Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow...

Goodbye sweet sandy beaches, lush rolling hills, and breathtaking rocky coastlines. Thank you for always providing a Sunday afternoon destination. 

Goodbye sweet Ghirardelli Square. I forgive you for force feeding me all of those hot fudge brownie sundaes and for so dutifully expanding my waistline and rotund (luscious) derrière.

 

Goodbye sweet Twin Capital Mortgage where I spent 2.5 years working and learning about business, myself, gangstas, debauchery, and the many exciting and creative ways one can use the F word. 

Goodbye sweet Chutney, Houstons, Grand Pu Bah, Southbeach Cafe, Holy Grill, Bob's Steak and Chophouse and the hundreds of other eateries we have frequented while living here. I will miss you. And I forgive you too for ganging up against me along with your friend, Mr. Ghirardelli. 

Goodbye sweet raging liberals, who feel the need to have a "parade/naked fest" for every cause, and who spit on my car and scream your opinions in my face... no matter how sweet, meek and timid I am.... 

Goodbye sweet government sponsored homeless folk. You always made my strolls through down-town fragrant and worth while. 

Goodbye sweet skyline, lit up at night. Thank you for giving me goosebumps every time I crossed the bay bridge.

Goodbye sweet Oakland Temple. You were my calm during the storm.  

Goodbye sweet crack heads of the Tenderloin district. Thank you for always putting a little spring in my step whenever I had to visit your turf.... and for always talking to yourselves instead of to me.

Goodbye sweet UCSF. Thank you for delivering my beautiful girl and for keeping us both safe during my pregnancy....  and for the little gelato shop strategically placed between the OBGYN's office and the parking lot. 

Goodbye sweet Bay and Walnut Creek 2nd wards. I'll always be grateful for family away from family. 

Goodbye sweet Golden Gate Bridge. Even though your lanes are far too narrow and I would wet my drawers every time I crossed you, you are beautiful and gave me passage to Muir Woods, my favorite place. 

Goodbye sweet Avalon Towers, Park Regency Apartments, Archstone Walnut Creek, and little no-name mangy studio in the Tenderloin. You gave me shelter during the hardest and the best times of my life. My memories of each of you will be wonderful... well, except for you, Park Regency. 

Goodbye sweet San Francisco. I will miss you. You let me grow up, toughen up, wise up, and discover myself. With you, I became a "career girl," a wife, and a mother... all for the first time. Because of you, I believe I can move and live anywhere with confidence. You're going to be a tough act to follow. We'll see if Chicago's got anything on ya. 

Goodbye sweet Bay Area.... FOREVER!!! Well... at least for now... 

 

The Gatekeeper and Me

What is it about having a good, hard, ugly-face cry that makes you feel so much better? Seriously. It's so therapeutic. My sister, Mera, and I affectionately refer to this kind of crying as "doing the gatekeeper." Ya know, from the Wizard of OZ, when Dorothy is telling her sob story to the Emerald City gatekeeper and he starts blubbering uncontrollably? Anyway, for the past few weeks, I've been in a bit of a numb, task-oriented frenzy getting ready for this move. I haven't felt emotional or stressed at all. In fact, I've been really motivated and feeling completely EUPHORIC about the month-long vacation we are about to take. This is all good and well except, unbeknownst to me, Old Faithful has been brewing under the surface. Last night... the gatekeeper came to town. 

I had just gotten Leah to bed and joined Sam on the couch to wind down from a delightful Sabbath. (Really, it was delightful. We had a splendid dinner with friends and a visit from Sam's sister, Liz.) It didn't take long before I physically felt all of the endorphins in my body give me the finger (in unison, no less) and suddenly, it was as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders. In a matter of seconds the water works began in torrents and I started spewing out all that was wrong with the world and how I, particularly, was so picked on. I made some absurd proclamations about how I planned to live my life from that point on (which included never doing anything I didn't want to do... among other equally embarrassing things) and cried so hard I thought my head was going to implode. 

Sam held me close in his lap and waited patiently for me to finish my tirade. Once he knew I was done, he girded up his loins, inhaled deeply, and began the pep talk... but I didn't need it. The weight had already lifted with my big, fat, ugly-face bawl fest. He had spoken no more than 10 words when I looked up at him and sheepishly said, "I feel a lot better." He simply responded, "Oh baby, you always feel better when you cry." 

And that was it. 

For the rest of the night I was deliriously happy. 

Today as I think back on last night's fireworks (with the signature morning post-cry splitting headache) I am thankful for a couple of things. First, for Ibuprofen. Second, for my tender husband who, while his mind was no doubt blowing listening to my theatrics, simply let it go as soon as I was ready and still loves me this morning in spite of my instabilities. And last, for the ability to so painlessly (minus the headache) release all of my pent up moving-stress and other frustrations in a matter of minutes and be fired up and ready to go for the next several months... till the gatekeeper strikes again.... 

QUICKLY... (what would a post be without a glimpse of the turkey sub?)

Just took this little shot and I must say, when Leah first wakes up in the morning her hair looks like something out of a high fashion magazine:

AND... I'll be showing her this pic when she's full of teenage angst and hating her mother. Then she'll feel sorry:)

A Stranger Among Us....

So, I had a "Sleeping with the Enemy" moment yesterday when I discovered something very distressing about my husband. Something he has managed to keep hidden from me these past 4 years. Before I explain, a bit of background is in order... 

