Pointless

I had to go to court today. Here in Cleveland, people move slow. And by people, I mean traffic. I learned the hard way why this happens. Because while the posted speed limit in one spot may be 35, two feet down the road it will drop to 25. Then, you get a ticket for going a rapidly dangerous 36 miles per hour.

Sitting in court, my strategy was to plead not guilty, flirt a little with the judge, get the ticket dismissed, and move on with my day. My plans were abruptly stopped when I entered court to find easily 50 people in similar situations. This was much different than the town of Rotterdam court I was forced to sit through for high school government class!

I read through the paper they gave me as I walked in. It defined what pleads of guilty, no contest, and not guilty entailed. The more I read, the more I felt uncomfortable saying not guilty and having a trial date. The fact was, I was guilty. I was going 36 miles per hour. I mean, it's almost humanly impossible to go less than that! I just don't consider it a crime. While reading the paperwork, I noticed the woman next to me doing something different. She was, in fact, reading the tattoos that lined her arms. God bless her for being able to read.

I felt somewhat misplaced in this courtroom. I briefly envisioned myself promising the judge that I would never speed again solely because I never wanted to return to this court room ever again. I don't know if it was because the tattooed arms were delightful compared to the tattoo on her neck of a gun that frightened me, the guy walking around his weapon-like walking stick, or the friendly looking man walking around with a dirty t-shirt reading "I don't discriminate, I hate everyone," but I never wanted to come back to this place.

That is exactly what I would have to do if I pled not guilty. So, right then and there, that was out! I decided I was going to go with no contest. I would plead my case and smile real nice. And, that's exactly what I did while standing in front of the judge.

His response, "it's a tough way to learn a lesson." He proceeded to tell me my fine and dismissed my case. Damn it! As I spoke to the clerk in the courtroom, I played dumb and asked if there would be points on my license. Two. The man said I could ask the judge to revoke them if I wanted to. I figured why not give it a try. He waited for my tattooed friend to finish in front of the judge before slipping him a sticky note with my point erasing request.

The judge okayed it largely in part, according to my own thinking, to my tattooed friend. The woman had seven tickets in hand and felony misdemeanor charges hanging over head. She will be tried next week for six months to three years in prison. After that kind of showing, is 36 in a 25 really that bad?

The Feisty One

I had to take a class today. I usually dread these classes, feeling as though I have gone back in time and am sitting through college lectures again. Today, to my delight, the course was on self-defense.

After a little bit of reading and lecturing, we actually had to get up and work on some of these moves. Being the eager beaver that I am, I volunteered for all of the demos. I often took the roll of attacker. After demonstrations, everyone had to work on the skills. We first started off with blocking punches. Piece of cake really. What I asked was if someone would really try to punch me, so I could see if it would work in a real situation, as my girlie partner in her lacy red shirt wasn't throwing very realistic punches. So, the instructor, a tall, muscular man, would continually walk past me and try to throw punches the rest of the day. It was very effective and has really built my punch blocking confidence!

After going through the ways to fend off kicks, break loose from choke holds, arm grabs, and hair pulling, we moved onto team take-downs. While this entire thing was tons of fun, being the attacker in this series was great! I especially enjoyed trying to fight out of the holds. Needless to say, I was deemed the "feisty one." Hey, I've been called worse!

Overall, it was a great day and learning experience. I'm not sure if my feistiness had anything to do with it, but while I was in the bathroom during a break, one lady in the class (who clearly saw me enter the bathroom), turned the light off as she was walking out, leaving me to pee in pitch blackness.

On top of learning that I am pretty good at self defense, I also found out that I am good at hitting my target in the dark!

By Airplane

My parents headed to Florida today. By airplane. Yes, airplane. While this is certainly the most efficient and safe way to travel, my parents always get a little nervous before flying.

When Nick and I were young, I must say, they were very responsible parents. They would always take separate flights to the same place. They hated the thought of us being left parentless, so they figured one was better than none. Plus, our legal guardians really weren't capable!

Now that we are grown, apparently we don't need our parents. That is the message they are sending by flying together. Anyways, I could tell it was still on their minds when I received a phone call last night.

