Another one about cookies

I can't help it.

Today I was thinking about a funny incident that happened about a month ago and started laughing.

A Sunday night in early April found my roommate Kim and me in my bedroom. I upgraded to a big girl bed (read: queen-sized loveliness) in January and my room has hardwood floors, so the bed is generally the place of congregation. Kim had a story and had just launched into it when she stopped suddenly and looked down at my bedspread. She picked up something from off of it and said, "Julie, have you been eating cookies in bed?" I started to deny it (quite passionately -- I don't eat in my room), when I realized she was holding up an animal cracker, the very kind I had bought the day before. I still denied eating cookies in bed, but I couldn't figure out not only how the animal cracker got upstairs but how it had sat in the middle of my bed without it coming to my notice before that moment (I had been in my room, on my bed for most of the afternoon). We laughed over it, and I tossed it into the garbage can across the room. Our laughter attracted Niki who came and joined us on the bed for storytime. Kim restarted her story only to stop in the exact same spot. I followed her eyes to find yet another animal cracker on my bed, only it hadn't been there a second ago!!! Even they admitted it hadn't been there. Our laughter only got louder as we considered the possibility that animal crackers were reproducing on my bed, a concept made even funnier by the fact that my bedspread is of Noah's Ark.

Emily was drawn upstairs by the laughter. We told the story of the animal crackers, whereupon she suggested there was some connection between that and the wacky dreams I'd been having (which will not be recounted on this blog, sorry to disappoint - I do have some boundaries...). Then someone remembered there was pie and ice cream downstairs, so down we went. Boy were we one one... ("Is there any ice cream?" [as someone looks in the oven.] "I know you don't spend much time in the kitchen, but that is an oven. The freezer is over there."... "Is this a pie?" [as I took a pie out of the fridge. In my defense I had meant to say "is this the pie," as in "is this the pie we are allowed to eat?"]...).

It took me three days to figure out how the cookies had made it upstairs. I got home late on Saturday night and had wandered into the kitchen to find something that might quell the garlic I'd eaten earlier in the evening. I must have grabbed a couple of animal crackers on my way to bed and walked upstairs with them and then gotten distracted and put them down on one of my blankets that I, on Sunday afternoon, eventually curled up with. Turns out they weren't reproducing after all, though that image still makes me laugh...

I love cookies.

Jamaica rundown: successes and mistakes

Almost immediately upon our arrival in Jamaica we started making a list of all the trip's successes. While it initially began as a "Successes" list, there were a few mistakes that had to be acknowledged. They all came late in the trip, though, and none of them were too monumental. Mostly they were just funny (except for the two "Epic Fails")

And now, in as best chronological order as I could recreate, I present Girlcation in Jamaica.

Successes:

• Staying at the Ritz on the cheap (thanks, Em!)


• Fletcher the cab driver


• Ralston and his amazing pina coladas











• The electric violin band


• Beachside pilates


• $7 omlette




• Christian Reggae music


• Leanna's discovery of the sauna and cold plunge













The hobie cat adventure







• Soft chairs and towels, beachside and poolside




• Pizza and Ruffles, The River Wild, The Holiday, Two Weeks' Notice, and Step Up 2


• Tennis




• Bocce Ball and Cricket













• Richard the Cabana Boy
• Monday morning: everything about it


• Outrunning the Jamaican storm


• Not being on the hijacked plane
• Leaving the Oreos in the drawer


• Leaving the Australian Gold "sunscreen" behind




• Jamaican pirate store
• Finding a cutout of Usain Bolt in the airport

• Catching our flight in Dallas



Mistakes:

• Hostage situation at the airport (EPIC FAIL)


• Australian Gold "sunscreen" (another EPIC FAIL)




• Fletcher's busted up Toyota Camry


• Jamaican Muesli


• Pool-side pina coladas, the slushy mess that they were





• Missing the Reggae Dance class


• $16 omlette


• letting (some would say I invited...) hobie cat man touch my leg


• the Oreos


• $3.50 water


• the mossy rope [shudder]


• Saph the tennis instructor


• the $1 bellman tip


• forgetting to get the sisters a ride to church, then dreaming all night about asking for their forgiveness


• Dominos pizza


• Sprinting with all our luggage to catch our Dallas flight

All weekend we kept seeing "signs" that we were meant to be in Jamaica, from the LeBron James Sprite bottles to the Sauna and cold plunge to the beachside Pilates, to dancing in a restaurant barefoot to "I Will Survive" ... the only word I could think of all weekend to describe it all was magical. The weather was perfect (we arrived at the airport just as a torrential downpour began...we liked to think Jamaica was crying over us leaving...), the water warm, and the quotable quotes flowing freely.

