…he kissed me.
Category Archives: Scott
Sunday, Yummy Sunday.
The Cookies Without Borders Bake Sale was a huge success – the line was down the block, the goodies kept showing up, and the ladies raised over 5k for Haiti. I’m so proud of their hard work.
We arrived early and made two trips down the buffet line, which at it’s peak included a half hour wait, and three tables end to end, filled with mind boggling, mouth watering treats of all shapes and sizes. (Here, the lovely Heather greets us as we wade through confections.)
See those double chocolate crinkles? I made them! (Recipe below.)
Professionals and amateurs alike donated an insanely creative array of sweets.
Scott gets sick of me taking his picture, while Jodi (who helped organize!) cheerfully looks on. Neal and Geordie show off their MADE BY AMELIA T-Shirts.
Dash waits patiently for his cookie and checks out Dee’s shades.
Sorry Dee, no sweets for you! Maybe next time… (Dee’s hoodie is by American Apparel
Oh, and if you live in LA, and you haven’t been to SCOOPS, you have to go. It’s an adventure in ice cream.
Things Scott Says
Scott: Hey, Babe?
Me: Yeah, Babe?
Scott: Do you know where her tiny little hair brush is? I want to brush her tiny little hair.
Me: (Nothing, because I had a heart attack. Y’know, from the cuteness.)
Things Scott Says
On me going to get a pedicure later:
“Make sure you leave enough milk. If she starts screaming because she’s hungry I want to make sure there’s something I can do other than just send out hate hoping it gets to you.”
Wedded Bliss x2
Two years ago today, Scott and I said our I Do’s. Can’t believe we’ve made two laps around the sun already.
We opted not to hire a videographer for our wedding, and instead passed out old Super 8 cameras to let our guests capture the day. Thanks to those ambitious guests who were game to give the Super 8’s a go, and our incredibly talented friend Sean who picked up the slack with a regular Mini DV camera, here’s the only 3 minutes of wedding video I ever managed to find the time to sit down and cut together (roughly at that.) I caught Scott watching it the other day. I think he loves me.
Still need more wedding fix? Our photo slideshow can be seen HERE.
It’s not easy being green.
Being knocked up and hormonal is kind of hilarious when you can step outside yourself and take a moment to see the absurdity of the things that freak you out. A couple of weeks ago, Scott and I were making dinner (mostly he was) and laughing together, and all of a sudden I burst into tears. He looked shocked for a second, and when he asked me what was wrong, all I could muster was “I’m gonna miss you.” That occurrence has become more and more regular these days. As excited as I am about the arrival of our baby, Scott and I have been Scott and I for almost eleven years already, and there’s a big part of me that is really going to miss just being able to hang out and be awesome with my best buddy all the time. That’s part one.
Part two is this: I’m gonna be totally jealous of this little one, who is sure to be a Daddy’s girl. I know I was. I love my Pop, even to this day I actually enjoy hanging out with my Dad – something that never faded, even during my angst-ridden teen terror years. When I was a kid, I wanted to hang out wherever he was, and as I’ve gotten older I know I can always call my Pops to sort out whatever’s plaguing me, or just shoot the shit. Inevitably, Scott is going to be the coolest Dad in town (have I mentioned how much I like that guy?) and I can’t stop thinking that this little girl is going to love him so much more than me, and I just don’t know how I’m going to feel about being the third wheel. Sure, I’ll get my few years of Mommy-time, but one day she’s going to grow into a teenager, and at that point, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can do to keep her from pinning her every. last. grievance on me. Thick ankles? Ef you, Mom. Dad says I have a curfew? Ef you, Mom. “But I want to dye my hair purple!” Ef you, Mom. Ef you Mom, Ef you Mom, Ef you Mom. It’s like a mantra from the future that shakes me to my very core. (See? I told you I was hormonal.) And then I see Scott delicately folding his baby’s clothes and organizing them by size tag in her drawers, and I burst into tears again, because it’s just so damn cute, and I can’t wait to watch him be a Dad to our little girl. Someone get this kid out of me already. I am way too neurotic for this shit.