After all was said and done, it was made clear what my parents would like to happen if, indeed, their plane went down. Since there would be enough money to live comfortably, Jeff and I were asked to return to New York's capital region. We were asked to watch over the family, Grandma, the aunts, and mainly my big brother, Nick. We would become his legal guardians. Seems like a normal chain of events, right? Yea. The good news, they made it safely to the Sunshine State. Now, just to make it home!

Patch Adams

Lazy Sunday. Today definitely was one of those. I had nothing really to do, but one thing I wanted to get done.

Since if I wait a few days longer, my eyebrows will need a weed whacker to shape them, I had hoped to get my eyebrows waxed today.  Still being fairly new to the Cleveland area, I have only been to one place for eyebrow waxing. It makes sense, that I headed back to this same spot. No luck. As some may expect, they were closed on Sunday. However, on my drive, I had noticed a salon that was indeed open. I decided it wise to go back there, as my eyebrows can not take another day without waxing!

I was so excited they were open, I didn't pay much attention as I was walking in. I looked up to see a gigantic black man with an eyepatch taming a woman's tangled mane. My flight or fight instinct kicked in as they both were looking at me very oddly. Before I did either, I realized I was the idiot just standing there, and simply asked if they did waxing. 

Turns out Patch Adams was a sweet guy, but not his skills are with coiffing, not waxing. Sophie, the waxer would be back in on Tuesday. I should stop by then. For some odd reason, I felt as though once I walked out of the door, laughter erupted. Therefore, I don't think Sophie will be waxing my eyebrows. Not to mention, I really can't wait until Tuesday. This needs to be done tomorrow!

Little Known Fact

It's a well known fact. I have always known. It's no big secret that Shea likes Jeff better than me, but it has never been so blatantly obvious as last night.

I got him ready to go for an evening romp. Once I got his leash on, he ran into the living room to see Jeff. Just saying goodbye, right? We walked outside to the back porch. He took two steps and plopped himself down on the top of the steps, refusing to move.

All he wanted was to get back in that house. We went in so he could have one last look at Jeff, then took off. I used a treat to get him down the stair and around the corner of the house before he threw himself on the ground in the middle of the driveway. Again, refusing to move and looking back for Jeff. 

Jeff was watching out the window, reveling in the love his boy was showing him, but resenting the fact that he had to come for the walk. He just really wasn't feeling into it for some reason. Once he came out the back door, Shea popped up like nothing had ever happened and was ready to go on his way. 

I try not to let it hurt my feelings. I could never be mad at Shea for liking Jeff better than me. I mean, I like Jeff better than me too. 

Nut El Uh

I had to work late tonight. I couldn't help but think, while at work, how much I wished to be spending time with Jeff and Shea. They were on my mind, so to speak.

When I got home, Jeff told me that he had a surprise for me. I was at a loss for what the surprise may be and got very excited with anticipation. Like I five year old I eagerly begged Jeff to tell me what it was. As soon as he said it was in the kitchen, I had an idea of what it may be. Seeing as when we were in Brazil, I housed three large slices of chocolate pizza (a new restaurant record) and we had just gotten a few bags of pizza dough, I did some simple math and in my head, came to the conclusion that Jeff had made me a chocolate pizza. I didn't say it aloud, because if that wasn't what he made, I wouldn't want him to feel bad. I know, very charismatic of me.

When I found my surprise, it was indeed chocolate pizza. Before eating it, I decided to grill Jeff. When did you make it? How did you make it? What did you use? What did you use? What did you use? He kept answering this question with a question. What do you think I used? Well, there was nothing chocolate in the house. I went grocery shopping this morning and didn't buy any chocolatey substances. I guess that maybe he used a candy bar, but I hoped he used Nutella. He looked at me like I was nuts. Really, who would use Nutella on a chocolate pizza?

Rather than questioning and arguing more, I simply ate it. It was fabulous with a capital F. Come to find out, he used Nutella! I mean, what a night! First, a chocolate pizza, second, I find out it was made with Nutella! How could I ask for anything more? 

Well, I am topping my wonderful night off with a relaxing bath: 

Precious Cargo

Driving down the freeway at 70 miles per house, I noticed a little girl in the backseat of a Ford Edge. I noticed her adorable little face bouncing up and down in the back window. I took a second to observe this beautiful little girl. Such a cutie pie. I would guesstimate about two years old. Then, I realized, what the heck is she doing standing up and bouncing around the back seat?

