Instant Messages With Mom

Off to bed, but before I go, I want to share two instant message conversations that I recently had with my mom.

The first...

Mom: By the way, what does btw stand for?
Me: By the way

(I don't know... I just thought it was funny.)

And the second...

Mom: I'm so excited to go to Florida. I'm bringing my iPod with me!
Me: Good, make sure you charge it.
Mom: I have to charge it?

Ha ha ha... love her. I know I make fun of her computer skills on this blog, but I love her more than words can say.

Handbags - Part 2

So how coincidental is it that today's Daily Candy kids email (a must-read for all best aunties out there) is about a handbag?

Yes, it seems a company out there named Scribble Couture can customize a handbag with a design made by your little munchkin. Neat, isn't it?

So here's what I'm thinking... how amazing would the "rocket" that Nora made for me in school look on the side of a handbag?


Yes!

(No.)

My Marco

I snapped this picture of my friend Mark as we were chatting yesterday. I love it.

Happy Dyngus Day

So how much do I love it that my step-sister, Tracy just sent me the following email:

Hey Karyn... Today is Dyngus Day in Buffalo. It's a Polish/Buffalo celebration. Men go around hitting women with pussy willows to flirt with them. Sounds fun, huh? For some reason this seemed like something you'd appreciate.

Okay, first of all, Dyngus Day? It sounds like a mix between dingleberry and dufus—I love it!

Second of all, pussy willows?

YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE PUSSY WILLOWS!

From Tracy's blog post today:

Every Easter, when my in-laws leave our house to return to Buffalo, they wish us a Happy Dyngus Day. I've asked my husband about Dyngus Day, and he gives me vague explanations of people hitting each other with pussy willows.

I mean, how fabulous is that? And yet, there's still more...

The annual celebration is held in Buffalo the Monday after Easter. On Dyngus Day, men and boys flirtatiously swat women and girls with pussy willows and squirt them with squirt guns.

Yep. Not only are there pussy willows-a-plenty, but people get wet, too.

Omg, I can't believe something like this exists. And I can't believe I'm not there.

Oh! And check this out from the official Dyngus Day Buffalo website:



Close-up:


Yes, "Brought Together By Dyngus, Couple Married During a Pussy Willow Filled Ceremony."

I can't tell you how happy this has made me. They need a Dyngus Day Queen. Does anyone know if they have one? I'm going to campaign for the position next year.

To thank Tracy for bringing Dyngus Day to our attention, please vote for her in this year's Pillsbury Bake-Off. You do remember she's a finalist, right? Yes, out of the tens of thousands of people who entered this year's contest, she's been chosen to be one of 100 finalists. The big contest is in April; here's a link to her recipe, Jalapeño Popper Cups.


They look good, don't they? And they are!

You have to register to vote, but it's the least you could do for the woman who has no doubt brightened your Monday.

Thank you, Tracy!

Where, Oh, Where Has My Little Mark Gone...

"Where has Mark been lately? He hasn't been online in days."

— My mom, on the phone today, curious as to everyone's whereabouts now that she has instant messenger

Happy Easter!

Since my dad was in town last week, we colored and hid Easter eggs with Nora and Jack then. It was so fun! Here are some photos:

The little chemist...



These stayed on Jack's head for maybe two seconds...



Looking for the Easter Bunny...



A note from the Easter Bunny. (I drew it. Yeah, you can say it... Best. Auntie. Ever.)



Nora's "golden egg" was filled with chocolate. She loves chocolate...



Hmm... it seems that Nora's not the only one interested in the eggs...



Hi Bev...



Nora didn't realize how fragile the eggs were...


It was so funny... Every time she found one, she would just throw it into her bag, like, "Plop!"

We ate them anyway.

The end!

PS - Nora and Jack's Easter bags were a present from CeeCee (grandma, my mom, long story behind the name.) They're from Williams-Sonoma. Since it's after Easter, they're now on sale for $8.99. You can get them personalized, too.

Chatting With My Mom

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, you know, teaching her this stuff.

(Kidding, Mom. I love chatting with you. So does Mark.)

Nora's Art Project

My 2-1/2-year-old niece, Nora, made this for me in school:


It's a rocket.

No, really.

See?



(How fabulous is the yarn, btw? Thank God it's at the tip and not at the base. Of the rocket, that is.)

Future Fashion Icon

Nora is such a trendsetter.

Being A Kid...

Being a kid is totally awesome.

Happy Birthday Wrigley

Dear Wrigley,

I just want to wish you a happy birthday and tell you that you're a fatty.



Love, Beverly

A Few Spectacular Women

I just read a great article by Lisa Kogan in February's O magazine (I'm a few months behind) called A Few Spectacular Women. The byline is "Lisa Kogan on the Women She Admires, Likes, and Loves."

