Tuesday, April 30, 2013

More Yoga with Grandma

I took Grandma to her second yoga class tonight.

She bought a sassy pair of black capri yoga pants.

And a tank top.

And her own yoga mat.

So I think that she must be liking this okay. To jump in like this, I mean. She's old school frugal. And absolutely detests shopping. And tight clothes. The more I think about it, the more remarkable it seems.

When we walked into the studio today, the receptionist said "hi, Grandma!" just like Grandma had taken a dozen classes before. I suppose there aren't a lot of 79-year-old ladies who take classes at their studio. The receptionist's greeting was adorable. And, to make the whole interaction even cuter, Grandma showed off her new outfit for her, too.

I might have taken a photo of her sweet new outfit on the sly. Look at her arms. She's 79. Seriously.

It's only been two classes, so maybe I'm making it a bigger deal than it really is, but this whole experience has made me feel so incredibly lucky. Lucky that I am 30 years old and I have a grandma -- a grandma who I am close to, a grandma who I adore, a grandma who is still so very much full of life -- and I have the good sense to spend time with her. Lucky that I have the time and the means to take yoga. Lucky that I can share something I love with someone I love. 

Monday, April 29, 2013

I am feeling excited: a list

 1. Taking Grandma to her second yoga class tomorrow.
 2. Our actual yoga class; I need a good stretch (three soccer games in one day will do that).
 3. The super special surprise dress I bought for Derby weekend.
 5. Approximately 39 things I have planned for summertime.
 6. A mother/daughter pre-Mother's Day tea with Lucy and our moms.
 7. My latest project: watching the last two seasons of Gossip Girl.
 8. Finally getting started on our plans to go to Brazil for the 2014 World Cup; kickoff is a mere 13 months away! 
 9. The cup of coffee I'll have tomorrow morning. The thing about limiting myself to a single cup of coffee every day is that I get very, very fired up about that single cup of coffee.
10. When The Coach finally, finally, finally comes home for the summer.
11. This weekend's long-awaited road trip with Lucy. It has been so long since we've been on a proper road trip, just the two of us.
12. My Derby outfits. I may or may not be packing six pairs of shoes for three days.
13. Blogging a proper recap of my derby dresses when I return home. I promise lots of pictures!
14. Meg's new house. She closed last Thursday and moved in over the weekend. She's excited so I'm excited.
15. Going to bed. I've really been digging the early bedtimes lately.
16. Mango smoothies. All the time.
17. That Meg is taking the lead on our full-family, kids-cook Mother's Day extravaganza this year.
18. Lucy and Chet's little guy. July is going to be here so soon! He's going to be such an awesome miniature dude. I am so eager to meet him and love him and spoil him.
19. The future. I can't pinpoint why, but it feels rosy.
20. Finally posting a picture of my Derby hat! You're all going to be so impressed. You'll never see me the same again. No longer will I be That Strange Blogger from Detroit. I'll be That Fancy Lady Blogger from Detroit...who is strange. Embrace the change.

And tell me what you're excited about, too.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Soccer Sunday

I am currently wearing my third sports bra of the day.

I started out in hot pink. That's the color I wore for my first two soccer games of the day. I played at 9:00 and 10:00 am with my spring/summer coed team. Our first games of the season! I was less than amused at having to set my alarm to get up and get to our games, the soccer was nearly as fantastic as the latte I had on my drive to the field.

After my first games, I stopped at Mom and Dad's house. Mom fed me meatballs and I read the newspaper and changed into my second sports bra (and second pair of soccer shorts and third t-shirt) of the day: purple. Because I had a third soccer game at 2:00 pm.

The third game was with my women's team. It isn't great soccer and the lower skill gets me frustrated but it was fun.

It was all great fun. All 3.5 hours of soccer.

It is cold and rainy here today and I barely noticed. It was so great to be on the field.

Soccer is important to me because soccer makes me feel like me. There is nowhere else where I feel so much like myself than I do at my soccer games.

I went back to Mom and Dad's house after my last game because they wanted me to come to dinner and because I love dinner. I took a shower. I put on the last clean sports bra in my soccer bag.