It was really hard to be back at work yesterday, especially the wearing clothes part, but alas here we are.

Kind of hard to believe this was us 48 hours ago...

Yeah, NOT a kid's movie.

Last night was an interesting night. The ranks gathered for TT and the jokes about yesterday's post were flying. One of the attendees hadn't had a chance to read the post (hey, at least someone's working at work) and so Kim decided to read the post aloud in the kitchen as we finished cooking.

I'll admit, I've never heard my work read aloud in a non-workshop setting. It was slightly unnerving. It was also a little exhilerating. It made me sort of feel like a real writer. Everyone laughed in just the right places, moments were relived, and some even clapped when it was done. I self-consciously stirred the beans and occupied myself with serving up dinner, but was secretly a little bit pleased.

We ate, talked, and confessed, and eventually the crowd dispersed and I was left in the kitchen with Leanna and Katie. Leanna was cooking up a storm, as usual, and I was trying to learn by observing, as usual. Leanna cooks with lots of different vegetables, which I love. Last night she pulled out these:

Radishes.

I have an irrational confession to make, and it deals with radishes. It's not that I don't like them--I can't actually remember the last time I ate one (I was maybe 7?)--but they scare me. I know. Who gets scared of vegetables, right? Well. Hi. My name's Julie.

I decided I hadn't really confessed to anything earlier in the evening, and I've always kind of wanted to have this fear quelled, so I decided to share:

"So...I've always been a little bit afraid of radishes." [Leanna paused in cooking and Katie looked straight at me, ready for a good confession.] "I know this sounds weird but one of my earliest childhood memories involves a movie, and in it there's this woman who's pregnant and I think she craves radishes and --" I paused, uncertain I wanted to continue. Why? Well, other than the fact that it is ridiculous to feel the way I do about a vegetable, I've always been afraid that it's been a made-up memory, and yet it has seriously governed my feelings towards radishes. (And dreams, come to think of it.) That's when Katie chimed in with "--and her husband goes out to the garden to get them for her?"

Relief washed over me. The memory was real!

"Yes!! That's it!! And then something totally creepy happens in the garden and it's dark and then she can't eat the radishes for some reason and...and...I don't remember what else!"

Neither one of us could remember the movie's name or what it was even about, but we both had the same memories of the movie. I was convinced it was some horror/thriller movie that I had inadvertently walked in on my brothers watching. Anyway, the scene in the garden was so traumatizing that I have avoided radishes my whole life. I know. It's ridiculous.

Want to know what's even more ridiculous? I got up this morning, still thinking about how I felt like a missing piece of my life's puzzle had been found, and decided to google a few terms ("radish husband garden movie") to see if I couldn't locate the movie that scarred me so badly. Yeah. Not a horror film.

Rapunzel.

With Jeff Bridges.

What?!

I opened the synopsis and was horrified to relive this memory that was so traumatic at 3 or 4 or however old I was. Sure enough, there in the synopsis was the dream, the radishes, the garden, the WITCH, the baby-stealing, everything. I don't remember this movie having anything to do with Rapunzel. I just remember the dream. And the radishes. And the husband. And the garden. And the creepy thing that happened in the garden. And BAM! Just like that, at the tender age of toddler was born a fear of radishes. Not of witches, or baby-stealing, or gardens. Radishes .

Yeah. Not a kid's movie.

Just one of the many perks of living in D.C.

Sorry for all the local friends who don't really care about seeing my inauguration photos or hearing about my day in the city, but my family and out-of-town friends have requested some details and I figured the blog was the easiest place to do this. Feel free to skip this post if you're on Obama Overload.

One of the many perks of living in D.C. is the fact that I didn't have to pay an arm and a leg to rent a hotel room in D.C. for inauguration. (The downside is that I pay an arm and a leg to live here year-round.) I live just about 5 miles from my office, which is directly across the street from the White House. It's pretty neat. Sometimes I forget how great it is to live in such a place. But this week I was reminded as I watched tour bus after tour bus invade our town in the tourist off-season.

Because of our awesome office location, we always have a huge party for our clients for inauguration. I worked last time. I was supposed to go to work this time. But my boss couldn't decide whether or not he wanted/needed me. Ultimately he left it up to me. I was conflicted up until the moment I met up with my friends to catch a bus into the city. Once we got into the city and on the wrong side of the mall, I knew I was committed to not going to work and started to feel really excited about the day!

I'm a local, therefore I do not need signs like this one to tell me which way to go.

Also, I look super fat in this picture because I have wool socks and emergency food hiding in my puffy coat.

As we approached 14th St., I decided to turn around and see what was behind us. I couldn't believe how many people had streamed in after us (the crowd in front of us wasn't nearly as thick and compact).

This is the scene we were greeted with as soon as we turned onto 14th St. We were playing the lemming game, basically just following the hoardes of people to wherever they were letting us onto the mall. You couldn't really see anything so you had to trust that someone was driving the boat. Dangerous assumption.

I was with about 7 or 8 friends at this point and Friend Mary, ever the organizer, created a chain to get us into the crowd together. Let's just take a moment here to acknowledge my fairly severe claustrophobia. I'm not sure what I was thinking (the last time I ignored a warning from an organization regarding event conditions I ended up in a medical tent with hypothermia...you'd think I'd learn), but I wasn't really anticipating the crush to be SO bad. I was fine until it required me to sort of pop through the crowd with the aid of my slippery puffy coat. When I looked up and saw how many people were surrounding me, the rushing in my ears began, along with some hyperventilation, followed by wave after wave of nausea and the absolute surety that I was going to die. Soon. All it would take, I thought, was one moment of panic in the crowd, one pipe bomb, one bomb scare even, and a stampede would ensue, and surely I would be one of the fallen. Then, the worst happened. Katie and I got separated (we were supposed to be travel buddies). I managed to turn around and give Jay a look of panic, who in turn informed Katie that I was in trouble. Katie gave me the "secret call" (which would have been funny in any other situation) and then barrelled through the crowd to get to me. After a little water, a little food, a tiny bit of personal space, some prayers, a miracle phone call to Mom, more prayers, more tears, and a game of gin rummy, I managed to take out my camera to document what had me all panicked.

That front-and-center guy who looks very intimidating was actually very nice and my best bodyguard. He was no shorter than 6'6". The woman next to him in the green beenie was awesome. She had on this very impressive green eyeshadow that matched her Obama beenie along with enormous false eyelashes.

This is me pretending I'm really happy to be standing where I am. You can see in this picture just how tall my "bodyguard" was. There was an equally tall man standing in front of me as well. Bless them. Tender mercies, people.

Once I regained my senses, I was able to more fully take in my surroundings. We were surrounded by very excited, very exuberant Obama supporters. The majority of our new friends were African Americans. I am optimistic about this presidency and it felt good to be there knowing that the guy I voted for won. But to see their excitement and to feel of their energy, I knew that it included a whole other dimension I would never know. I know what it feels like to be marginalized as a woman, but have never known what it feels like to have race added on top of that. I know that much has already been said on this topic, but I was moved to see what this meant for them.

We had to stand in the cold for about 3 hours but everything but my feet stayed pretty warm (thermal garments+puffy coat=warmth). I was highly entertained by the two prayers offered, thrilled to "hear" Yo-Yo Ma "live" (you can't expect instruments to perform well in that kind of weather. I don't blame them for dubbing their performance), and appalled by the lack of respect for President Bush when he was announced (I mean, I didn't love him as a president but I am going to clap out of respect for enduring a hard, crummy job for 8 years).

Beginning of political talk--After the bobbled swearing-in, I waited anxiously to hear what our new president would have to say to us. I wondered if he would give into soaring rhetoric or if it would be a speech rooted in action. I think it was a mixture of both. I know a lot of people took issue with what was said, but I was both impressed and moved by his words. I felt like he managed expectations, said some hard things, and put a lot of responsibility on the people. Some said that was a cop-out given the campaign he ran, but I don't think so. Our country is only as good as its people. We do need to step up. I can honestly say that it was the first time I can remember being moved to tears by a secular speech. I may not agree with all of his politics, but I had the impression as he spoke that he is the right man for us right now. You may not agree with me and that's okay, but it's my blog and I can say what I want. :P --End of political talk.

One of my fears during my panic was how we were going to get out of that mess. Katie assured me we would wait until the crowds died down before we attempted the walk home. But it was COLD. So we spent some time in front of the Washington monument getting the blood back in our feet.

Still too crowded to walk home.

We decided to take some pictures. :)

Someone came along and offered to take one of all 5 of us. Then a few people came along and took our picture with their cameras. A little weird, but kind of funny.

This is my favorite one of the bunch, mostly because my friend Dave has some serious air and style. He says it's because of his ballet training. :)

All in all, it was a great experience. I don't know if I will ever brave the mall again for inauguration, but I can tell my children and grandchildren that I was there at least once for a peaceful transfer of power (from a white man to a black man no less). You've got to admit, that's pretty cool.

When I wake up I want to see something I love...

I have been mocked for many things many times: my inability to keep a white shirt clean, the crumbs that usually surround my plate (and sometimes my chair) at the end of a meal, my cookie...fascination, various laughs that manage to escape despite my greatest efforts to keep them in, varying levels of clumsiness and grumpiness, and the list goes on and on. Well, according to some (one witness and two who I floated the story by), we just added a new one to the list.

It all started with the big move, which, mercifully, is reaching its end. I still have one corner of boxes to be addressed and a huge Goodwill pile (ginormous suitcase that almost weighs the weight limit, anyone?) to dispose of. This was a more taxing move than the others have been. I think because it's the first time I've moved without really needing to. I mean, granted, I haven't had a bedroom door for the last 2 years but other than that things were fine.

I deemed Sunday an "ox in the mire" day and started unpacking my books. There was no way I was feeling the spirit with all that clutter, so I decided to pull the "house of order" card and got to work. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and slightly lonely though, so B came over to keep me company while I tried to figure out how I wanted to arrange my books.

Now, if you'll refer to the post immediately preceding this one, you'll remember that I was feeling badly about my possessions. But as I unpacked I realized that had I not owned so many books, it literally would have cut my move almost in half. I'm not exaggerating. The mountain of boxes blocking my way on all sides was almost all books. I was also surrounded by five bookshelves: one very large, dark wood, 5 shelf; one tall and blonde and one short and white, both from IKEA; one nasty particle board that I inherited three houses ago; and one very cool fold-up three shelf that, up until 3 days ago, was occupied by sweaters and jeans in my closet. That's a lot of literary paraphenelia. I was feeling a little bit better.

Traditionally, the nicest bookcase (my large one) has held Tolkien, Lewis, Rowling, Austen, Gaskell, Scott and Eco, along with all my medieval manuscript and politics books. So I put them across the top three shelves. No brainer. Then I started to fill in with my other favorite books (my nonfiction tastes, having taken off last year, filled almost an entire shelf!), relegating my box labeled "American Lit" to the corner where the particle board bookcase had been banished. After I filled the big bookcase, I moved onto the particle board, where my reference books, Horatio Hornblower (the cad), Spanish materials and family history documents were destined to land. I filled that bookcase when suddenly I realized I hadn't done anything with American Lit.

Now let me just pause here to say this: it's not that I don't like American Literature. I have liked lots of books written by Americans. Anne Fadiman, an American, is one of my favorite authors. I just read The Grapes of Wrath and was terribly moved (being a Californian I think made me cry through it all the more). Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls holds a dear place in my heart. But when I looked at the box of books and thought about them in the blonde IKEA bookcase which I had placed nearest my bed, I felt sick. I didn't want to wake up to American Literature every day. I wanted to wake up to the large brown bookcase full of Tolkien, Lewis, etc. But the big bookcase doesn't fit in that part of the room. I had two choices: I would have to either wake up to AmLit or relegate the Brits to a second-rate bookcase. I stood in between the bookcases for probably five minutes. B finally noticed I had stopped moving and asked what the matter was. Lost in my thoughts, I explained my dilemma to her, not even stopping to think how ridiculous it might sound. Her laughter brought me back to someone's version of reality (certainly not my own - mine dealt with the dilemma of book placement!). I maybe should have been embarrassed (and maybe should be embarrassed for this very lengthy confession as well) but I wasn't. It is a big deal to me! When I wake up, I want to see something I love. So I decided: the Brits would have to move. Turns out they fit perfectly in the blonde bookcase. AND, non-fiction got to stay in the nice bookcase and was promoted to the top shelf. Suddenly it was like my world fell back into place. There was balance in the room: my favorite books were in an okay bookcase and my second-favorite books were in a great bookcase, and both got top-shelf status. I felt pretty good about my decision. B decided to mock me a little further, though, by pointing out that I had been referring to my books by name as I, yes, talked to them, and that at one point I apologized to Gaskell when I thought she was going to have to sit next to Dickens (He is not a favorite. However, I soon felt at peace when I realize that Gaskell is actually the perfect combination of Austen and Dickens, which happened to be the two authors I had placed her between). Anyway, all that to say, the books are unpacked and my room feels more like home. You can call me a nerd, it's okay. I'm actually pretty comfortable with that. You can call it a commentary on certain specific aspects of my life. I'm less comfortable with that.

