My husband is the coolest husband on the block.Here's what he just gave me for my birthday:
The Alton Brown fans among my dear readers (I think it's just you and me, Kerri) will recognize this as AB's signature saltcellar (or sodium chloride containment unit).But wait! It isn't just your plain old, average, run-of-the-mill saltcellar. Oh no, my friends. Observe:
Autographed by the man himself!! I'm not sure I'll even be able to bring myself to use it for fear of sullying that signature caricature. And in the box, under the saltcellar, I found this:
Be still, my heart. Alton Brown wished me a wonderful birthday. Me. Alton Brown. Wonderful. I don't think there's any point in having birthdays henceforth, because they're not going to get any better than this.
Sometimes I'm not sure whether I have a bigger crush on Airan or Alton. (It's Airan, trust me.) I'm not entirely sure how Airan managed this (he claims he was in Atlanta on "business" last week...), but I'm not asking too many questions. I'm just too excited! Quick, send me recipes that use kosher salt!
Does Drew Barrymore not look totally wasted in that picture? It figures that, in order for me to look like Drew, she'd have to look like complete crap first.(Confession: I shamelessly stole this idea from Sonya -- hope you don't mind, Sonya!)
Airan took this lovely shot of the Chicago skyline from the beach near our condo a few nights ago. I like it so much I thought I'd share it with you. (Yes, you can see that there's a bit of a brown cloud over the downtown area. But it's quite pretty otherwise, isn't it?)
I found this Middle East geography quiz to be an interesting and enlightening challenge. I got a string of eight or so countries with not much trouble, but then I was stumped. (I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't get Iraq on my first try.) How about you?
(Thanks to Julie for sharing this quiz with me.)
Had the twins been born on their due date, today would be their first birthday. That's a strange thought when their actual first birthday party was so very long ago. Yet another reminder of how lucky we are that the girls are happy and well.
Lately, I've been semi-seriously considering breast-reduction surgery. I've always had more than I need in that department, and I'm sick and tired of the chronic upper-back pain that comes with being amply endowed.So I've been surfing the web in search of breast-reduction information. WebMD, for example, says large breasts affect nearly 1 million American women. (I'd never really thought of large breasts as an affliction before. And I'd add that they also have an affect on countless American men.) MayoClinic.com cautions that breast-reduction surgery can result in asymmetrical breasts. (Shudder.) BFAR.org offers our society's perceived link between large breasts and promiscuity as a possible reason for seeking reduction surgery. (Seriously? I can't imagine having a plastic surgeon carve up my flesh just so people won't see my curves and deduce I'm a woman of easy virtues.)I find myself leaning against surgery, and not just because it seems awfully extreme. It's not like I'm one of those poor women who wear size F cups. (My C/Ds seem meager by comparison.) The surgery comes with long-term changes to your body, including scarring and possible loss of sensation. However, I'm finding that my main reason for balking at the surgery isn't because of the medical risks. I have to confess that I'm reluctant to change the shape of my body, even in the face of ongoing pain. I don't think it's vanity -- I wouldn't exactly say I'm proud of this rack of mine. It's just that it is mine, along with all of my other imperfections, and I hesitate to alter it for any reason. Do I need to just get over my reservations and pursue the surgery? I don't know. More research is called for.As small-breasted women say, "More than a mouthful is more than enough." Maybe it's time for me to embrace that philosophy.
Only eleven shopping days!
Dear People for the American Way, Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee, Democratic National Committee, MoveOn.org, Democracy for America, et al.,Yes, I sympathize. I'm on your side. I love that your web sites let me send boilerplate faxes to my elected officials expressing cookie-cutter outrage about a variety of topics. (I'm sure that tactic is very effective.) I think you're on the side of Good and Right and the True Spirit of America. That said, leave me alone! Stop emailing me, and most of all, stop calling me! Stop calling me after 8:00 at night when my young children are in bed! I got two calls last night within ten minutes of putting the girls down for the night. Do you know how incredibly annoying that is? It does not make me think kindly about giving financial support to your organization, that's for sure.And to all the people who give these or any other organizations money when they call: Knock it off! Telemarketing is not an acceptable practice. You only encourage them and make life hell for the rest of us when you reward their efforts with your cash. Don't make me come to your house.
Ah, Morning Nap. Must we part ways so soon? Everyone told me you wouldn't stick around forever. I knew the day would come when you'd abandon us. I'm just not ready to let you go. Everyone tells you when you have a newborn (or two) in the house to sleep when they sleep. If they're napping, you nap. I took that advice to heart, Morning Nap. Every time you showed up, the whole house took advantage of it. Even long after the girls started sleeping through the night and I was actually getting plenty of rest -- still I clung to you. Every morning, while you held the twins in your sweet embrace, I too would steal precious moments of somnolescence. Now that you're gone, you've left me alone with Afternoon Nap -- and just between you and me, he's not that reliable. I never know when he's going to show up or how long he'll stay. I just can't count on him. (That said, the day Afternoon Nap leaves us, I'll fear for my sanity. At that point, I can start shipping the girls off to preschool, right?) Rest in peace, Morning Nap. I wish I could.
Obviously, there ain't nothin' wrong with this girl.
Autographed by the man himself!! I'm not sure I'll even be able to bring myself to use it for fear of sullying that signature caricature. And in the box, under the saltcellar, I found this:
