Turkey Day and the Turkey Sub

This year we headed to Erie, PA to visit my brother, Abe, and his family for Thanksgiving. We drove, which was thrilling simply because I got seven straight hours of Sam's undivided attention. And Sam was elated because he got to listen to three months worth of my thoughts, feelings and musings about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. He was so grateful.

This trip was especially joyous because, with Abe attending medical school in Erie, and our residing in San Francisco for several years, our time together has been sparse. His munchkins have eluded my pummeling for far too long...

My niece, McKinley, is a brilliant, unique little girl with some of the best dance moves I've ever seen. You know those exquisite little adult-children who are all wise and thoughtful like the little girl on Matilda? She's one of those. And she didn't leave Leah's side for the entire trip.

After our Thanksgiving dinner we had the following exchange:

Me: Wasn't that the yummiest dinner ever?

McKinley: Ummm... yes, it was delicious.

Me: Did you have a fun time?

McKinley: Yes I did, but (suddenly looking distressed) I just knew Jaylen and Daeken (my cousin's little boys who ate with us) were going to distract me!

Me: Distract you from what?

McKinley: From spending enough time with you!

Of course I got all puffed up with pride and adoration and immediately asked her if I was her favorite aunty. I had to strike while the iron was hot. We'll just say, for the sake of this blog, that her answer wasn't a confused look and a slow head shake, but more of a resounding "YES! OF COURSE YOU ARE!"

Don't even get me started on this tasty morsel, Calum:

The kids were already asleep when we arrived Wednesday night and Abe and Tiff set us up in THEIR bedroom. Seriously, does anything makes you feel more sheepish than overtaking the master bedroom? I don't think so. Anyway, I wasn't surprised when I heard humming and felt little fingers running through my hair in the morning. Calum, who clearly thought I was his mom, had popped in to say good morning. When Abe came in to tell him to go downstairs, he looked from Abe to Sam and me in utter confusion and horror. I looked up just in time to see a tiny, butt-naked frame scamper out of the room and down the stairs at lightning speed.

You'll notice Tiffany and baby Ethan aren't in any of these pictures. Nursing babies don't allow many appropriate photo opportunities for their mothers. And that's exactly what she was doing during our little jaunt to the lake.

Look at that face! Pure Calvin and Hobbes smile. Ooooh I love it.

Abe and Sam sharing a pensive (romantic) moment...

McKinley demonstrating an effective choke hold.

Leah demonstrating an especially effective form of seduction. Precisely how her father first got me to go out with him.

Speaking of seduction, Sam with a beard=cat nip for Vanessa. Whenever he has one I get all frisky and purry and try to rub my face all over his. Just thought I'd share.

Leah in a drunken state of jubilation at this excellent little children's science center/museum we visited.

This is how Sam had to spend the majority of the trip. No, I'm not bitter. Why the crap would you ask that?

Saturday night Tiff, McKinley and I ventured to a ward Christmas concert for a little girl's night out. We randomly ran into a kid I went to high school with and when he introduced me to his wife, I excitedly said, "Oh hi! Me and your husband went to HS together!" Her response, "Yeah, I know, me and YOU went to high school together too." I still have no clue who she is, but I just love being a part of those awkward, feel-good moments.

On Sunday we grudgingly packed up and said our goodbyes. We took our time driving home and made several stops, including the Kirtland temple:

We were bummed that it wasn't open for tours but still such a cool place to visit from our Church history.

Leah was so excited when we finally got home that she immediately gathered up her favorite loot from around the house and settled in on her rug for a little tube. We're so proud.

Thanks to Abe and Tiff and Co. for such a splendid trip. Now.... the countdown to Christmas!

Golden Gargoyles

I know, I know. I've been in a blogging frenzy lately. Just love me.

Now...

A major time-suck while getting an MBA is team-building and social networking. At the start of the year, the incoming students were separated into groups called cohorts and sent off into the wilderness for a few days of ropes courses, trust falls, ego stroking, and chest bumping. Each cohort was given the task of making a short film, and Saturday night, we all got together to celebrate and watch at the GOLDEN GARGOYLES... which pretty much means the Oscars for homemade cohort movies.

I don't have much to say about the night aside from that it was RIDICULOUSLY EXHILARATING. Can I just say there's no feeling like dancing in a club-like setting with your hot hub, great friends, and 200 drunken (yet respectable) foolios, after 4 years of marriage and 1.5 years of motherhood?! I mean seriously, there was so much love and unabashed congratulating in that room I thought I might fly away. Not to mention the theme was the 90s, so the music alone was enough to make me high as a kite.

We all flooded the nearest thrift store for our duds and I must say, I think we pulled it off quite nicely. Sam rocked this hard-to-explain-yet-painfully-90s ensemble:

I went for a 90s grunge look:

Our "Crew" (minus Matt and Mimi): Mark and Amber, Carina and Lincoln, Diane and Dan, and of course, Sam and moi.

Please don't ask why I thought it was a good idea to bust out that same pose every time the camera flashed. Because I don't have an answer. But I will say that I apologize.

Mark (far left) wins the award for most convincing 90s attire with his tribal tats and clooney cut. I dubbed him "backstreet boy" 90s. His wifey, Amber was "Jesse Spano" 90s, rocking her sweet red blazer.

Dan and Diane went with an "argyle preppy" 90s look, and Linc and Carina rocked "clueless" 90s.

I wish I had more pictures... In fact, I had to steal all these from Carina because I was a lame-o photog that night. I blame Sam. And the dancing.

Sam's cohort was up for "best video" but ended up losing to Mark's cohort. Pshhhhhht. Whatever, Mark. Anyway, this is part of Sam's cohort's movie that was really funny. If you don't recognize it, it's a spoof of the SNL skit with T-Payne, "I'm on a boat." Bare in mind the older gentleman featured is the dean of the business school. So sweet.

Small warning: this video contains several bleeped out curse words. Don't watch if you find this offensive.

Oh yeah... SO SO thankful to Matt and Mimi who tenderized the Turkey Sub while we spent this magical night on the dance floor! We love you. And we owe you five million.

Sky Rockets in Flight! Afternoon Delight!

I've been feeling rather uninspired lately. I blame Leah. She's been sapping away all of my zest for life by taking a flying leap into the terrible twos at the ripe age of 18 months. And I can tell by her mocking expression that she's doing it completely on purpose. Twice this week Sam has shouted at me that she's possessed... I think she very well could be.

I was feeling especially bored with my existence yesterday when we went to LPF (Liquidity Preference Function--- a little finance humor, apparently) which is an hors d' oeuvres/drinks schmorgesborg (try spelling hors d' oeuvres and schmorgesborg on your own. good grief) they put on every Friday night for the B-school students and their families. Glad to see our 50k/year put to good use.

Most of the students use this opportunity to get a little tipsy and try to impress each other, but those of us with kids gather up our food and hide out in one of the side rooms, alternating who's turn it is to go back for another plate. I thought this was hefferish until one of the student financial aid reps confessed to Sam that she secretly brings a doggy bag and makes off with as much free food as she can. She encouraged Sam to do the same because, well, times are tough. Now whenever I'm packing my compact-disk sized plate with finger foods, I imagine doing a fore-arm sweep across the table into my purse and making a dash for the door... and sitting right outside in the v-sit and reach position with my little bag o' loot between my legs, stuffing my face with meatballs and cheese squares. At least that's the way I always picture it going down for that fatty financial aid rep.

Anyway, we settled in to eat when one of our most favorite, fabulous families, the Clives (hopefully they read this so I get friend points) announced their plans to attend the circus. Of course, all families within ear shot jumped on board and in no time a processional of minivans started the trek to a little Barnum and Bailey extravaganza.

Who knew a little acrobatics and animal cruelty was all I needed to get my mojo back?