My third sports bra is neon yellow.

And I'm not going to be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning.

Friday, April 26, 2013

My Grandma the Yogi

It is a very special Friday, as today marked the beginning of my grandma's transition to a yogic lifestyle.

As you may or may not know, I bought my grandma an 8-class package of classes to the yoga studio by her house. She had mentioned that she wanted to try yoga and I thought it might be fun for us to take a few yoga classes together.

I was right. It was so fun.

When I showed up at her house this morning, Grandma was wearing yoga pants and a sensible striped long sleeved shirt. Knowing that the room was heated to 78 degrees, I suggested that she change into a t-shirt.
Before we left, Grandpa gave us a few words of wisdom. "Don't let them put anything around your neck!" Noted, Grandpa.

We checked in at the studio and we filled out our waiver and Grandma made friends with all of the ladies at the front desk and told them all about having read an article about the studio in the newspaper. They ushered us over to the yoga room, where it was very hot and smelled very strongly of incense and I thought she would say something about that but she didn't. I put Grandma's mat right by mine and tried not to laugh when, at the beginning of class, she started talking very loudly. In the silent room. She figured it out before I had to break out the librarian "ssssh."

For the first few minutes of class, she did a lot of loud grunting. She eventually settled into the relative quietness of the class and just made faces when something was hard.

My grandma is in fantastic shape, so she actually did quite a good job with the class. Yoga is difficult for anyone their first time. It's hard to figure out which limb goes where. Sometimes I would point to my foot or my arm to help her get in place, but she figured all of that out fairly quickly.  

It was towards the end of class when I realized that I didn't tell her about the resting part at the end. Nor did I warn her that the instructor might come around and adjust your neck or otherwise touch you during the rest. To my happy surprise, she didn't jump up and shout when the instructor came around and put some aromatherapy oil on our temples.

She was very pleased with herself after class. She told all of the other ladies that she hopes that she will see them again and she told the instructor that she did a very good job. The instructor told Grandma that she might be a little sore tomorrow and Grandma insisted that she would definitely not be sore. (She insisted the same thing to me later.) (My sister will see her tomorrow so I am making her ask Grandma if she is sore to find out if this is true.)

There was a bit of chatting in the lobby after class and, just as we were leaving, Grandma said something about being a 79-year-old great grandma.

The instructor gasped. "79?! SHUT THE FRONT DOOR."

And you guys? When she heard the instructor say that? Grandma turned to, well, shut the front door. It was adorable.

After class, she took me to lunch at Subway.

I was a little nervous that she would scoff at all of the take-a-cleansing-breath/spiritual/set-an-intention-for-class/hippie aspects of yoga class but she actually liked it. She said it would help her better deal with Grandpa. Truth.

I should also mention that Grandma went to Curves a few hours before our yoga class. You guys? My grandma is hardcore.

She is also awesome.

And alarmingly flexible.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

The New Girl

I am managing my summer soccer team this year and it's 41 flavors of annoying. Every player has all of this paperwork to fill out, they need to mail me a check, I have to order jerseys, I have to secure a fields, I have to send out 43 emails a day. It's just a pain in the ass.

That being said, I'm happy to do it. I really love summer soccer.

We have a handful of new players this year, which is fairly common. Girls get pregnant or move away or decide to stop playing and we have to replace them. Typically, I replace players with girls who a current teammate recommends because then I know they're probably skilled enough to be on our team (it's a very competitive league) and they're probably a good fit for our team dynamic.

Every once and a while, I'll add a player at the league's request. The league takes the names of girls who are looking for a team and forwards them along. Typically, these players are never as good as they say that they are and more than half of the time they don't pan out but I'll take the risk on an unknown or two.

Yesterday, I sent out an email update to my team.

Within just a few minutes, I get an email back from a teammate saying, "Just curious...how do you know so-and-so?"

It was one of our unknowns. I told her as much.

My teammate responds back: "I've played with her. She's a huge bitch."

Apparently, this unknown is cocky and also known for screaming at her teammates.

Not cool.

We're competitive, but we're not evil.