My mom (no surprise to those of you who know her) comes from a long line of packrats. This heritage made for an interesting upbringing where I was encouraged to collect and keep everything. My mom's all time, hands down, favorite place on EARTH is the good ol' Deseret Industries. Her mantra: "one man's trash is another man's treasure!" I remember one especially bizarre day when I was in high school, watching my mom coming up the drive, lugging a medium sized, sky blue, old fashioned suitcase behind her. She was ecstatic as she prepped the room for the unveiling of her newest treasure. A suitcase full of old, valuable baseball cards? Nope. A rare collection of WWII memorabilia, perhaps? Not a chance. This particular suitcase was filled with hundreds and hundreds of POGS. You know, those little plastic coin-shaped things that you hit with the bigger plastic coin shaped whatevers and it's some sort of game or something? Yeah, that's right. Bare in mind that I was in high school at the time and am the youngest in my family and never even liked pogs when they were popular when I was in elementary school. Her reasoning for the purchase? "It was only $3!" That medium sized, sky blue, old fashioned suitcase full of pogs was never opened again and never budged an inch from its resting place behind our living room recliner the entire rest of my high school career. I remember some years later asking my mom whatever happened to her pog collection. Her response: "What are pogs?" Precisely. Needless to say, this little "tendency" of my mother's turned me into a near compulsive thrower-away-er. That's right. I said thrower-away-er.

So, last night I was sorting through our closet in preparation for our move and started feeling ultra claustrophobic at the ridiculous amount of t-shirts Sam has acquired over the years. No less than 47 to be exact. He presently wears three of them. I called Sam into our bedroom to help me sort and as I held them up one by one, he proceeded to tell me the sentimental story that went along with each shirt and why he was justified in keeping it. 

Seriously? This is the shirt you wore to your first job like 12 years ago so you want it?? This is the shirt you spilled soup on at your favorite family's house on your mission and the stain still smells like the soup so it means a lot to you?? 

This charade continued with his collection of ties, shoes, and dress shirts. "No! I really do like that one, I just forgot about it!" I was only able to get rid of about 5 articles with his permission. Anyway, the sobering truth of it all is that Sam is indeed a packrat and now I have to go through the painful process of de-packratting him. A process that requires emotionally attaching him to many inanimate objects and then ripping them from him life. Just kidding. BUT, I will be sorting through his collection again tomorrow while he's at work. Anything he hasn't worn in the last 6 months...TOAST. 

In other breaking news.....

So thrilled Leah has learned to give an intentional stink eye. It's become quite alarming to strangers who try to get her to smile. She loves doing it, so she bursts into laughter or smiling each time. These pics were taken in sequence out to dinner the other night:

Stink eye...

Smile...

Stink eye...

Smile....

Stink eye...

Smile...

Stink eye...

Smile...

And a couple of pics of her luscious locks as of late. It's getting so curly and floofy! My mom always took pics of the back of my hair when I was a babe because it was equally curly and floofy... so it had to be done...

P.S. I got into a full on scuffle with my one year old today. She kept coming up to me and snagging things out of my hands or off of my lap in a nasty way... giving me stink eye... taunting me. I had to take a time out when I realized I was in a tug-o-war with her over my phone and was shouting, "Give it! Give it! It's mine!!" Yes. Proud to be me. 

Loving Me Some America!

I woke up early on Saturday morning, snuck out to our balcony storage, and dug out this gem of an outfit Sam donned for Halloween a couple years back. I was thrilled with myself as I neatly laid it out on our bed next to my peacefully snoozing husband and waited for him to wake up. It was clearly the PERFECT outfit for him to wear to our Independence Day festivities but he refused... Apparently Sam's not very patriotic. 

On a different note, we did have an excellent 4th.  We took dinner to Sam's grandparent's house in Davis and had a great meal with them. They're the peachiest McPeachys ever. Grandpa can barely hear and Grandma can't see a thing so they make a lively duo!

Leah was the biggest wretch and would scream bloody murder every time I tried to set her with either of them. Gma kept saying, "Doesn't she even know her own Grandma!?" Broke my heart. Here are the only two halfway decent shots we got:

Their back yard is a wonderland with just about every kind of fruit tree you can imagine. They even grow pomegranates, much to my delight. Grandpa's latest treasures are his two 12 foot sunflowers you can see to the right of Leah.   

It was 107 degrees in Davis yesterday and Sam and I were both sweaty and mangy after 5 minutes outside. Hence the greasiness in this photo. 

When we sat down to eat, Gma and Gpa were both thrilled to offer Leah the use of their high chair. Little did we know it was actually the first high chair ever produced. It was no less than 117lbs.

Sam and Leah after a healthy helping of Grandpa's home made strawberry ice cream. My husband is hot.

Honestly, there's not much that can lift your spirits like a visit with tender grandparents. I loved listening to Grandma's encouraging words about moving to Chicago. In 1943, they met and fell in love there where they were both stationed during WWII, so of course they have great memories to share. 

Grandpa told us that every time someone visits, he/she says something to the effect of, "We wanted to make it out here to see you one last time." So, here's to hoping that wasn't the last time we, or Leah, gets to visit with Francis and Pauline.

After dinner we went to the local Davis 4th of July fiesta. Aka white trash fest. Sorry folks. Nothing like a free public gathering with food and "entertainment" to bring out the high society. Sam snapped some pics of two of the sweetest she-mullets I have ever seen. Much to my dismay, the pics didn't turn out so instead... drum roll please.... LEAH!

Another signature prom shot. 

You would have thought collecting leaves off the ground and handing them to Sam was the most exciting thing going on at the park that day. Personally, I thought it was the 50 year old Davis High School Alumni rock band ensemble singing a heavy metal version of the school fight song that was the real high point. 

I love the 4th!

This was just a quick shot I took at church today. Leah was all joyous and gleeful here because she had just snagged the little morsel she's hoarding from a much younger, smaller playmate. We've taught her well. 

The only other pic I took. I just like the way she looks here for some reason. Stinky little girl. I love her.