Oh, and the fourth and fifth bookcases? I finally have a place for all my church books, right next to my reading chair, and one for my sheet music, right next to my piano. That makes me happy.

Caught. Again.

If you're female, you know this badge of shame well, or at least you've done the walk of shame. No, not that walk of shame.  I'm talking about the ones at weddings.  The ones where the emcee announces it's that time, the time for the bouquet toss.  When you're 16, it's exciting because you're still dreaming of that cupcake dress and ostentatious wedding to some missionary serving in your ward.  When you're 18, your dream may shift to the missionary you sent off.  When you're 28, it's just embarrassing.

The first bouquet I ever caught, I believe, was when I was 15.  It was at David and Rachel's wedding.  It was exciting.

The second bouquet I caught was when I was 17, almost 18, I think.  It was at Gary and Natalee's wedding.  I think I shared the honor with a niece who really wanted to catch it.  I held her and we caught it together.

I won't bore you with the third, fourth and fifth bouquets I caught.  Let's just say that the supersition that whomever catches the bouquet will be the next to wed is not true, and I have single-handedly proven that fact.

********

Two of my cousins got married this last week, within 3 days of each other actually.  The weddings have been beautiful.  There is something so special about attending a sealing where the spirit is so strong.  You know they love each other, that they are faithful, and that they will do their best to live the gospel.  I love seeing people so happy.  

Rich's wedding was on Saturday in the San Diego temple.  While San Diego no longer really feels like home, the temple here always will.  It was where I received my endowments and it's where I feel like my adult life really began.  The reception was both freezing temperature-wise and informal as far as emcee and structure was concerned, so when I found myself being herded into a single female mass against my will, I immediately turned and headed towards the warmth and safety of the house.  On my way there, I was harassed by my brothers, parents, and male cousins and guilted by my single cousin Jayne who was also being forced to stand in the Crowd of Shame, clumped both with the girls who couldn't get it done and the ones who were twittering with the excitement of cupcake dresses and returned missionaries (or whatever it is teenage girls dream about these days).  

"Julie, if I have to stand there, so do you."  And so I did, because I love Jayne.  Here's the only problem.  My competitive spirit.  One of the reasons I abstain from this dumb tradition now is because if I'm in the group of women, I'm going to get that bouquet, not because I want it, but because it's there and the point is to get it.  This is the only reason I have caught so many.  The problem is...it makes me look desperate.  Which I am not.  At all.  For the ten foot walk of shame across the dance floor, I had this internal struggle.  Do I go for the bouquet or do I just stand there like an idiot and not even try.  I sized up the group.  Pathetic.  I had 5 inches on all of them with my heels on.  I stood a little off to the side, still indecisive about what to do.  Rich's bride counted.  1...2...3!!!  The bouquet flew into the air.  All I had to do was stick my arm in the air.  I couldn't help it.  It shot above the crowd.  I felt the bouquet in my hands and then in an instant I decided: I didn't want it.  I took my hand down.  Some 16 year old sister of the bride caught the bouquet.  She was ecstatic.  My family was appalled.

"Shameful withdrawal of the hand, Julie."

"You totally had that! What's the matter with you?"

"[head shake]"

The truth? I don't know why I didn't just grasp it.  I think because I could feel the tension of the little girls behind me.  They wanted it so badly and I didn't care for it at all.  Plus, I had no relation to Rich's bride.  I was just some cousin.  Give it to a sister, I say.  

Today was wedding number two, my cousin Abigail, Rich's sister.  We had a great day with our families.  The sealing and reception were both so beautiful.  The toasts were moving, the daddy/daughter dance brought tears to my eyes, and the cake cutting was cute.  Then...the bouquet toss was announced.  I rolled my eyes.  For the last three days all I've heard from my family is the hand-withdrawal debacle from Rich's wedding.  Sure enough, Jayne and I were made to endure the walk of shame one more time.  We stood together sort of huddled off to the side, shooting our parents dirty looks, while the groom's sisters all stood excitedly in a group.  

"Julie," Jayne said, "I really don't want to catch this, but I think you should."

"Why me? She's your sister.  I think you should have to catch it."

"No really.  Please catch it."  

"Seriously, Jayne.  I really don't want it."

"Please?"

I told her I would at least reach out my hand in committment this time.  