I promise my teammate that I will handle our potential bitch and I will. It's good to have the warning. By the time our season starts in a few weeks, I'll have my lecture down to one assertive sentence that will hopefully shut her up for good. Something along the lines of "hey, we don't talk to our teammates like that." Just in a really stern tone.

And I'll give a fair warning to most of my teammates not to put up with her shit.

I was telling Meg this story last night and I wrap it up with "so, think of some clever ways to tell her to shut the fuck up."

"I have a good one," Meg says. "How about: SHUT THE FUCK UP?"

So, that should work.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Embracing the weirdness

It’s quite frequent, when I am out and about with Lucy and Baby A, to feel like people are trying to figure us out. Who does this baby belong to and where does the blonde fit into the puzzle?

I don’t think it’s a bad thing. It is wonderful, honestly, that I’m comfortable with Baby A and he’s comfortable with me. It’s nice that sometimes I can give Lucy a break and balance him on my lap during lunch. I could care less what people think or that they’re thinking of it at all.

It only gets more confusing when Chet is in the picture.

On Friday night, as I mentioned before, the four of us went to dinner. The reservation was in my name. Lucy and Chet sat across from each other with me between them. Baby A sat at Chet’s side. Chet took care of keeping the little dude happy throughout the night.

At one point, the restaurant manager came over and asked me a question about Baby A. And then asked Lucy a question about him, too. It was pretty apparent that she couldn’t quite figure out who went with what, but how do you clarify such a thing?

We only made it more confusing for everyone – our server, especially – when I ordered Chet’s meal. At his request. I’m not sure why. I didn’t ask why. I just did it.

I could just see her trying to work it all out. We have the man who is taking care of the baby. He is wearing a wedding ring. And we have the lady who is ordering for the man, who is not wearing a wedding ring. And then there’s the other lady who looks like the baby.

As a big fan of people watching, I know that I would be trying to piece together that puzzle.

Our favorite assumption is that people think that we’re polygamists.

We like to tease Chet and tell him that all of the men in the restaurant are observing his two fine wives and staring at him with jealousy in their eyes.

And I’ve taken to referring to Lucy as my sister wife.

Embracing the weirdness. It’s a key to happiness.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

My New Skill

I did something awesome yesterday.

I was cooking a big meal to cover my lunches for the week when my dad started texting me about my Sirius radio subscription. Has it run out? Would I like him to renew it for me?

Um, yes and yes. I’m all about satellite radio if someone else is footing the bill.

A few minutes later, I’m chopping vegetables and throwing chicken sausage in the saucepan and he tells me to run out to the car and turn the radio to a certain channel. I dash into the garage, do what he says, and return to the kitchen. I do it once again a bit later, just to make sure it’s been activated. I’m still cooking, so I run back inside.

I made a colossal mess in the kitchen. Once I had everything cleaned up and put away, it was an hour later and I wanted to chill on the couch for a few minutes before getting ready for work.

I picked up the remote and was a second from belly flopping onto the couch when I realized that I hadn’t brought my keys in from the car. Or turned off the radio.

I scuttled out to the garage and, sure enough: my battery was dead.


Obviously, I don't know how to jump a car and also the one neighbor I know isn't home, so I call my dad and I'm like "ummm...thanks for the six months of satellite radio I screwed up real bad."

And then I called my cousin Danielle, who only lives a few miles away from home. But wasn't at home. And then I called Aunt Annette, who was at work, to see if she had any good ideas. Aunt Annette was on it and called all of her friends who don't work, in the meantime, my dad was going to leave work to rescue his little princess.

Aunt Annette found a friend to come over, so my dad was called off of the task and instead just had to walk me through jumping a car.

Which I did. Successfully.

It was actually really easy, go figure, and Aunt Annette's friend obviously thinks that I am a brilliant, skilled and well-rounded woman after witnessing the ease with which I jumped my car.

Conveniently, I discovered and solved this problem well before I had to leave for work, so I wasn't even late.

Sporting my new Positive Polly attitude, I didn't even beat myself up about it for hours and hours after the fact.

So it all turned out okay in the end.

Also I now know how to jump a car so I'm basically unstoppable now.

Monday, April 22, 2013


Remember Alexander?

