Snaps for Panera & The Mini-Van Chick

It's a lovely day outside in Atlanta (Smyrna/Vinings)... And I know this because I'm typing to you from OUTSIDE today. It's sunny and beautiful. The temperature is perfect, with just a kiss of a breeze.

I'm sitting outside at one of my favorite restaurants, Panera Bread. I just finished my usual off the Pick Two menu: Cup o' Broccoli Cheddar soup and Bowl of Caesar Salad. YUMMMM! If you don't know about Panera, you need to.... Google the nearest location to you and drive there - no matter how far. And if it's in Atlanta, I'll meet ya there. ;)

I feel obligated to give another shout out, as a classy lady I just did a button for gave me one today (gotta love blog etiquette): Rocking The Mini-Van - like her blog suggests, she rocks.

Oh, and snaps for my new favorite expression: bloggy love :P heehee thanks Lindsey

I Wanna Be a Peacock

I think I'm being stalked... by Husband#2.

Within seconds - SECONDS, people - of updating my status to "Hail!" today, he was on the phone calling me to "check on me".

Maybe it's just me, but it seems rather creepy - even if it's my own husband.

And it isn't just this one instance. If you've read previous posts of mine, you know. He does all kinds of checking up on me, and it's kinda annoying.

I mean, who wants a stalker? Even if it is a loved one... especially if it's a loved one. That isn't love (to be stalked; to be placed in a cage and admired).

Which leads me to my recent fascination with peacocks. I've been contemplating the why of peacocks, and I think I've come up with a new explanation. I used to think it was because one of the symbolic meanings I've found is "spiritual transformation" - which is definitely part of it: I've been very into searching within (and hope to maintain that search and not let it just be a passing fad).

And then there's the more obvious relation to peacocks: vanity. I used to be more vain. I don't think I'm quite on that path any more, though - or at least I hope not. I don't even wear makeup any more, which is a huge leap from where I used to be: never leaving the house without my mask on. It's gotten to the point where I actually think I look "weird" when I do wear it now.

Ever since I decided to use a peacock as the subject for the art auction project I did with my daughter's class, I have seen peacocks EVERYWHERE: pictures, charms, on books... I'm one of those that believes in signs and everything happening for a reason. And how can I not, when I pick up a book at random and just happen to flip it open to a page with a peacock on it?

I also spotted a pillow at Target recently (which I now wish I had taken a picture of so I could post it on here - I think my blog needs more visual aids...), which led me to my latest interpretation. The pillow, of course, had a peacock on it. And also on the pillow was a cage. The peacock wasn't in the cage, naturally - but next to it.

So, an empty cage in the upper left and peacock in the lower right. The meaning suddenly flooded my mind in one of those Ah-ha! moments: The peacock is always free. It's never locked up in a cage. It's the one free to roam about at the zoo.

You Have 10 Seconds…

Husband#2 & I took the kids to this little Italian place nearby for dinner last night. It’s this place called FIGO, which has the same idea as one of my favorite Atlanta restaurants (Chow Baby), except it’s just pasta. I have to say, the food wasn’t all that great – and I don’t think it was our fault, since (unlike Chow Baby) you don’t get total creative control over the creation of your meal. Basically: you pick your pasta, you pick your sauce, and then you can choose to add chicken or whatever.

Christian’s new favorite color is green, so he went for the green noodles. I just knew he wasn’t going to like it, but I let him pick it anyway. And wouldn’t you know it……..

GABI is the one who ended up hating her pasta!

We told the lady the kids like Fettuccini Alfredo (yes! they finally like pasta with a sauce – instead of just the noodles). We were told, however, they didn’t have Alfredo sauce (that should have been our 1st sign: What Italian restaurant doesn’t have Alfredo sauce??) – but the lady behind the counter assured us they had something similar.

To our surprise, Christian woofed down ALL of his pasta. He had the same sauce as Gabi, and so did I. My opinion: it really was kinda yucky. :/ especially if you’re expecting something similar to Alfredo. I mean, I didn’t even finish all my pasta. And pasta is my FAVORITE.