Abi counted.  1...2...3!  It was headed straight for the group of sisters.  But the flying orange and white was too much for me.  The girls were just standing there, waiting.  Because I refused to make any grand gesture to strip these girls of the bouquet, I stood exactly where I had been and reached my hand up and over.  And waited until the last possible moment to snatch it out of the air.  And snatch I did.  In fact, I snatched with more force than I meant to; a couple of flowers were lost in the effort.  

It was actually kind of fun to catch the bouquet of someone I loved so much.  And it's always fun to win.  :)

Sabbath Day Highlights

1. Most public dollar earned:

Scene: Julie at the organ at church (filling in) playing prelude music.  Tommy comes to the organ before church starts to tell me I was doing a good job (a joke from an earlier conversation).  I start practicing one of the songs I have to play, "Ring Out Wild Bells."

Tom: Julie, I will pay you one dollar if you will switch that song from minor to major and play it.  

Julie: Uh, no.

Tom: C'mon Julie, it will be the easiest dollar you've ever earned.  Just ditch the flat and add a sharp.

Julie: Uh, I'd have to add two sharps and I'm not doing it. I'm just filling in for Suzie and Zelma would have a fit if I pulled that on her during sacrament meeting.

Tom: [blank look]

Julie: What?

Tom: No, I mean just do it right now...before church.

Julie: Right now?

Tom: Yeah.

Julie: Done. 

I play "Ring Out Wild Bells" in a major key.  No one bats an eye.  Tom tosses a dollar on the organ and goes to sit with Mom and Dad.

[Just as a side note, the most public dollar I ever made Tom earn was at a pops concert on the waterfront a few years back.  There was a "donkey song" being played by the orchestra and I paid him a dollar to put a blanket over our friend's back and ride on him like he was a donkey in front of our seated row.]

2.  Dinner Conversation:

Brian: Tom, just as a word of advice, when you get married--

Tom: --if I get married.

Brian: If you get married, don't ever withhold something from your wife just because she wants it.

Tom: [blank look]

Brian: What?

Tom: Brian, what are you talking about?

Brian: Abby won't let me bite her bicep.

Abby: Honey, that's because this sweater is new and you just ate.

[silence]

Julie: I love how that's the reason she won't let him bite her bicep at the dinner table.

John: Julie, I think that's worthy of your blog.

Julie: I was thinking the exact same thing.

3.  The dishes:

Julie: Tom and Brian, I think you should have to do the dishes today.

Brian: What?

Tom: Yeah, what? I totally set the table and grated the cheese for dinner.

Julie: Yeah, only because I threatened you.  Plus, I've done the dishes like three times since I got into town and you haven't done them once.

Tom: [gives me his innocent face]

Julie: I'm calling you Dead-beat Tommy the rest of the day.

Mom: Julie, that is not nice.  I will do the dishes.

Julie: No you won't.  The boys just ate and they need to clean up after themselves. [Boy was I bossy today]

Tom: I do dishes all the time at home.

Julie: That's because you live alone.  Mom has fed you all week.  The least you can do is do the dishes once.

John: Look guys, I will do the dishes.

Julie: What?

Tom: See, Julie.  John will do the dishes.

Julie: And you will help him, Tom.

Tom: Fine.

What actually happened:  I washed and rinsed the dishes.  Abby dried.  Mom put them away. What were the boys doing?  Sitting in the living room watching clips of Brian Regan.

Birthday Magic

I turned 28 on Wednesday. It was a good day, nay, a great day. The birthday before--27--was rough. I didn't know why at the time; I dreaded it months in advance. I think maybe it was a sense of foreboding; something in my psyche knew that it was going to be a rough year. This birthday, however, did not come with the same feeling. I have actually been pretty excited about 28. 28 feels like a good, solid age. Firmly in my very adult-feeling late-20's, I have a better sense of who I am, am more comfortable in my own skin, and am surrounded by really great friends.
The day started off well. I woke up early to work on my blog posting so my mom could read it first thing. Then I opened a couple of presents my family sent. I made the mistake of opening the card Mom and Dad sent to me when it was still early. It sang VERY loudly to me. :) I about fell out of bed.

I got dressed and headed out into the misty morning with a surprisingly good attitude about having to go to work on my birthday. I ran into a good friend on the metro which added a little more bounce to my step. I didn't get much work done at work, what with all the phone calls and gchats and Facebook messages popping up. Plus, I played "hookie" during lunch and trekked back to Pentagon City for a lunch date with J who then drove me back to work. It wasn't NYC, J, but it was still fun! I felt so much love all day. Really, my birthday could have ended there and I would have been happy.