Alexander was in town a couple of weeks ago.

I know Alexander was in town because he told me. He was in town for work and he was working quite close by and he was all full of hints and suggestions and I just played so, so dumb. You're in town? How nice! Your mom must be so excited to see you. You're working practically in my backyard? Don't work too hard!

It was pretty apparent what he was getting at and I am just not interested. I don't regret what happened between us early last year. I needed that life experience. I needed the clarity that came from it. But I don't need it again.

And if I had any confidence that we could have dinner or drinks together without him pushing and pushing and pushing, I would have met him for dinner or drinks. I don't dislike being around him.

I dislike when he's all up in my shit and making it seem like I don't know what I want and like I'm stringing him along when that's all so terribly far from the truth. And that's the Alexander who would meet me for dinner and, in that case, I would rather pass.

So I passed.

Assertively enough that I wonder if I will hear from him again.

(Unfortunately, I'm quite certain that I will see him again at some hockey function, where he will be all push, push, push and I will be all annoyed.)

Which -- as civil as I would like to be -- would not be a bad thing.

His week here came and went and I didn't think twice about it.

I didn't think twice about Alexander. I didn't think about him at all, as a matter of fact, until this morning when I logged into The Facebook and was greeted with a big, cheesy picture of him and his ex-girlfriend.

It took 0.6 seconds of stalking to uncover that she wasn't in Los Angeles visiting. She lives there. She moved there. For him.

What a dick.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Food therapy

The Boston Marathon bombing took the wind out of my sails this week. I went into Sunday with the intention of telling a silly story about how I apparently think that I’m taller than I am, but I hadn’t written it by early Monday afternoon and in the wake of tragedy I wasn’t feeling very funny.

I wasn’t feeling very funny when I wrote I finally got around to writing it on Wednesday, either, but sometimes you just have to go through the motions when you’re looking for a slice of normalcy in the midst of such bullshit.

I probably have no right to have felt this one as much as I did. But, as a runner, I tend to think of all runners as my people. And as a blogger, I think of all bloggers as my people, too. Especially including one of my very favorites. And The Coach had a friend running the race for charity. He’s fine. Everyone is fine. But the whole event was just a horrible dark cloud on the week. I didn’t want to do much other than feel bummed.

Early on Friday morning – just after 2:00 am – I woke up. I rarely check Twitter in the middle of the night (I rarely wake up in the middle of the night) and I did and there were things happening in Boston and did I get out of bed and go downstairs and turn on CNN? I did. Did I stay up until 5:00 am flipping around between all of the bad news coverage while swiping through the equally bad news reports on my iPad? I did. I dipped in my toe and then fell right in. Remind me not to make that mistake again. It didn’t do anything positive for my mental state. Or for my sleep patterns. Or to make the situation any better for anyone.

It was a stroke of luck that dinner reservations I made a few weeks ago fell right in the middle of all of last night’s chaos. Instead of perching on the couch (as I would have inevitably done), I had a really awesome dinner with Lucy and Chet and Baby A.

Tell me this fine dining intervention -- and those chubby baby cheeks -- wouldn't slightly improve your outlook:

Caprese (Blistered tomato, mozzarella, balsamic reduction, shiso and white balsamic foam)

Masa Harina-crusted Whitefish (Braised kale, andouille bubbles, Asiago polenta, Cajun cream, tarragon oil)

Peanut Butter Bar (Caramelized bananas and salted peanuts)

How lucky. I am so lucky.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Thinking Tall

It all started on Easter, when my 13-year-old cousin, Max, showed up showing off his newly long, gangly, teenage legs.

He's taller than me.

I was not happy.

But I knew that I wasn't the only one Max had surpassed; if he was taller than me, he was taller than my cousins Liz and Danielle.

Or so I thought.

I was reading through Liz's Match profile last weekend and my eyes stop on her height.

"You're not 5'6", girl! Why are you lying about your height? Only guys lie about their height!"

She insisted that she actually is 5'6" and I insisted that she was the same height as me, 5'2". We've been living together for a year and a half and also we've been cousins for 30 years so obviously I would know! I forced her to stand up and we looked in the mirror and maybe there was an optical illusion but she looked...about four inches taller than me.