Oooh! And speaking of Daddy’s-To-Be… One of the unexpected [pleasant!] side effects of Pregnancy has been getting to know the wonderful and complicated world of baby-blogs. There are some really great ones out there, and following the adventures of other parents-t0-be as they brave the same terrifying road we’re currently hurtling down at bone crushing speeds has become a favorite past time of mine. Check out Kenny @ Smonk You. He’s a Dad in the making chronicling his wife’s pregnancy, and he’s damn funny.
Domestic Heaven
So, I almost deleted this entire blog by accident this morning, and MAN, I would have been BUUUUUMMED if I had done that. Thankfully my new MacBook
Something amazing has happened in my little world. After nearly a decade of less-than-desirable laundry situations, and a creature living in the corner of our bedroom that Scott has dubbed The Laundry Monster – WE HAVE OUR VERY OWN WASHER/DRYER. And it is just about the greatest thing I’ve ever had happen. Between that, and the brand-spankin’ new Frigidaire Gallery Dishwasher
Ever since Scott and I decided to stay and have this baby in our beloved duplex, we’ve known that our laundry situation wasn’t going to cut it with a newborn – not for a second. See, Duplex means you get to have the joys of house-living in half-a-house. So for three years, we’ve shared a dilapidated washer/dryer from the disco era with the friendly Spaniards who live next door (and who have been known in the past to do laundry in nothing but their tight little manties on our laundry days, resulting in awkward run ins with half-naked Europeans on more than one occasion.) Well NO MORE. What’s better than having a handy husband? Also having a super awesome and handy brother-in-law who knows all about gas lines and electrical stuff, and is willing to stay in town an extra day in exchange for a few Bud Light Limes to make sure his niece wouldn’t go naked as the Laundry Monster claims it’s third victim. (Yes, Bud Light Lime. Scott and Todd love that stuff, and are going to be totally embarrassed when they find out I posted their trashy taste in beers on the internet. In their defense, they had a classy beer tasting with my Dad the following night in an attempt to wash their consciences – and palates – clean.) So yeah. I’m psyched. Now I just have to learn the difference between the Permanent Press and Delicate cycles and we’ll be good to go.
And also – Episode Two of the Vampire Diaries is on tonight. You gotta watch it. And not just because one of my favorite people on earth is the director/producer.
Damn Gina! That’s a lot of Pregnant!
I am like, really super pregnant. Have you noticed? The other day, I made Scott come with me to the supermarket (which he really hates doing, something about everyone being idiots…) because I no longer wish to go out on my own for fear that strangers will get all up in my business. I’ve noticed, however, that if I drag my husband with me, the creepoid to touching me ratio goes down significantly, and so now I prefer to be accompanied by Scott at all times (which I generally prefer anyway, because I really like that guy.) I am so full of baby now, that there isn’t a moment of the day where I’m not aware that there’s a human inside of my body. She’s wigglin’ around in there, elbowing me in the guts, kicking me in the ribs, and being a general disturbance to my internal comfort. Secretly, I kind of love it. Outwardly, my complaining is at an all time high. (I’m Jewish. We live to kvetch. It’s something I don’t think my catholic hubby fully understood until he knocked me up. Oh well, you’re stuck with me now, Shanny.)