BUT.

It didn't. I came home and bought some dance music with the iTunes gift card Tommy emailed me. Then I went to dinner with a few friends. At the Palace. Kabob Palace. Of course. I received a gift of Oreos from A (a great reminder of the scandalous consumption of Oreos at Shakespeare in the Park this summer - ha!) and had a lot of good laughs as we relived some of the funnier moments of age 27.

It didn't end there either. My roommates (present and former) and visiting teacher cooked up a small get-together at my house. Very casual. VERY fun.

My parents sent me 12 days of birthday, a small gift every day leading up to my birthday. Mom doesn't like the thought of me potentially celebrating alone, so she tries to spice it up. She's good like that. Towards the end I started receiving various parts of a birthday party: balloons, birthday banner, confetti, noisemakers, a candle that sang to me and microwavable cake mix...

and....

...an inflatable pin the tail on the donkey. Which we promptly hung from the ceiling fan in the dining room. Then we started an impromptu dance party with my newly-purchased dance music until the guests arrived.

First order of business: sing to the birthday girl (who was having her birthday party in pajama bottoms and slippers. Happiness is...)

Second order of business: Play pin the tail on the donkey. This is Katie cheating.

Third order of business: have the obligatory butt conversations. This is me thinking I'm funny, but really, I'm just being an idiot.

We were a little bit confused as to how all 8 tails were supposed to fit on Jack's (the donkey's) rear end all at once so I decided to read the instructions (to see if we were supposed to remove tails after putting them on in order to make room). Turns out the back of the box's instructions gave much more fodder for laughter... And that's when things got interesting...

The tails started appearing other places other than Jack's behind.

If you look in the background of this picture, you can see the new variation on the game...we tied jack to the fan blades and, um, turned on the fan... We tried to incorporate the blindfold, but that only led to trouble. I'm waiting for Aaron's video ...

Meanwhile, the tail art continued.

Pirate donkeys. Classic.

THEN. As if my birthday couldn't get any better, we played.... THE BLANKET GAME!!

Round 1: The laughter that was going at the moment this picture was taken... Priceless!

When I said this is what I wanted to play, and even after I explained it, everyone looked at me like there was no way they would ever play this game if it wasn't my birthday. In fact, I may have even pulled the "it's my birthday" card when I got the uncertain looks people give when they're about to submarine your idea. I began to wonder if this was maybe a Bradshaw game whose funniness did not transfer outside the walls of the Bradshaw home on Wisteria Drive, but I pressed on. I wanted to play.

All it took was two rounds, according to one participant, in order to be hooked: one to be under a blanket and one to be a guesser. The game is this: most everyone goes outside the room with enough blankets, one for each person. Everyone gets underneath a blanket and then crawls out one by one into the living room and stops. A few people stay in the living room to guess who is under which blanket.

I know, it sounds lame. But it really is so fun. In fact, one participant (male) said, "I could play this game for hours." And we did. Because once you get the first few rounds out of your system and people start recognizing your body shape, you start getting creative with ideas of how to trick the guessers.

Such as tying Jack the Donkey to your back and then putting a blanket over you...

If my birthday day was a portent of the year to come, I'll take it!

Revenge of the Dove

Our family usually buys the Christmas tree on the first Monday after Thanksgiving. Mom bakes Christmas goodies (haystacks, rocky road, sugar cookies, Christmas coconut bars, blond brownies, Russian tea cakes (blech), puffed rice balls, and fudge), heats up apple juice and calls it cider :) and we turn on the Osmonds...always the Osmonds. We happily sing along to the entire CD as we put on the lights and ornaments. Sometimes we listen to it twice.

Mom and Dad were never picky about what ornaments went on the tree, or in what location various things were placed. I'm pretty sure Mom silently rearranged things in the days following to even it out, but so long as they weren't too broken or huge, everything that could went on the tree. One year my Aunt Jeanne made these cute clothespin reindeer. Each reindeer had the name of a child written on it. Our favorite part of the tree decorating was finding our own and putting him or her in the row of reindeer right across the front of the tree. We converted a See's candy wagon into a sleigh and recruited the gumby Santa from a box of sugar cereal for a full set! Our tree topper for as long as I can remember has always been two (very sad-looking) doves. They always drooped a bit but Mom really liked them because they represented the Holy Ghost (am I making this up? possibly).

