THE Best Valentimes Card

There are some moments that you later realize were pivotal to how you experience life moving forward. Of course you have your most obvious moments: marriages, births, promotions, but there are also moments that shape your world in smaller ways. For me, one of those days was in June of 2008 when a run of the mill weekly trip to the grocery store turned into a conversation in the check out line with another new mother who was there with her son. He was just a few months younger than Sophie and we bonded over the finer points (and failures from a mother's perspective) of grocery cart design. We exchanged numbers and email addresses. I don't think either of us could have guessed how significant that meeting would be.

Two and a half years later and that chance encounter has turned into one of the best friends I have. Katie has become a confidante, co-conspirator, companion, commiserater and emergency babysitter. We have our weekly trips to Chick Fil A, filling our tanks (and saddlebags, in my case) on milkshakes while the kids run like hooligans in the play area. We've spent countless hours at the library and the park and each others' houses. She's the kind of friend that I'm not embarrassed to have come over when my house is a mess and my daughter is wearing a swimsuit in the middle of winter.

Our children have grown up as close as two non-siblings can. They fight, of course, but they can also be so very cute, like when they spontaneously curl up on the sofa together for a little Diego. I don't think I'm the only one that not-so-secretly hopes they someday get married.

Because it is a requirement* in my friends, she is also super funny and terribly creative. So no surprise that she "helped" her son make the cutest Valentines card for Sophie. Christopher presented Sophie with her card when they stopped over after our return from a long ski weekend. (For those of you unfamiliar with Sophie's signature phase, check out this post.)

I think I'll probably frame it.

Thanks for everything, Katie, you're the best!

*More of a guideline than a strict rule, really.

Across the miles...

I'm just going to come right out and say that while I put on a good front, I'm actually a bit of a chicken. This won't come as any surprise to the folks that know me really well, ie anyone who has ever slept in the same room as me (hello nightlight!). Despite this, I have a penchant for scary movies. Not often and not of the torture horror variety, but occasionally one will come along that grabs my fancy. The Blair Witch Project was one of these. Most recently, it was Paranormal Activity. A low budget, independent film that concentrated on psychological suspense rather than blood and gore, I saw it last year during a girls' weekend in Tennessee and it absolutely scared the cuss out of me. A year later and I still have night terrors about it.

When they announced they were making another one, I was not initially enthused. Rarely, in fact almost never, do sequels of these kinds of movies turn out to be any good. But reports came in that the filmmakers were doing everything they could to avoid the pitfalls that have plagued so many other doomed sequels. And then  early reviews were positive and it looked like there was cause for optimism.

A couple of months ago, Lula, Brandy and I half joked about getting together to see Paranormal Activity 2. It was the three of us (in addition to our friend Heather) that saw the first Paranormal Activity last year and it seemed natural that we would come together again for the second one. Distance and responsibilities being what they are, though, it seemed about as likely to happen as Lindsay Lohan successfully completing rehab.

But then a couple of weeks ago, we took a serious look at our calendars and decided that we were going to make it work. We landed on a date and began plotting. It took a little coordination on our parts, both Lula and I had to arrange child care so we could leave early enough from our respective homes to make it to Brandy's house (4.5 hour drive for me, 3 for Lula) in time for dinner and the movie, but we made it work.

Finally, the day arrived and I hit the open road. It was a long drive, but my excitement (and a trough of Dr. Pepper) made the time pass quickly. The laughs didn't stop from the moment I arrived until I left the next afternoon. There were times I was laughing so hard, I could barely breath. We had a fabulously fattening dinner where we introduced Brandy to red wine, unsuccessfully; we saw the movie, which wasn't quite as good as the first but definitely had some chills; we stayed up until all hours talking; and after sleeping in, we hit Cracker Barrel for a breakfast lunch.

A couple days before I left, Neil commented to me that it was an awfully long way to go for a movie. And he's not wrong. But the truth is that while I did want to see the movie, I didn't really drive all that way just for that. I drove 280 miles to see friends that I haven't seen in person in a year. To sit across from them. To give them great big hugs because I miss their faces. The internet is an amazing thing. If it weren't for this ability to connect over the miles, I never would have met these great ladies, and it is a wonderful tool for maintaining these relationships. But it is no substitute for sitting down at the kitchen table with a great glass of wine (or four) and making lewd drawings at 3am with friends.