So that was pretty disappointing.

Also Liz laughed at me and then texted Meg so that Meg could laugh at me, too. Rude.

But I still had Danielle in the short cousin club (my sister and our other cousin Paige are both around 5'8") and I appreciated that I wasn't the only short one. At least I had that.

And then Sunday rolled around and Liz invited Danielle over for dinner. We were eating when suddenly I burst out with "Dani, how tall are you?"

She looked at me suspiciously. Liz laughed. She answered. About 5'6".

I was sad about my new found shortness, but I was not broken. I still had my pride. I know that I am not tall, but I will insist that I am not short.

Later on Sunday night, I happened to see a picture of my old boss with Carrie Underwood. (Thanks, social media, for the photographic randomness.)

I see the picture and I am struck by -- what else? -- how little she looked. How absolutely miniature! How terribly, terribly tiny! How remarkably short, despite the heels she was wearing!

I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I consulted my friend Google for Carrie Underwood's height.

And she's taller than me.


Tuesday, April 16, 2013

This is about a lot of things, actually.

My heart feels too small for all of these feelings.

It isn't hard to make me cry. A happy cry, a sad cry, a dignified cry, an ugly cry: they all come easily.

The world -- this big, beautiful, complex world -- scares me.

My world -- my limited, humble, simple world -- scares me.

So much promise. So much horror. So much love. So much beauty.

I wish that I could look ahead. I wish that I could see the days to come so that I could watch all of this come together. So I could see the pieces fit together. So I could see how this all works out. So that I could understand. So that it would make sense.

I don't flip ahead in novels and read the ending first.

Today, I wish that I could.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

An unfamiliar feeling

What a lovely three day stretch. What a lovely, lovely weekend. I am writing from bed, fresh from an absurdly hot post-run shower and I am just so satisfied with the last few days.

There is just something about feeling content that I find so intoxicating.

I suppose that could be attributed to how infrequently I allow myself to feel content. I don't give myself a lot of time to breathe. I don't leave myself with time to reflect on my last goal because I am too busy embarking on my next one. I don't allow myself many idle hours. Contentment is not a feeling that I have with any frequency.

But it is quite nice.

This weekend was quite nice.

I would tell you about what I did but it was nothing remarkable. An ordinary three days that were quietly awesome and exactly what I needed.

No. Wait. I'm exaggerating again. The weekend was very close to what I needed but not exactly what I needed.

If there had been even three minutes of sunshine on any of those three days, they would have qualified as perfect. But it has been gloomy, gloomy, gloomy 'round here and when I am done gushing about lovely days, I am going to order up some springtime and some sunshine. Rush delivery, please.

Lovely days are lovely days, but they don't make snow in April any more appealing.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Who am I?

It was two years ago, almost exactly, that I got really interested in being positive and positive thinking and all of that happy jazz that, for whatever reason, is not my nature.

I remember when it was very clearly because, right after I started on my positive thinking kick, The Coach came into my life. Seriously.

The first quarter of 2013 has not been my finest. With the rare exception of a good day or a decent week, I spent the first three months of the year feeling pretty miserable. I won't claim to be the most cheerful, most optimistic girl you've ever had the pleasure of reading on the interwebs, but I'm far from miserable. Usually.

Waiting out this funk wasn't a cure. So I'm forcing it out.

I've spent the last week thinking about what I'm thinking about and adjusting when necessary (frequently) and, um, it might really be working.

I know. It freaks me out a little bit, too. But I am so glad to be off of the Sad Train to Miserableville that I don't even care that Normal Alyson would be horrified by what Positive Alyson tells herself. Because the Sad Train to Miserableville really sucked. And while all of the sugary sweetness bouncing around in my head is a little much, so was being a downcast, pathetic, tormented asshole.

Here is an illustration of what is inside of my head:

So I am just going to apologize in advance for being grossly cheerful any otherwise obnoxious.

I think I'll find the happy middle sometime soon.