Once this thought got into my mind, I was infuriated. How can the adults in this car let this happen? This baby girl needed to be in car seat, let alone strapped in by a seat belt. I am very passive about a lot of things, but there are a few things out there that set me off. This, to me, was right up there with smoking while pregnant. Something I just cannot tolerate. So, I decided I needed to say something. While driving 70 miles an hour through rush hour Cleveland traffic mind you.

I rolled down my window anticipated passing the Ford. I lined my car up so that I was face to face with the passenger in the front seat. She looked right over at me and I pulled my seat belt off my chest and said, "put the seat belt on the kid." The look on the woman's face was horrifying. She was absolutely foreign, certain attributes (that I will not mention) made that perfectly clear. This only made me happy that I used the seat belt gesture, rather than just yell!

When I slowed down to exit the freeway, the same Ford Edge drove past me. I couldn't help but notice the horrified looking woman in the front seat, hanging over it to buckle the precious cargo in the back in. While, I may have over stepped my boundaries, I felt a little better for that little girl's safety. I just can't fathom why she was not in a car seat, strapped in properly.

Biters

I know a girl who bites. It is a problem because it hurts other people and makes them not want to be around her. Crazy to think that people don't want to be in close proximity to someone who bites. 

In a discussion about how to alleviate this problem, I came up with a few strategies that I was pretty sure would work. I've never necessarily been exposed to a person that bites, but I have been exposed to Shea. Shea as a puppy with sharp, pointy teeth, and an evil spell. He literally would jump up, jam his teeth into my arm, and hang off of my arm. After I was bruised from head to toe for many months, I began researching how to make it stop. 

My first suggestion, just like my first attempt to wain Shea off of biting was to spray something awful tasting on your arms. I used Bitter Apple spray, made specifically for this purpose. Completely edible, nontoxic, nasty tasting spray. It was definitely a deterrent for a while. Then, one day, Shea grew immune to it and I walked in the room to find him biting the top of the spray off and drinking the liquid. So much for that! 

Well, apparently it is slightly inhumane to do this to a person. I always thought biting was, but lately, I have been proven wrong. My next suggestion was hot sauce, because, well, that is an actual kind of food. A food some people (Jeff) like, but most people have awful reactions too (me). 

Again, this was viewed as inhumane. Not sure why, but I think negative consequences may be frowned upon. So, I threw out my last idea. The idea that I found worked the best with Shea. An idea using positive reenforcement. I began rubbing peanut butter on my arms. With this, rather than biting my arms, Shea would lick my arms. Since everybody loves peanut butter, I had no doubt this would work! 

After the discussion was over, I came home to find that I probably need to have this discussion again with a cousin of mine. For, she happened to spear her teeth into a friend's leg:

I'm guessing if this friend had had peanut butter smeared all over her legs, my cousin wouldn't have bit her. Maybe licked, but not bit! 

Bipolar

So, I cried today. Why, you ask? I have no idea. I'd like to blame it on many things, but really I can't. I was just being stupid. Possibly, I am bipolar. This was brought to my attention in college, yet I have never done anything about it.

In college, I ran a lot. Not the kind of running I do now, but running at basketball practice. One of the conditioning runs we would do were called 16's. You sprint sideline to sideline 16 times in one minute and a few seconds, depending on the coaches mood. I never had a problem finishing these in time, however, I can't say that held true for all of my teammates. Turns out it was while running these 16's that my bipolar personality shined through.

You see, if those slower teammates didn't make it in time, we had to run the 16's again. And then, sometimes, again and again and again. In fact, about half of my college years were spent running 16's. So, to help pace my teammates, I would run between two of the slower girls, hoping to motivate them. These times brought out two extreme personalities.

On my right side, was a dear teammate. I would run and encourage her whenever I could. "Come on, you're halfway there!" "Keep going, you got this." "Push hard." All positive reenforcement her while running, and I'd be waiting at the finish to give her five.

On my left side was another dear teammate. For some reason, as dear as she was, I did not encourage her in the same way (bipolar!). I would literally turn my head from the right to the left and completely change my tone. As soon as I turned to the left it was, "Let's f*#&ing go!" "I don't want to run these again!" "You better make it this time!" All these coming with a hint of aggression. The only thing similar was when she beat the time, I would give her five too.