Then, once upon a time, the Christmoose was gifted to our family. I'm actually really not sure where he came from, but he appeared sometime during my late childhood/early adolescence. The Christmoose is a moose that says, oddly enough, across its chest "Merry Christ-moose!" He has little suction cups on his four legs and is frankly, kind of funny. I think he may have spent one Christmas attached to our front window, but after that he was graduated to the tree.

I'm not sure exactly how this happened, but with our houseful of boys (and tomboyish girls) something is always being hatched as far as Christmas tree "themes". One year it was the the overthrow of the Christmas tree. You see, the Christmoose wanted to be the tree topper, dethroning the doves. Mom refused. We begged. She didn't budge. So what did we do? We started the Christmoose's slow ascent up the Christmas tree. It took nearly 10 years to get Mom and Dad to acquiesce, the Christmoose taking a stealth position, teaming up with other ornaments, creeping further and further up the tree, year after year. Finally the Christmoose was too close to the top of the tree for them to deny us a tree top war between the Christmoose and the Dove (the other Dove finally fell apart a few years before). They did, however, put their foot down when we proposed the moose attack via a zip line across the living room.

Finally, the Christmas before Brian went on his mission, the Christmoose took his place at the top of the tree and has reigned there for the last 5 or 6 years; the Dove sits on the branch just below. And of course, there is always drama going on with Santa and the reindeer, such as last year's reindeer rebellion where they made Santa pull his own sleigh.

Just last night, I received this email and pictures from my brother John. (He and his wife and daughter are staying with my parents and my oldest brother Bruce is visiting while he remodles the bathrooms. Mom told me last night that the boys came up with this by themselves...John is almost 30. Bruce is 41. I'm just sayin'...)

******

Hi Everyone,

As you may recall, there has been an ongoing saga of the moose trying to catch the dove on the Christmas tree. Last year the reindeer rose up in rebellion against Santa Claus...In a bizarre turn of events, as punishmentfor last year's rebellion, Santa Claus tied up his reindeer, put them under guard and promoted the Dove to guide his sleigh!

The moose of course is still hanging on tight to the sleigh, trying to catch the dove...more to come as the events unfold...

Love, John, Dagmara, Piper, Mom, Dad and Bruce

************

I could not stop laughing at the narrative and then when I opened the attachment and saw the pictures... It's just so funny, especially since I've grown up with all of these ornaments. I just love the pathetic look of all the reindeer all tied up and being guarded by that freaky ornament. Thanks John and Bruce! This is a tree to remember!

Thanksgiving with the Bradshaws: A Photo Essay

We started the day off with a nice, long run, intended, in part, to justify the massive amounts of food we were about to consume. It was a dark and stormy morning full of shin-deep puddles and raging gutters of slime.

I initially thought Mom was just taking a picture of me doing situps, which is why I have a funny look on my face. Little did I know my brothers were behind me, mocking me. Well, Tom was mocking me. John claims he was inspired.

From the backside down the hallway.
For release Jan. 1, 2009: Abs of Steel with the Bradshaws.
Starring: Me.

The first turkey came out of the smoker and Dad asked us to test it for moistness. Tommy and I were happy to oblige.

After showers it was time to make the last of the pies.

Mom cleaning up after us as we go and
Rachel and Katie trying to make Tom a caramel pie...

Dad, sensing his presence was no longer needed in the kitchen, decided to go out into the backyard to prune the apricot tree, because Thanksgiving Day is the perfect day to do this.

Tom "working hard," "helping" prune the tree.

Meanwhile, Rachel whips up the merengue for Tom's caramel pie.

Dad finished in the backyard in time for dinner.

I wonder where he went? Down the hall to his room?

Mom spent the entire week cleaning the house from top to bottom.
Mom doesn't like to reclean other people's messes so soon.

Therefore, it's safe to say that the hairy arm does not belong to Mom.

Tom, hard at work, "checking" on turkey number 2.

Dad finds his way back into the kitchen to carve turkey number two.

The feast.

What the Bradshaw boys do in line to entertain themselves.

This was worth the 1+ hour run.

The day cleared up and we were able to have Thanksgiving dinner outside.

Gotta love San Diego.

The aftermath isn't nearly as bad when you clean up as you go.

Mom insisted we leave the dishes until after the games.

This is me pretending I don't really care about winning.

This is me winning.

This is Ben attacking me after I won (I suspect at the order of his father).

Time for pie.

And now it's time for the dishes.

This is what happens when Tom says things he shouldn't and water is present.

Tom, you got pwned.

More games. My job was to hold the marbles.

Our attempt at a sibling picture.

Ben was running on my head, again at the order of his father.

Happy Thanksgiving!