Miss you girls. Can't wait for Paranormal Activity 3.

By the way, have you voted for me today in the Baltimore Sun Mobbies? I'm nominated under the Family category and don't forget to select Land of Bean for Best Overall! You can vote once a day until November 12. Thank you!!

Estrogen Extravaganza 2009

Still coming down off of an amazing weekend with some great ladies. It was a meeting of 13 blog friends. Some had known each other IRL for years, but for many, it was the first time meeting. I was among the latter group. It was everything I had hoped for it to be. And more. Each and every one of them was as beautiful and warm and funny in real life as they are on their blogs.

I can't even tell you how much we laughed. So much that we scared off a table of elderly folks at the famous Apple Barn restaurant. Shelley has THE best laugh. We actually overheard them say that they hoped our food arrived soon so we would SHUT UP. Then they got up and stomped off. Which just goes to prove that old age and nice aren't necessarily companions.

And there were screams. We went to see Paranormal Activity. While Lula cowered behind her pillow (YES, she brought a pillow to the theater), I hid my face in Brandy's shoulder, who in turn hid her eyes under her shirt, all while Heather giggled at us fraidy cats. That movie is just about the scariest thing I've ever seen. It got my heart pounding almost as much as Lula's driving*. Needless to say, I slept with the light on the rest of our stay there. Sorry, Jane!

And we ate SO much. Between the crack bars Denise brought and the caramel popcorn Lizzy Beth brought (please, please, please post the recipes, ladies!) and the vast quantities of food we all brought and prepared, I all but waddled home. Which would probably have gotten me home faster considering Tennessee is now officially the worst state in the country for traffic. Seriously. People told me it was bad, but I thought, whatever, it's Tennessee, for crying out loud, how bad can it be. Yeah. It's bad.

And there was a raucous game of 80's Scene It, during which we all showed our age and passion for pop culture trivia. Kat might just be one of the smartest people around. Followed by a viewing of Space Camp, only one of the best movies ever. Made back when Jaoquin was still a Leaf and John Locke had hair.

And there was a lively discussion and demonstration about "crescent rolls" led by Melissa. That girl really knows her stuff.

And there was horseback riding. Where I had to go and admit that I had ridden before so they gave me the "stubborn" one. Which I think is code for "you don't know ridin', yankee" because that horse went on to be the biggest pain in the butt and I spent half of the hour long ride with the trail guide holding my reins, like a little kid.

There are so many more stories, but the best part was just getting to be face to face with women that I have been talking to for so long. Thanks Shannon and Angie for making it happen. Is it too early to start planning next year?

Now it's back to the grind, right Angela?

*No lie. That woman took those mountain curves like Mario Andretti. Love you, girl!

Next Stop, Tennessee!

I am mere minutes, 60 of them, from departure for a long weekend with girlfriends. We're heading to the mountains of Tennessee for a much needed respite from the grinds of every day life. For some laughter and relaxation. And maybe a scare or two.*

I'm leaving my husband and daughter for four days. I've left copious instructions; schedules and preferences. They'll be fine. They'll be fine. It almost galls me to say that, because a tiny part of me doesn't want them to be fine without me. I kind of want it to all go to hell in a handbasket, just to prove the enormous value of my presence. They are my life, those two, and it feels good to be needed. But it feels just as good to take a break.

This is the first long road trip I've been on in years and years. The first in at least a decade now. How does so much time go by? There was a time when long road trips were not at all unusual. These days, you could draw a circle around Baltimore with a compass delineating the three hour mark and that is as far as I ever get. I can count a half dozen trips in recent years that just touch on that boundary. Any further and it merits a plane ticket.

Of course, traveling with a child makes all the difference in the world. I don't even make spontaneous trips to the grocery store any more, I'm sure as heck not going to hop in my car to drive 9 hours with her. Much as I love her. Neil and I talk about taking these trips all the time, but somehow it just never happens.

But this trip is. And while I'm taking my laptop, I'm going to try not to spend too much time on it. With 13 women, friends and sisters of my heart, around to keep me company, I'm betting you won't see much of me on this here internet.