So, way back then, when my bipolarness was glaring through during 16's, I should have gotten help!

Harvard

This past week, Jeff and I have gone to a few Case soccer games to support the school. With fall upon us, I  made sure to wear sweatshirts to the games. On one particular night, I wore a Harvard sweatshirt. The sweatshirt I bought when my fifth graders took a field trip to Boston. I essentially bought this sweatshirt because I did not anything that said Boston on it.

Jeff, being the gentlemanly husband that he is, introduced me to a Case professor who walked up to chat. I began talking with Joe and he inquired about my sweatshirt. 

"What's up with the Harvard sweatshirt?" I did what anyone would do when speaking with a highly touted professor, and lied. 

"I went there," I responded. 

Well, Joe was awfully excited about this because, he too, went to Harvard. In fact, Joe finished his undergrad studies at Harvard in three years, then went on to get his Master's and PhD there as well. What does a doctor with three degrees from Harvard do, you may ask? Well, he becomes an astronaut for NASA of course. 

All I could do was giggle and change the subject. I think Joe was smart enough to know that I did not go to Harvard. Unless, of course, he has not yet recovered from flying with the Blue Angels last week, cause that is what ridiculously smart people get to do on the weekends! 

Yea

I know what I am going to write next. Although, I am not going to write it tonight. I will tell you about it tomorrow. All I will tell you is that I wish I had originally thought of the name for this blog, The Idiocracy of Alicia. Life definitely is as it should (be), but I feel The Idiocracy of Alicia is an even more fitting title.

Self Titled

Friday Lessons

I was officially trained in CPR and First Aid today. I have been certified before at some point, but was renewed today. Everything was very much review today, things I remember from  past certifications. And, there was one thing that reminded me of my days well before the certifications. The days of yore.

Part of the First Aid training goes through the heimlich maneuver. Flashbacks of my childhood came flooding back to me. The days when my mother worked on Friday nights and my grandmother came over to babysit us. Always a good time. I ask you to think of a ritual you had with your grandparents when you were a young child of about six or seven.  Did you bake cookies together? Maybe play boardgames or Go Fish?

Not me. Not Nick. We didn't have any of those kinds of traditions with my grandmother. Our traditional event of Friday nights was to practice the heimlich maneuver. Yup, no lie. Grandma has always been overly paranoid of life-threatening events. So, while babysitting us, she wanted to be sure that we were well equipped to save her life if need be. That meant practicing the heimlich. She covered all bases too. Nick and I had to practice on each other. Then, we had to practice on her, just in case, God forbid, someone larger than us choke. As six and eight year olds, we would need to step up to the challenge. Beyond that, we practiced what we would do if we were choking when nobody was around. This meant, we would take our abdomen and jam it into the top of a kitchen chair. Always a fun family activity. 

Ahhh, the good old days. When learning was fun. When learning meant that you got to push your fists as hard as you could into your brother's stomach, and then try to wrap your child-length arms around your 200 pound grandmother's waistline. Yes, Friday nights were something special. 

I know that if I still needed a babysitter on Friday nights, Grandma would be sure to add performing the heimlich on a dog to the agenda. She likes Shea. 

Midges

Three years ago, Joba Chamberlain was attacked by Midges during a post season game. Trying to pitch, he had to fight off swarms of Midges flying in his eyes, mouth, and ears. It was a disgusting site. An atmosphere that eventually led to a Yankee loss. That, I didn't mind.

Today, three years later, I have an issue with the entire event. The problem: the game took place in Cleveland. Every three years these Midges make an overpowering appearance, and swarm the city quite like they swarmed Joba that October night. Upset, because now I am a Clevelander who has to deal with these nasty little gnats.

Having gone to Case soccer games the past two nights, I have come into close contact with the Midges, because, well, 2010 is an every third year. These things are everywhere. You walk down the sidewalk and have to pick them out of your hair, eyes, and mouth. They are layered onto window glass, and squeeze their way through any crack or crevice.