I was pleasantly surprised by the "Greatest Show on Earth." Because it was such an impromptu trip, we were unprepared so this was the single shot taken with Sam's cell phone:

I remember distinctly wanting to be a circus performer when I was little. Especially after seeing Toby Tyler. I've never seen a circus in my adult life so I was a little disillusioned with the vagabond mange that, indeed, makes up the circus troupe. And the clowns. Don't even get me started on the clowns. No doubt, each one of them vying for a promotion to "elephant crap sweeper." Otherwise, the acrobatics and ELEPHANTS OH MY GOODNESS THE ELEPHANTS! were rather spectacular.

Low Point: The tigers. While it was awesome to see these majestic beasts jump and leap and roll over in unison, I was peeved the entire time with the trainer, an obnoxious latino with a whip, who was screaming the entire time in an attempt to maintain power. Tigers are clearly not as responsive to verbal abuse as elephants. They kept snarling and swiping at him and I was stressed out the whole time. Secretly I was hoping one of them would Siegfried and Roy his little gold-sequined arse. Don't you hate the word "arse?"

High Point: One of the chestery carnies working the door who, when I asked him where the restroom was, pulled me close around the waist and whispered, "what was that?" in my ear, while feverishly kneading my love handles with both hands. Mmmmm.

Leah was utterly hypnotized until spark plugs started going off in her little brain and she promptly fell asleep from overstimulation... but not before Carina lovingly graced her palm with a sucker, one of her first sucker encounters... she was so delighted she slept with it clutched in a sticky wad on her chest.

I rinsed it off and presented her with it again this morning... you can see for yourself what happened....

Don't think I won't be toting a stash of suckers around with me where ever I go from this point forward. Just in case she cops a 'tude.

And my Brain is like Bleh...

Prepare for some not sure why I wrote this, caught a whiff of Leah's stank diaper so I had to cut it short with no real point, lameness of a post. Feel free to skip.

This last Thursday I was lucky enough to contract some sort of awesomeness that made me puke every hour, on the hour, for 24 hours straight. It started in the middle of the night and I was devastated when, upon collapsing onto the couch at 2:00AM in a shaky, weakened mess, I heard lurching and sputtering from Leah's room and found her doing the AceVenturaJustFoundOutLoisEinhornIsReallyRayFinkle in her crib. Poor little lamb. She's never thrown up before. Traumatic.

On the bright side, the sickly version of me loves the Jonas Brothers. I watched 6 episodes of JONAS on the Disney channel in a row. That's right. Oh, and I paused and rewound several scenes over and over, laughing hysterically at the cutest, funniest, most talentedest guys I'd ever seen. I've never heard their music before, nor have I seen their TV show, but during those hours of puke-induced delirium, I was their numero uno. In fact, I was so out of touch that I recruited Sam to take a break from his studies to come watch with me. I sat there, thrilled with myself and all excited to reveal my new little treasure, He's gonna think this is so funny! when after seconds of watching, I looked over to find him glaring at me with the crustiest look ever. His face didn't leave mine, nor did its crustiness dissipate, as he slowly stood and returned to our bedroom, closing the door behind him.

It reminded me of one time in college when I was really sick and somehow got my mitts on a made for TV version of Peter Pan starring that little darling, Jeremy Sumpter. I watched it every day, happy as a clam, for three days straight.

Moral of the story: Vanessa gets all preteen and cheesy and creepy when sick.

Number one on my TO DO list this morning: cancel JONAS series recording on DVR.

On Saturday I was able to leave the chestery version of myself in the dust, along with any remnants of nausea. Mother Nature sensed my post-sickness endorphin rush coming on and sweetened the pot with a little dose of 70 degree weather. Which sent me running through the streets (for some reason, I originally typed streaking through the streets... which would have been a slight embellishment) ahem, anyway, running through the streets, fully anticipating those I passed to fall into step and join me in a choreographed version of "The Hills are Alive!"

Speaking of, have you seen this video? It's pretty much all my dreams coming true.

Now, if you're feeling annoyed and that your time spent here was in vain, read this post my really funny sissy just wrote.

What's A Girl to Do.... And the Turkey Sub Too.

I know many of you ladies reading will relate, but one thing that has caused some special irritation in my marriage has been, what I have perceived to be, Sam's oblivion. I don't know how many hours I've wasted throughout our relationship getting gussied up, all excited to see him, for him to come home and not even notice. These instances have almost always lead to the same conversation:

Me (sheepishly): So, do you think I look pretty?

