allowed to continue down this path to motherhood.  And tho maintaining a happy heart thru those challenges would seem difficult, I assure you, for me.. it isn't. 


~Sarah

Rad.

How long has it been?

I must apologize. It has been so long since I have written anything-- my life has been on the level of crazy-insane-busy the past month or so-- and I can barely carve out enough time at this exact moment to even feebly type these few sentences. And yet...I ....will struggle....on! I am starting to feel like the woman in my blog picture looks. Eek.

In local news: the Vikings won the big game, hardy-har-hardy-har-har. I am glad I can remain unashamed.

Theater has been interesting. I will have to write an entire blog devoted entirely to the auditions and rehearsals and callbacks and debacles that have been occuring, one right after the other. I will simply state at this moment that I continue to be extremely annoyed at grown-a** women who like to be immature and petty. That's all I'm a'sayin' for now. You'll have to be patient.

We went to the Apple Fest last week, which is a lovely and apple-y tradition in our household. It's nothing but eating carameled, fried, dipped, bratwursted, candied and raw apples, whilst perusing folksey art and walking up and down the docks of Bayfield Wisconsin. It's a good time. Photos to come.

I must get going. I have much to do today. As the French say, Le Sigh.

wish me luck.

... for tonight, out of sheer curiosity, I enter willfully into a culinary adventure.  I have yet to blog here about my love of cooking, and trying new recipes, tools and techniques.  Nor have I discussed my ongoing trials (and errors) with the South Beach diet.  And do not attempt to preach to me about the pros and cons of this diet.  I have heard them all and entered into it's techniques with full knowledge and consent, and continue to do so until I have decided to quit.  Anyhoozle, tonight I am venturing into new territory with 2 new recipies to try.  One for me, and one to share.  Happenstance has provided this girl with an abundance of cherry tomatoes freshly picked from a small home-grown garden.  I have decided, along with another very generous and caring coworker, to make use of the harvest and turn them into little bite-sized tomatoe poppers.  We are going to fill them with deliciousness and stun our coworkers with our culinary prowess.  Imagine blt, goat cheese, and creamy shrimp-filled cherry tomatoes staring at you upon your arrival to work, generously assembled by the most nimble and ginger cook's fingers.  (In fact, maybe those should be our cooking nicknames... 'Nimble' and 'Ginger'.)  So shall be the delights of the people with whom we work, as of tomorrow morning.   I shall also venture to cook one other recipe.  One that I will not impede upon my coworkers to try.  One that the husband is not likely to even attempt to eat.  Yes, it sounds gross.  They may well BE gross.  But curiosity, along with the desperate need to experience a low-guilt brownie with near hysterical origins, will drive me to make some black bean brownies.  Oh, the lengths we will go to to avoid the evils of bleached flour and 'bad' carbs.  I may just end up grossing myself out, and wasting a perfectly nice can of black beans in the process.  Updates tomorrow! 

~Sarah