So, when Gab had only eaten one noodle (even after we had sent her food back to be remade), Husband#2 fired off to her, “You have TEN seconds to get that food on that fork.”

Gabi proceeded to grunt, sit up in her chair, grab her fork, and stab a noodle……. then sink back down to sulk about how nasty her meal was.

I couldn’t help it: I DIED OUT LAUGHING!!

Husband#2 shot me a look, thinking I was defying him, of course.

“You told her she had ten seconds to put the food on the fork… You didn’t tell her to put it in her mouth and eat it.”

It’s just so funny to me how literal kids are sometimes.

I Know Husband#2 Well Enough to Know…

When he says “this person” that someone is a she. For some reason, though, he never says she or her until I refer to this person as a he.

It’s always, “This person at work sent me an email… They wanted me to do this or that.” Or like just a few minutes ago when he rushed to get off the phone with me because this person had just walked into his office.

Question: How incriminating would it sound if I was the one always referring to men as “this person” ??

I mean, does he work with a bunch of transvestites? And he doesn’t know how to address them – trying to be politically correct and all. Is it a he? Is it a she??

Yeah. That must be it….

NEW LOOK!!

Before anyone sighs, "AGAIN??" No, it wasn't me. I haven't gotten sick of my hair, clothes, or even my blog look... just yet.

But I have revamped my sista's blog! You can find her button in the right hand column under "MILK IT" - I'd paste the link here for ya, but that would defeat the whole purpose of me having my little Milk It section. That's what it's there for, people! Come on!!

Color scheme for Jen

And if you don't have a button yet, you need to get one so I can plug you on my blog, too. ;)

Okay. Now go check out my sister's blog.

Thanks.

Sowy

My son is almost always doing something to crack me up. I could write a book of the funny things he says and does (hmmm.... that's a thought).

Being me, I decided it would be a good idea to roam all of Michael's. I do this just about every time I shop - especially there. I guess I'm searching for inspiration or something. Or maybe just making quadruple sure I didn't miss/forget anything. I had to have gone down every aisle in the store and ended up not getting anything anyway (GO ME! Yay! for not spending any money). My son, however, managed to snag a souvenir.

We get out to the car, and his tattle-tale sister belts out, "MOMMA! Christian STOLE something!"

What?!.

I turned around to see my son raise his eyebrows and throw on his cute little smirk as he pulled a tiny bunch of plastic grapes from his pocket.

In my defense, It's hard to be stern when he's so cute... And yes, the first words out of my mouth were, "What are you gonna do with THOSE??"

He made the sound that somewhat resembles "I don't know," and grinned some more.

{sigh}

I marched him right back in the store, telling him all the way that he had to take them back, apologize, and that I hoped they didn't call the police on him and take him to jail. He didn't seem all that phased, so I tried to make it sound worse and worse as we walked.

We got inside, and I asked for the manager. I think she thought I was going to complain about her people, as mad as I (hopefully) looked. "Go on, Christian. Tell her what you did."

He just held his hand full of grapes out and breathed, "Sowy."

The manager was on the same page with me and kept the story about the police going: "Oh... I see... Well, you have to promise me you won't do this again. [Christian nodded] I would hate to have to call the police and have them take you to jail. Your mommy would be very sad -"

And that's when I lost it.......

Our jail threats clearly were no biggie, because Christian chimed in, "Oh, that's okay. It'll only be for one day."

[slap forehead] Doh!

The Culprit

This incident reminded my sister and my mom of when we were younger and had sticky little fingers. Our mom made us take the stuff back and apologize, too. But, really, it wasn't the same... cause what we "stole" was going to be trash anyway!

Our mom was browsing through the purses in a department store, and my sister and I must have been intrigued by the little paper identification inserts in the wallets - cause we snagged a whole bunch of them. Most people chunk those anyway, right? No harm. I wanna say they had fake boxes of cigarettes in the cig pouches, too (you know, just big filters) - yeah, we took those.

Anyway, we were busted and had to be humiliated by returning the "valuables". Lesson learned.