So with that, I'm off. Wish me safe travels and I'll see you next week!

Now, where's my Thelma and Louise soundtrack?



*We're going to see Paranormal Activity on Friday. Hold me.

I can live for two months on a good compliment - Mark Twain

I went to see a good friend a couple of days ago, we were planning to see a movie and do some shopping. When I got to her house, she commented that my hair looked shorter, to which I responded, YES, I just had it cut. She just looked at me and that was pretty much the end of the conversation. She didn't tell me I looked bad, but she didn't say I looked good either, so my assumption is that this hairdo is a don't. Which is too bad, because I'm actually kind of happy with it. Whatever.

But that got me thinking. When I worked, I got daily affirmations about my appearance. And if I got a haircut, well then ratchet the compliments up a couple of notches. Because that is what women do. Even if we're not being 100% honest, and to be fair, that is sometimes the case. Women can be snippy and backstabbing and cliquish but we are also incredibly supportive. I don't think I realized just how much I thrived on that until I didn't have it. Sure, my husband compliments me (when prodded), but it isn't the same. He has to tell me I look beautiful.

I really do miss it. I miss people complimenting my shoes or my purse or my clothes or my hair or WHATEVER. Just complimenting me. I hadn't realized what a big part of my self-confidence relied on those little pearls. They were a barometer for how I gauged myself.

Perhaps in some ways this is good. I don't look to external sources to measure my self-worth. These days, I alone am responsible for boosting myself up. It is only my reflection that compliments me on a regular basis. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, I suppose. But I have to tell you, that bitch is kind of stingy with the praise.

Cousteau She's Not

We went to the National Aquarium in Baltimore on Friday for Sophie's first visit to see the fishies. We met some old friends and their beautiful daughter there. While it was lovely to spend an afternoon with people I don't see nearly often enough these days and enjoying some (mostly) adult conversation, Sophie was a little less than cooperative for most of the visit. I wish I could say that my little bean went from one amazing underwater view to the next, oohing and aahing over the countless aqautic wonders, but the truth is that she spent the entire time pulling me/racing towards the escalators and moving sidewalks that transport visitors between the levels in the multi-storied building.






















Next time, I'm just gonna take her to the mall and save the $25.

*Just so you don't think I'm a terrible mother, during the photographing of this picture is the only time I let go of her on the escalator. Looking at this picture now, my mind goes to some pretty gruesome places involving fingers smushed in the stairs. Shudder.

Sometimes Wishes Do Come True

Saturday night, Neil and I met a couple of friends at a local restaurant for a night of beer, crabs and laughs. Lots of laughs. For those of you not familiar with Blue Crabs, they are a delicacy that is native to Maryland and the Chesapeake Bay. When alive, the crabs are true to their name and are quite blue, but when cooked they turn a lovely orange/red color. Around here, we steam them (the only way to do it) and load them up with tons of salty Old Bay Seasoning. So much seasoning, in fact, that your hands (and shirt and pants and surrounding floor) are coated in the vibrantly orange stuff. It is not an overstatement to say that by the end of the night, you feel like you will never be able to get it all off of you.

I had never even heard of this style of crab before I moved to Maryland, and it took me years to develop the taste, but now I love them. Back home in Kansas, if you say crabs, you mean Alaskan King Crab Legs, of the Deadliest Catch variety. I still love those and the amount of meat you get out of them versus the Blue Crab, which is a lot of work for a very little meat*, is awfully appealing, but a night out eating blue crabs is an Experience.

It took the four of us three hours to pick our way through two and a half dozen crabs, but I wouldn't have traded a minute of that because during that time we traded stories, told jokes and caught up on each others lives. It's about more than just the food.

Sometimes easy isn't best.






















* An experienced picker produces less than one ounce of meat from the average crab.

** A rare photograph of me to be posted here. I swear I don't keep them out due to some sense of modesty or desire for anonymity as much as that I am generally the one holding the camera so there just aren't many pictures of me. I actually put on make-up for this little outing. Don't hold back, you can tell me how pretty I look. No really, you can tell me. It's okay, don't be shy.