Just the other day I had a conversation with my mom about how women can do anything and get through anything as long as we stick together, so it's funny I ran across this.

Anyway, here's my favorite part of the article:

I like women. I like them as much as or more than I like almost anybody. But the women I like best aren't always strong, and they're certainly not invincible.

They're creative, they're idiosyncratic, and they're around if you need them. They complain, they console, and they can shop their way through virtually any crisis. They know how to raise hell and they know how to raise children. They can spot a scam, a lousy doctor, and a crummy boyfriend in under ten seconds. They've perfected the withering stare that makes a nasty salesperson, flight attendant, or coworker fold like an origami swan.

My favorite women may feel bad about their necks, but they feel pretty damn good about their legs. They do not trash their ex-husband's new squeeze monkey even if she happens to be eight months younger than their eldest daughter; they limit the amount of money spent sucking up to stepchildren; they try really hard to wish everyone well. They've never met a carbohydrate they didn't want to have a close personal relationship with. They brake for sex, sleep, and solitude, cashmere, caffeine, and Joan Didion. They've got nerves of steel, the courage of their convictions, and excellent footwear. They're sugar and spice and everything I aspire to. They remain cautiously optimistic.

Click here to read the rest.

Uncle Junior

Mark and I playing with fun effects while video chatting:


First, how hot is Mark's club hand?

Second, don't I look like Uncle Junior?

For David

I made a playlist of some of my current favorite songs for my friend David. I hope you like!

You can see it on iTunes (with one more song) by clicking here.

Skinny Love - BON IVER
If It Be Your Will - ANTONY
Tender - BLUR
Oxford Comma - VAMPIRE WEEKEND
Making Pies - PATTY GRIFFIN
I Wish You Love - RACHAEL YAMAGATA
Black Leaf Falls - SEA WOLF
Hallelujah - BRANDI CARLILE
Amour Fou - VETIVER
Mankind - DEADMAN

Step-Up 2

I just remembered something funny from last week. My mom and I were watching TV and a trailer for Step Up 2: The Streets came on, and she was like, "I really wanna see this. I'd love to be able to dance like that."

I blame this on Dancing With The Stars.

In case you haven't seen the trailer, this is how my mom wishes she could dance:

My Neighbors and Elvis

Okay so I just want to take this opportunity to tell you all how much I love my neighbors, Kate and Sarah. I'm so happy we've become friends; they couldn't be nicer people. Not only did they watch my little munchkin Elvis while I was away, but Kate called this morning to see if I needed anything because I'm sick. (I took her up on the offer; she got me some Starbucks. Thank you, Kate.) They're just kind and thoughtful and the world needs more people like them.

So anyway, I'm feeling a little bit better. The Motrin I had was super-duper strong (I got it from the doctor when I had strep throat), so it broke my fever pretty quickly. Having a fever is so terrible... I think I wrote about this the last time I had one. I mean, the way your body aches and your skin hurts, and the chills and headache you get... yuck, yuck, yuck... all of it.

And now back to Elvis (I'm all over the place today; sorry... it's the illness), someone asked how he's doing. He's fine, thanks for inquiring. Kate sent me an email while I was away saying that, while Sarah was petting him one day, he started drooling. I was like, "Oh, he does that." I wrote about him doing this once before on my old website and have since imported it to this blog. Here's a link to it with an awesome picture of him drooling.

BTW, he's sitting on my lap as I type this. Here's a picture:


Okay, bye bye!

Note To Mom

I wrote this note to my mom when I was eight years old.

Awesomeness

I wrote this note to my sister when I was about 10 or 11 or so. (I'm guessing.) I cannot begin to tell you how much I love it.






Oh, the drama that comes along with raising two girls very close in age.

Great Great Aunt Minnie Update

So I showed my grandpa the picture of Great Great Aunt Minnie today when I went to visit him, and as soon as he looked at it he shook his head.

"Oh... Aunt Minnie," he said. "She was an old maid."
"Yeah," I replied, "but why?"
"Well, she tried to be a nun but didn't make it."
"Why didn't she make it?"
"Because she was supposed to fast but couldn't."
"Why couldn't she?"
My grandpa thought about this for a moment and then said, "Because she liked to eat, I guess."

(I mean, does it get any better than this?)

"Grandpa," I said, after a bit. "Do you remember anything else about Aunt Minnie except that she was never married and liked to eat?"
He shook his head. "No... I mean, she liked to sit by the fire, but everyone did in Ireland because it was always so damn cold."

So, that's it, everyone... that's Aunt Minnie's legacy. She was never married, liked to eat, was rejected from the nunnery, and could occasionally be found sitting by the fire because Ireland was so damn cold. The end.

Brown and Gold

My high school's colors were brown and gold. Terrible combo, isn't it?

We were the Carmel Corsairs, which is a fancy name for pirate.

BTW, I was only a cheerleader for one year. It interfered with my social life.