Thrilled to have moved to Cleveland in this third year, Jeff thought it would be sweet if I spent a little extra time outside with my new Midge friends. So, when leaving, he jumped in the car and took off. I ran after him for a good three miles (slight exaggeration, more like the equivalent of 1 block), and then watched him drive away. I was laughing pretty hard as I was chasing, but once he turned the corner onto the main road, my laughter stopped. All I had was the company of the Midges until a campus security guard approached me to make sure I was okay. Just as I was about to break into hysterics about how my husband left me on the side of the road, he came around the corner to pick me up. 

I'm sure glad Jeff came back to get me, and I'm so happy that I am in Cleveland during a third year! 

Sing A Long

I must admit, I like Glee. We didn't have a glee club in high school, but we had a damn good select choir. And I was not a part of that select choir, or even the non-select choir.

Like I said, I like Glee. I like it enough to watch it if it is on, but not enough to actually know what day and time it's on. Jeff, on the other hand, watches religiously, or at least DVR's it if he can't be home. As we speak, he is watching a DVRed episode and singing along. I concluded a long time ago that he wouldn't have made select choir either!

The Exorcist

I just saw Enrique Iglesias performing on television. Memories of college flooded back to me, as my roommate, Holley, was Enrique's number one fan.

But, it wasn't Enrique I was thinking about, or even Holley, it was Holley's sister, Kate. Our freshman year Kate was just a little munchkin. Much smaller than the size of that mole Enrique used to have (Where did that thing go, by the way?). She was just eight years old. A cute little thing, sweet as can be. Or so I thought.

Holley had to leave for class on that dreaded morning, leaving me to watch her seemingly sweet little sister.  Nobody would have expected this cutie-pie to turn exorcist when Holley walked out the door. Her head literally began spinning.

I tried to ignore her erratic, devilish behavior. I had heard several times before if you ignore bad behavior it will go away. So I ignored. I sat in my chair with my back to her, my foot resting on the bottom drawer of my desk. Whoever came u with that ignoring method has no idea what they are talking about, for Kate came running up, kicked the drawer with all of her might, slamming my foot into the desk. Luckily for Kate and her young life Holley returned to the room just as I decided that choking her was the only way to resolve her behavioral issues.

I am happy to see now, that Kate is a beautiful, young college student, and her head no longer spins completely around her neck!

Tableless

I thought more than 24 hours later, I could handle talking about the awful dining room table experience we had yesterday. Thinking about it now, I'm not sure I can, but I will give it my best shot.

I guess it really started on Friday, as the furniture store was supposed to call me to give me a time frame in which the table would be delivered. Never happened. Since I am such a go-getter, I called myself the next morning. After being put on hold for about twenty minutes and told they were unaware they were supposed to deliver that day, they told me they would call me back. Never happened. So, my go-getter self called back after an hour and a half. This is when I was told the table would be delivered between 3-5. Perfect. I would just be sure I was home then. I could even get some stuff done while waiting. This was at 11:15, well after I first initiated contact with the stupid furniture people.

Five o'clock came and went. As 5:30 approached, I made another phone call. Have I ever mentioned I hate talking on the phone? According to furniture man, the one who had already put me on hold for half of my life, the delivery people just been at the store and were on their way to our house. A direct route. They should be here any minute. Shockingly, because everything this man has said up to that point had been completely true, this did not really happen.

Quarter to six, my phone rang. It was the delivery man. He would try to be at the house by 6:30. At this point, we were looming on an hour late for dinner we had planned at a friend's house, I told them not to come. Since they were just the delivery people, I needed to call my buddy back at the store.

I recapped the whole day for him, just to make sure he remembered, then told him we needed to reschedule. Nothing. I repeated myself again, "I need to reschedule." Silence. Jeff, sitting next to me, was inquiring about what he was saying. To answer his question, I spoke clearly into the phone, "he's not saying a word. He isn't answering me." That's when the man took over. Jeff got on the phone and got it taken care of! Hopefully I'm not speaking to soon. I am so tired of this empty dining room:

This picture was taken before we actually moved in. The difference now is that the plastic bin is no long in the room.

Jen Shen

I don't want to get into the delivery of our kitchen table since I had a good night once the clock passed six o'clock. Instead, I'd like to tell you that tonight we attended a comedy show.  One of our friends, Jen, was the feature act.