Somehow I doubt my son's experience is going to have the same effect...

Choose Your Words Wisely

I like to take my kids to Barnes & Noble. There are all kinds of birds we can knock out with that stone: Gabi gets to add books to her monthly reading logs, Christian gets in some "boy time" at the train table, I get to thumb through a couple pages of my latest self-help book, and my mocha frap fix is taken care of.

So I took the kiddos to B&N after school yesterday. I think I actually got to read two pages of my book - a silly, but strangely hard to obtain goal when I'm accompanied by two youngins. Gabi added about five more books to her reading log for April; she's says she hates reading, but she's soooo good at it! Her teachers say she's already at a 2.6 (as of a few months ago) reading level - which means she reads as well as 2nd graders in their 6 month... something like that.

And being a proud mom is getting me off track... This post is actually about Christian. Ah, Christian, Christian, Christian... My Boy.

Sometimes I don't think Christian was born with the ability to adjust the volume of his little 5 year old voice. Then I remember I can never hear him in the mornings when he's tired and half-answering my questions under his breath. Okay, he can do it. He just doesn't want to.

This was the case yesterday in B&N. I had to keep getting onto him about using his inside voice. He gets so excited when he finally has some male bonding goin' on, and he's like yelling at whoever is within arms reach. To add to it, he was crawling all over the floor, under the train table.

So, after reminding him to turn it down and get up about five million times, I called him over and asked if he wanted to keep playing with his friends, or if he wanted to sit beside me. Of course he picked his friends (Moms are no fun) - to which I warned him, "Okay. But play on top of the table like your friends... not under."

And, being literal, my son goes over and crawls on TOP of the train table to sit and play.

{sigh}

"No, Christian... I didn't mean SIT on top of the table."

I guess I really need to think before I speak.

Is It Just Me??

Husband#2's mom called my mom while I was in town for the wedding this past weekend and asked that I stopped by to pick up a wedding gift from her cousin that had just been mailed to her - Husband#2 & I were married back in September. But that's not even the weird part...

I opened it today, and inside was one towel set. Just one.

[Let me interject: this reminds me of the Angela Johnson skit where she's talking about Beautiful Nail - "just one"]

But, yeah: One towel, one wash cloth, and one hand towel. This just baffles me. I mean, shouldn't there at least be TWO towels in a WEDDING gift? Maybe it is just me... or maybe it's an omen or something.

This Photographer is on FIYA!!

This weekend was my first time shooting a wedding solo (unless you count the millions of guests armed with cameras - including one who followed me around like a lost puppy, taking notes and handing out a gazillion compliments).

Some friends I met through my sister & bro-in-law asked me to be their photographer, and of course I accepted. They're friends from way back when, and I definitely didn't want to disappoint. Which means I was very nervous - about getting all the shots they wanted, being creative enough, timing, etc. etc. The list goes on and on, but I really want you to read this whole post, so we'll move along:

My sister & I were heading over to the sanctuary to set up tripods and video cameras in the balcony (the only place I was allowed - boo on that), and my equipment decided to help me turn up the heat a little. As we were about to exit the elevator, something must have hit the Emergency button. We heard the buzz, and I waited for it to call someone so I could tell them it was an accident, but we were only greeted by an automated recording. So we thought nothing of it and kept moving. Time is always of the essence at a wedding, you know.

We got everything set up in the balcony, and I did some test shots to see what I would actually be able to get from way up there with my limited supply of lenses... And that's when we heard it: more sirens. But from OUTSIDE the church this time. I looked at my sister and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if they were coming here because I bumped into that button in the elevator?"

We waited.

Everything seemed fine... Then, as we walked back to where the bride was hiding, we heard a convo by some of the men, "Yeah, they said someone must have pulled the fire alarm."

Oh God! Please tell me I did NOT call the fire department to my first solo gig!

Turns out the firemen that had to come check the WHOLE church didn't find it so funny. I tracked them down and explained that my tripod was the culprit - with about 50 "I'm so sorry"(s) thrown in there.