But in the meantime, feed into my magical butterfly universe. Do me a favor and pass along all of your best positive thinking tips, tricks, secrets, chants and good luck charms. I will repay you in fairy dust and angel tears.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Selfie Fashion Week 2013

Fashion show! As promised, I’m going to show you my Derby dress.

I’m also going to show you a few others because I wouldn’t mind a little help picking out the other dresses I’m going to haul to Kentucky. At the very least, I need a dress to wear to Churchill Downs on Friday. But I think I will bring along another dress or two so I can have it as an option to wear to dinner on one of the nights that we’re there.

No comments on how pale I am or how I need to iron my dresses! There will be the careful application of self-tanner and proper pressing prior to the Derby, I promise.

Okay. Anyway. Here we go. The dress below is my Derby dress. I’m not showing you my hat so you’re just going to have to judge the standalone dress and eagerly await the hat reveal. It’s from J. Crew. I paid too much for it (Maybe it's just me, but I feel like everything I buy at J. Crew is always slightly more expensive than I feel it should be.) It has an exposed zipper, which is cute. I’m a little afraid it looks too much like a J. Crew bridesmaid dress. It has pockets. The blue is actually a little bit lighter, leaning more towards periwinkle.You can't see it because of the junky cellphone photography, but the dress has a lot of pretty structure to it. It's a dress that I'll have for a long time, which is why I felt okay about paying too much for it in the first place. It isn't a one-and-done dress.

Unless I find something that's absolutely perfect in the next couple of weeks, I'm going ahead with this as my Derby dress. 

Now on to other possibilities for Derby weekend.

The (newer) tradition for the race on Friday – The Oaks – is to wear pink and I would like to incorporate a bit of pink into my outfit if it’s at all possible.

From left to right.

Dress 1: Hot pink. Pretty simple. Definitely short.

Dress 2: The fancy lady choice of dresses under consideration, I think. It feels less casual thank the rest. It also has a fun exposed zipper. The last time I wore it, I totally looked pregnant in the pictures* and the fault was honestly the dress and not a baby or bloating. Which makes me really hesitant to choose this dress. Even though I do like it.

Dress 3: I picked up at Macy’s a few months ago. Maybe a little too casual? Trick would be adding pink to the outfit, but I think I could get away with a fuchsia cardigan.

Dress 4: Strapless and pretty basic. I don’t know that strapless dresses do much for me, to be honest. Flowers on the dress are a really, really pale pink so I could play that up to get in the pink factor.

Dress 5: Matronly? Boring? Adding in pink would be easy. My Derby hat has stripes, so I wonder if this would be a case of too many stripes for one weekend.  

Dress 6: Basic, white, J. Crew. Ties in the back. On the shorter side. Super comfortable.

Dress 7: Picture doesn’t show the colors very well, but this is brown and teal. I have no idea how I would pull some pink into this outfit, so I guess it probably isn’t a Friday option. This dress might be leaning a little too old and conservative for the occasion.   

*Here is proof that I looked pregnant in the pictures from the last time I wore this dress.

Rough, right? That was not my best day in so many ways -- my hair, my imaginary baby, my horrible attitude.

I was about to post a picture of myself in the white dress, wearing a bright blue wig from my wig-themed 30th birthday party but there's really a limit to how much you can embarrass yourself on the internet in one day.

Monday, April 08, 2013

Years: 2

Two years ago, to the minute, right now? I thought The Coach was all talk.

I had just interviewed for a job -- this job -- and my head was just full. Full from the interview. Full from work. Full from the attention I got from a guy who was way, way out of my league. The Coach.

Always The Coach.

He is a constant in my life where he never should have been. He's here. He's always here. Even when, (far too often) physically, he isn't.

What we have is a mess. Two years of a confusing mess that I don't know how to get out of. Two years of a confusing mess that I don't know if I want to get out of. (Truthfully, even though logic screams otherwise, I don't think that I do.) It's so simple and it's so complicated and it feels so safe and it feels stupid and it feels right and it feels like everything and it feels like nothing.

I love having him in my life. He's worth every single tear. He's worth this mess.

I'm sure that you all think that I'm insane. I think that I'm insane.