Sam: Yeah, of course I do. You look beautiful.

Me (hopefully): Well I got all ready, did you notice?

Sam: Yeah, I did. You look great.

Me (annoyed): Well why didn't you say anything?

Sam: I just did. You always look beautiful.

Me (irate): Oh, I always look beautiful in my sweats when I've been cleaning and haven't showered in two days?! I had to drag it out of you! You didn't even notice!

Sam: I did notice! I was going to say something about it! I promise! You look HOT!

Me (sheepishly again): ......what else....?

Then we laugh.

But not for long. I usually have to cut the laughing short to deliver a brief lecture on being attentive and showing appreciation for all my efforts. For which Sam is always grateful. This kind of thing is always in good fun, but the other day his obliviousness went a little too far...

Sam and I were sitting on the couch all tangled up when he attempted to get up to get a drink. Because we are oafs, Sam's knee came up and knocked me squarely on the cheek bone, right beneath my eye. It was a really hard blow with a sickening crack, and it hurt like the dickens. You can imagine my disappointment when, minutes after the assault, my cheek looked completely normal. Not even a smidge of swelling or bruising. It's always such a let down when you go through something like that with nothing to show for it... nothing to make people gasp with horror and pity and glare at Sam all accusey while I point a finger at him and say, "he did it."

No, this wouldn't do. Something had to be done. So, naturally, as soon as Sam left the house I scampered over to my makeup case, grabbed my eyeshadow, and masterfully applied a big bruise over my cheekbone. I even rubbed in a bit of red lipstick for that "fresh bruise" look.

I busied myself with making lunch and doing the dishes when Sam returned from his run. He sat down at the table and I steadied myself and honed my acting skills in the kitchen before presenting him with his lunch. I was trying not to smile and be all obvious as I sat across from him, waiting for his eyes to fall on my face for the first time. I imagined the shock and fawning that would take place when he saw my giant bruise, and the subsequent laugh attack I would have when I started wiping it off in front of him. Oh what a good joke it would be!

He looked up... and looked right back down to his plate of food. I thought, "well, that was just a quick glance" and waited for him to look again. He did... and we started chatting... and nothing. I got NOTHING. He had a full on 20 minute conversation with me, jabbering away about his run and classes and aspirations, and failed to notice the great big pulsating bruise that covered the left half of my face.

I felt my blood start boiling. How the crap was this happening? I put my hand up to my cheek, and in a last ditch effort not to ruin my little joke said, "man, my cheek is still hurting, is it bruising or anything?" He looked up briefly and said, "I don't think so, I'm sorry it hurts sweetie."

I felt like Tommy Boy. "Not so much here, not really here... but riiight here."

I was dumbfounded. I flew out of my chair and ran to the mirror in our bedroom. I thought for sure I had accidentally rubbed off my little masterpiece. There was no WAY he was this clueless. But no, it was still there, staring back at me, blaring and obvious.

I stomped back into the dining room and shouted, "It's not BRUISING???! LOOK AT MY FACE!" He looked up in surprise, "Oh! Yeah, there is a bruise. Oh man, that's bad. I'm sorry baby."

After I got all tantrumy about it and he was all sweet and attentive, I felt a little guilty and ridiculous and didn't really know how to tell him it was a fake. So I settled on trying to make it funny and quietly slipped away to wash my face.

When I reappeared in our living room all fresh-faced and giggly... trying to display my injury-free cheek in the most obvious way possible... guess who didn't say a word? That's right. He didn't notice the dark blue and purple bruise he'd inflicted, the very one I'd just thrown a hissy over, had magically disappeared...

And he still hasn't brought it up.

Good grief.

It's a good thing he's so preoccupied with taking stellar care of our little family, or I'd never get over it....

Now, for an abrupt change of subject. Try not to get whiplash.

Take a look at THIS tasty morsel!

Isn't she glorious?!

Cutest little bug on the block, I dare say.