I realize now it would have been a great photo op: the photographer with her fire crew she called to the wedding, but I was so mortified at the time, I didn't ask. Plus, I think it probably would've been adding more fuel to our pseudo fire.

I did, however, get this encouraging pic msg from my bro-in-law when I got to the reception. Thanks, Ron.

And if you're wondering if anyone else knew, the answer is YES. I was teased by the groom when I went to snap some shots of him pre-wedding:

Me: "How's it going? What are y'all doing?"

Groom: "Well, we're not pulling fire alarms..."

Greeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaat.

He was joking, of course, and if you knew this couple and their wedding party, my little incident only helped me fit right in. {whew!}

A few pics from the wedding

A Life in the Day of Me

No, no. You don't have to sit through my painfully boring day of sitting on the couch watching Ghost Whisperer and Medium while I crochet and await 2:00 to go pick up the kiddos.

This blog [http://mynameislaurajanewilliams.blogspot.com/] is HAHAHA-larious! It's a must follow, so go ahead and click or copy & paste - or whatever it is you do to follow stuff (gimme a break, I'm "new").

One post is a letter to Stephanie Meyer (my sister is now hooked), and another starts off, "So I'm at the gay bar..." How could you NOT want to follow this chick??

You're welcome.

teet

Being that my blog's mascot is a cow, I had to share this great packaging design for milk bottles... I would totally buy these based on looks alone - and I don't even drink milk!!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Marketing is EVERYTHING!!

Twice in One Day

Sometimes I think Husband#2 LIKES to piss me off... I mean, I know why he doesn't want my kids eating in the car (he doesn't want them trashing the new car - I get it). But what about roadtrips?? Isn't there some sort of statue of limitation on depriving children of food for this many hours? There's gotta be some fine print allowing for food/drink in the span of SIX HOURS in a car, right?? I think so... but maybe that's just me.

Grrr

Stay Outta My Pocket!!

You know that little "pocket" in your car door? For me, that is my little pocket of trash. My kids always seem to have wrappers or scraps of something that they so graciously hand off to me while I'm driving, and this is where it goes.

This pocket is also where I slipped up this week: I made the mistake of emptying some of the no longer needed reminders of what I'd bought out of my wallet. Now, normally, I clean out my lil' pocket before Husband#2 comes back into town (he travels for work and is gone Monday - Friday every week). It's just that little something extra I do, because I know a clean car is one of his pet peeves.

Blame it on exhaustion after a long day of work, the fact that he's been getting on my "list" more and more lately, or just plain ole mom brain... I didn't get around to cleaning out my pocket this week. Then, add to this: I went into the drug store to pick out some goodies to hide in the Easter eggs and left my husband alone in the car with the kids - and you've got yourself a disaster waiting to happen.

Husband#2 proceeded to go through my pocket!! And not in a "here, let me help out my sweetie and throw this trash away for her" kind of way (like he'd like me to believe)... oh, no. More of his side job as a master detective (let me interject here that my husband is an IT consultant and in no way qualified or even naturally born as a sleuth).

"Oh, come on, Camille... You're just being paranoid," you say??

When I got back in the car I was greeted with, "Who did you buy a Panera gift card for??" (Tone is important here, but obviously I can't do it justice)

OMG. That receipt was wadded up and in my lil' trash pocket, along with snot rags and everything else. Seriously?? He waded through snot rags to pry in my trash pocket?? First off: that's just gross. And, secondly, I didn't know I had to request permission to buy someone a gift!!

For the record: the gift card was for the grandfather of one of my kids' friends, who just happens to pay for our dinner just about every week when we join them for Mariachi Monday.

I asked him later, if he had really just been throwing out the trash to help me out, then why did he need to open up and read the details of my receipts.... He said, "Well, I had to look at it - I didn't want to throw away something important." Oh, Come on!! The waded up TRASH didn't give it away that, that is what was in there?? It's no secret; I've told him I use that as a trash pocket before.

You know, it's funny... I've always heard that suspicion is usually a sign of someone else's guilt. Maybe I should be checking HIS pockets...