I have seen Jen perform a few times in a different location (and a family room just for fun). While the roof of the bar and the picnic table stage I last saw her at were great, tonight left no room for comparison.

I knew this show was going to be amazing as soon as I found out it was in a comedy club with a cover charge. Not to say any of Jen's other shows weren't fabulous. They were. This was just an environment that would naturally help her thrive. 

I was right. Her show was unbelievable. I really envy the fact that she can get up there and put on a show with so much composure. Well, I guess as much composure as you can get playing the eukalali and singing about softball team taco nights. Cracks me right up! To give you a sneak peak, this is one of my favorite songs Jen performs. It is recorded from her rooftop show, not tonight's. 

Jen's Lullaby Video

Three Years

The scene of this date last year and this year differ greatly. Today, September 9th, is our third anniversary. I must admit, last year, we made our anniversary great. Better than expected! But, this year blew last year out of the water the moment I woke up.

No, I wasn't awaken to flowers, silver, or diamonds. I simply woke up next to my husband. A far cry from last year. As our day last year went like this:

09/09/09

Before I go spend the rest of my evening with my husband, I must say that I am very lucky. The past three years married, and nine, just knowing Jeff, have been filled with countless, amazing memories. I actually feel as though people are jealous of us, not because of our ridiculously good looks, our fancy clothes, or our lavish lifestyle, but because we have the relationship that we do. It is something to be envious of. So, while we continue to celebrate our third year of marriage, be jealous. 

Duck Chasing

Shea is somewhat of a scaredy-cat. It's been spoken about before. One of the numerous things he has proven scared of in the past is ducks. The exact thing he was bred to hunt.

Scared of Ducks

This morning Shea and I went to play fetch on a tennis court. Shea likes it there. There isn't much to be afraid of. A few lines on the ground and a net. While playing around, he even found two brand new tennis balls. 

This all came into play later in the day when we went for our evening jog. Being adventurous and wanting to find a new place to play, Shea and I took off in a different direction. We ran quite a ways, when I noticed an interesting bridge ahead. From afar the bridge looked like it may have water underneath it. Apparently I have an eye for water-topping bridges, as a beautiful creek flowed underneath this one. We followed a dirt path that looked as though it would lead to the water.

Once we made our way down to the water, I became nervous. Nervous, not because I was alone in the woods, or because Shea would run away and get lost in the slight wilderness, but because I saw ducks.  Yes, fluffy, sweet, wading ducks. Thoughts of a dramatized Shea flew through my mind. Thoughts of guilt for bringing him here when he is so afraid of ducks. 

Unbeknownst to me, Shea finding that second tennis ball was somewhat of a right of passage for him. It filled in for the ones we had snipped way back at five months. For my duck-fearing dog lost his mind and simply went after them. Not in a vicious way; just playfully chasing them. When he saw that they quacked, scattered, and flew away, it became even more fun for him. He chased and chased until there were no more ducks left. Then, he just wanted to play fetch in the water. 

My boy carried found two balls this morning. This evening, he carried them with him. 

The Big Picture

Today was my first day of work at my new job. I know, I know, I never even mentioned that I got it. So many other big things were going on that it didn't even cross my mind. You probably want to hear all about it. And, as I was driving home tonight, I was tossing around ideas about what I could right about. Oh, the possibilities were endless. Then, I walked into the living room.

Jeff was nowhere to be found, but I was greeted with an ever-so unimaginable site. To me, sixty inches doesn't seem all that ridiculous a size. I, standing at about 5'6'', am a whole head taller than sixty inches. But, when sixty inches is sitting on the TV stand in your living room, it is gigantic beyond all belief. Almost awkwardly gigantic.

I did what any unsuspecting wife would do and hunted down my husband upstairs. I had told him previously to just buy something. I trusted him to find a good price and needed not know the price. This, for the sake of my heart. I would hate to drop dead at twenty-seven because of heart failure. The thought of spending $5 on a cinnamon-sugar pretzel hurts my heart. I cannot handle how much a sixty inch Samsung costs. 

Since I don't know the cost, I am telling myself it was something reasonable. What I don't know, in this case, will not hurt me. Plus, the awkwardness faded when a picture was put on that beautiful plasma screen.

Looks as though Jeff got me quiet the gift to celebrate my first day on a new job! 