And, in the same breath, I remind myself that he's still here. Two years later. He's still here. Shouldn't he not? Wasn't there a reason that I never stored his number in my phone? Didn't I spend all that energy reminding all of us that this was just temporary?

Two years isn't temporary.

I don't know what it is.

But it isn't temporary.

Thoughts over (one cup of) coffee

Happy Monday, you guys! I really don't like to go more than a couple of days without blogging but I just never got around to it this weekend. More lazy than busy, to be honest. And lacking in words and topics and interesting things to think about. Sometimes I am afraid that I have reached the bottom of the well and, after almost 9 (!!!!) years of blogging, I have written all that I could have written.

But then I remember that I can write about the random things I am thinking about on a Monday morning while I am enjoying my one and only cup of coffee.

Yes, my one and only cup of coffee. I had been good about drinking only one cup, but then I got mildly bad again and was ignoring the fact that two cups of coffee is the gateway to 11 cups of coffee. I'm only partially kidding. I probably shouldn't drink coffee at all. Any more than a cup a day makes me feel awful outside of the blissful moments when I am sipping the coffee and it is so warm and so rich and so right.

I am thinking about my mighty Wolverines playing in the national title game tonight. Now, I will be the first to confess that I am not a basketball fan. I didn't grow up in a basketball family. And, when I was at UM, the basketball program was a complete wreck (due to some NCAA violations during the '90s). I went to a grand total of one basketball game as a student. But that isn't to say that I'm not incredibly proud that my alma mater is playing on such a grand stage. And that isn't to say that I'm not going to try to sneak some maize and blue into my outfit today. Go Blue!


 I am thinking about writing something substantial later today.

I am thinking about these lemon rosemary scones and I am hoping that, once I run to the grocery store and make something for lunch and finish my laundry that I will have time to bake up a quick batch of these beauties, too.

My head keeps coming back to the Kentucky Derby. Over the weekend, I dragged my mom along on a shopping trip for a Derby dress. I think that I have found the winner. Now it is time to narrow down the rest of my dresses to a managable five so that I have the entire weekend covered. This might call for a dress post, you guys. Start mentally preparing for a lot of selfies. But don't expect the big hat reveal just yet. I have my hat but it is significantly lacking in flowers and feathers and ribbon. I have high hopes of my ability to craft the perfect hat, but it is not ready for the interwebs or the Kentucky Derby.

A few months ago, my grandma mentioned that she wanted to try yoga. Shortly thereafter, there was a killer Groupon for a studio that is right around the corner from her house. I bought two: one for me, one for Grandma. I gave it to her for her birthday a few weeks ago, but she left for a long vacation the next week so we haevn't gone to a class. Yet. She gets home today and I am anxiously awaiting our first class together. My grandma is in incredible shape and she's ridiculously flexible. Not to mention being so adorable that I'm positive that the yogis are going to try to steal her. This might be my best idea yet.
Any Louisville fans in the house who wish to reveal themselves? Who wants to be my coffee addiction sponsor? Do you think any yogis will really try to steal my grandma? And, most importantly, how was your weekend, you guys?  
Go Blue!

Thursday, April 04, 2013

Spring + Summer + Dreams + Plans

I’m still wearing scarves and sweaters and I’ve regretted the choice every day I’ve gone to work wearing nothing on my feet other than my ballet flats, but it feels like spring. You know what spring feels like? Spring feels like you’re finally free of the black hole that is a winter in the Midwest. Spring feels like sunshine.

I need my sunglasses, you guys. So what if I need my winter coat, too?

While craving the end of wintertime, I made a short wish list for spring/summer 2013. Some are foregone conclusions. Others are lofty, dreamy, silly.

And I’m excited to do it all.

What I want to do this spring/summer
Attend a baseball game
Drink on a patio while wearing a sundress
Play a lot of soccer
The Coach
Meet Lucy and Chet’s new baby boy
Read on the deck in the sunshine
Get a solid start to planning my Brazil trip
Take Ellie for ice cream
Make something pretty
Get a pedicure
Watch a soccer game
Make a decision or a change that feels big
Read 5 books that aren’t for work
Go somewhere fancy
Make caramel corn
Take silly pictures
5+ yoga classes
Road trip
Buy someone the perfect present

What about you guys? Big plans? Little plans? No plans?