Poison Toast

I don't know much about the French. But, I do know what they use for poison. A rendition of breakfast commonly known as French Toast.

My father-in-law made his much anticipated arrival to Maryland yesterday afternoon. Of course, the anticipation was for him to meet Ava, and for our delicious, yet poisonous, French Toast breakfast this morning. You see, Cliff's French Toast is world famous. To die for.

Needless to say, everyone was very happy this morning. Cliff delivered the goods. Me, I learned how to handle the goods the right way a few years back.

The first time Cliff's French Toast was placed in front of my mug, I had no idea what to do. After the first bite, I knew the two slices of heaven Cliff had dished up on my plate would not be enough. I needed four, six, maybe seven pieces. Smothered in butter and syrup, after seven pieces, I was finally sated. Same held true for the three friends of mine I had brought over. Normally, this wouldn't necessarily be healthy, but nothing poisonous. The problem was, we were playing in a 3-on-3 basketball tournament, and had a game in forty minutes. 

Once the game started, we quickly regretted our morning gorging. I remember on a dead ball, holding my stomach, and swallowing hard to hold down the Poison.  There was a little less pep in all of our steps. Running and cutting a bit slower, passing and rebounding with less umph, and jumping with less bounce. Never a good thing when you are playing to get into the tournament finals. Low and behold, we lost. Afterwards, all we could do was slouch over our full bellies, and curse Cliff and his Poison. 

Now, a few years older and mounds wiser, I went for my morning run before I ate my delicious Cliff-made breakfast!

More Big News

The birth of Ava certainly makes this a big week in our family.  The first baby of this generation. The day Ava arrived, my brother-in-law, Jon, and his girlfriend, Lauren, left for a three week Italian getaway. A much deserved vacation for the both of them. But, as usual, Jonathan's timing was impeccable!

For over a year now, with knowledge of the Italy trip, Jeff and I have been speculating the possibility of Jon proposing on this trip. Really, there would be no better time or place to do it. Being the secretive mo-fo that Jon is, there was never a word about anything. No sharing of excitement with his brothers, no pictures of ring ideas. Nothing. All that was there was an inkling of hope. For if Jon were to pass on this opportunity, my advice to Lauren would be to break it off! I mean, they have only been dating since they were seven years old!

I wondered a bit where the possible proposal would take place, what city, in the middle of the trip, at the end, all that good stuff. My answer came much earlier than expected with an announcement email that Jon had popped the question on their first night in Italy. I guess that was a good decision as now, they have the rest of the trip to celebrate this momentous occasion (and her fabulous ring)! 

Needless to say, it is a huge week for the family. And while giving my congratulations on a new baby yesterday, I give my congratulations to Lauren today, for she will be getting wonderful new sisters-in-law, and to Jon, for he will never, ever do better than Lauren. No, for real, congratulations guys. I'm so happy for the two of you! Enjoy your engagement honeymoon! (Jeff, why didn't we have one of those?) 

Ava

When are we truly adults? I'm not sure.

 I had thought for a while that when you reach 18, you are an adult. Having been 18, and lived through it, I must say, being 18 does not make you an adult. Just because you can legally drive after 9 p.m., does not entail anything. Being in college, filling your cafeteria tray with plastic cups, and pretending to trip so that they bounce all over the cafeteria is not being an adult. And, yes, some people, I won't mention names, did that kind of thing at 18.

Then, I thought, maybe when you get married you are an adult. But then Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt got married. The whole marriage theory was blown right there.

Then, most recently, I thought adulthood came when you have a child in your life in some way, shape, or form. Maybe you are a parent yourself, a God-parent, an aunt or an uncle. I thought this especially today, as I became an aunt. My brother-in-law and his wife had a baby girl, Ava,  very early this morning.

Isn't she amazing? I haven't even seen her yet, but I can just tell. Jeff and I will be traveling this weekend to meet Ava for the first time. And with the feelings that baby girl has already got stirring in me, I know that I am an adult.

So, I was thinking it must be the aunt/uncle thing that makes you an adult, right when the thought of my cousin David popped into my head. He was an uncle before he was even born. I guess I have no idea what makes you an adult, but I really don't care. All I want to do is welcome my niece, Ava to the world!