Wednesday, April 03, 2013

The Only One Without

It was a typical weeknight at Lucy and Chet’s house. I showed up a few hours after work, having made a quick trip to the gym on my way. We ate our dinner. Lucy put the baby to bed while I did dishes. We took our standard places on the couches and plugged in to the television show du jour: House of Cards.

Between episodes, we dished out Key Lime Pie and gossip. Lucy told me about her day, which included babysitting her nephew for a few hours, followed by a visit by a friend and her young son. Chet referred to the day as “Lucy’s Kindergarten,” with all of the babies she was entertaining.

Continuing on about her day, Lucy pointed out “you were the only lady over here today without an alien and another on the way.” By alien she meant baby. Lucy is weird. “Be careful, it’s catching.”

The statement was meant to be harmless.

But for a stupid, silly, long second my breath caught in my throat.

I am the only one.

I wish that I didn’t care. I wish that I didn’t feel so behind. I wish that I was so content with my life that Lucy’s silly observation didn’t do anything more than make me laugh.

And, to be clear, it did. I laughed.

I laughed at how pathetic I felt, among other things.

Tuesday, April 02, 2013

I have no idea why I feel so awful

Breakfast: egg, Reese's Peanut Butter Egg.
Snack: Peeps, 4.
Lunch: Rice, chicken, veggies and a Chobani Greek yogurt.
Snack: Apple fritter -- a gift from my coworker -- that was approximately the size of my head.

I am so sluggish. My brain feels mushy. I can't concentrate.

But I'm sure it has nothing to do with the 3 lbs. of sugar I have injested today.

Can't wait for dinner at Lucy's house. I'm bringing Chipotle and we're going to watch House of Cards.

But, more importantly, she made a Key Lime Pie.

It feels like my head is going to pop straight off of my shoulders and go crashing into the ceiling. Should I be concerned?

Monday, April 01, 2013

I'm cool

Lately, I have been having problems with my quads. Tight, achy, sore: there isn't a specific injury to blame, just pain caused by the amount I run and my general neglect in terms of properly stretching and using my foam roller.

Due to my level of activity, I am generally all sorts of beat up. It is quite convenient to have a physical therapist as a sister.

I've been bitching about my sore quads for a few weeks now. Yesterday, Meg stretched me out a little bit and then she taped up my especially sore quad with elastic therapeutic tape. She just got certified in this therapy technique, so she was more than happy to use me for a little practice.

And she just bought herself a few rolls of tape with fun prints to use when she's taping up herself or her pathetic sister. I thought nothing of it when she pulled a tiger print roll out of her bag. 

The tape job only took Meg a few minutes. I was grateful for anything that could potentially give me a bit of relief, as I am trying to cut back from regularly taking 600 mg doses of Ibuprofen just because I am eternally sore and whiny.

Meg taped me up. I pulled on my jeans and I got back to the business of eating pounds and pounds of Easter candy. I thought nothing of it.

It wasn't until last night, when I was putting on a pair of shorts to go for a quick run, did I realize that I had two large strips of tiger striped tape on my leg.

And a gynecologist appointment in the morning.

(Gynecologist appointment on April Fools Day for the win!)

Now, I could have pulled off the tape before my appointment, but the tape is supposed to stay on longer than that. Plus Meg's leaving soon for a hockey tournament in California, which means I wouldn't get another taping for more than a week and it seemed to be helping.

"She's a physician," Meg dismissed when I called about my predicament. And then she dropped a bunch of medical jargon that I wouldn't remember, telling me to inform my doctor what my very colorful leg decor was doing.

I contemplated peeling off the tape again this morning.  

But my legs hurt more than my pride would. I left it on.

"That's...impressive!" my doctor exclaimed when she noticed the tape, which happened approximately .3 seconds after she walked into the exam room.

Apparently doctors are, like, trained to be observant. Fancy that.

I really don't know how I'm going to top this for my appointment next year. But I'm thinking that it might need to involve stick-on rhinestones.

Do you think she made a note of it in my chart?
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