Last week, we took our first (and only) birthing class, and man was it stupid. We decided to go for an intensive five hour version instead of the 5 week course, because we’re big procrastinators, and I’m glad we did, because there’s no way we would have gone back for more after the remedial first hour of that nonsense. We learned where babies come from. Seriously. And then we learned how they get out. Seriously. And when the RN was asking (what I at first assumed to be rhetorical, but quickly realized she was seriously asking if we knew) questions about stages of labor and mucus plugs, there were folks in the class who eagerly scribbled down the answer like this was all brand new information. And so I ask you…how does someone get to be 8 mos pregnant, and not know what a mucus plug is? (If you don’t know, I hope you’re not pregnant, in which case you’re better off not knowing for the time being. And if you are pregnant, read a damn book! Jeez!) Anyway – there was some Lamaze included in this class, but not nearly as much as there was talking about how awesome it is that they can put morphine in your epidural and keep you numb for days. And when it came time for the breathing practice (which was the impetus for us having taken this course) I could tell that my husband had reached his limit and was no longer “in it” because his wide “I can’t believe we paid for this shit” eyes were making me laugh when I was supposed to be relaxing and visualizing my contractions rising and falling like waves. (We do still plan to practice the breathing at home, so we got a book…because I don’t want to be totally unprepared come game time.) It was basically a really expensive L&D tour with an emphasis on hospital policy. Money well spent, for sure. (I totally don’t wish I’d spent it on a really nice prenatal massage instead. Oh wait, yes I do.)
Here’s the update:
How far along? 35 Weeks. 35 Days to go. Holy crap.
Total weight gain/loss: Whatever.
Stretch marks? I think I’ve angered them. I fear my tattoo will never be the same.
Sleep: Can’t get enough.
Best moment this week: She tickles me now. I can almost picture those little fingers.
Movement: Oh yeah.
Food cravings: Rice Krispie treats have taken over my subconscious mind.
Gender: Girl.
Labor Signs: a LOT of painless Braxton Hicks.
Belly Button in or out? Still in. Almost flat.
What I miss: Being comfortable ever.
What I am looking forward to: Oh, lots of things.
Weekly Wisdom: Skip the birthing class your hospital offers.
Milestones: 35/35! That’s a big deal in pregnancy land!
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The Plycraft Project (Phase 1)
Having finally recovered from the Crib Hack, and starting to feel the crunch of the final month of pregnancy closing in on us, Scott’s next big undertaking, The Plycraft Re-upholstery Project, has begun.
Ours : Before
In the past few weeks, we started to doubt our DIY libidos, and thought that maybe this one was better left to the pros, but after having collected some price quotes (minimum of $400, not including the leather!) and consulting some veterans of this particular project, we finally decided to throw caution to the wind, and start dismantling our Eames Chair knockoff. Now, I know that there are design purists out there who are offended by an Eames Lounge in anything but black leather, as the designer intended. But we’re not those people. And this ain’t no Eames chair. (If it was, I might be more hesitant to decimate it…) Plus, our Plycraft version wasn’t black to begin with. So Scott began by unscrewing the pads from the chair, and removing the caramel covered vinyl. We’re saving the welting and buttons to recover in the white leather we scored for free from Scott’s Mama, who found it in the garage of her new house. What luck!
The Goal.
Feeling experimental last night, Scott (who was a leather craftsman in a former life) took our spare piece of leather (which, if we’re being honest, is a little thicker than what would be ideal for upholstery) and started working it around the existing frame and foam (we’re cheap, and since our original foam is in pretty good shape, we’re not going to attempt to re-stuff it.) Despite minor meltdowns during the stapling of the leather, we’re pretty pleased with how it’s shaping up. Hopefully, by the time all is said and done, our little girl will have a swanky white lounge chair to be rocked to sleep on…and when she’s done with it, we won’t be ashamed to display it in our living room. We already have the spot by the window all picked out.
Ef you, cooking.
I hate cooking. Mainly, because I suck at it. It’s one of the key talking points of my daily internal monologue of self loathing, because now that I’m a wife, and about to be a mother (and you know, live in the world where I’m expected to be social and participate when people have parties, and also I was raised to know that the polite thing to do is offer to bring something when someone invites you to their house for dinner) I feel like I’ve really dropped the ball on finding my way around the kitchen. And I have no excuse. Our wedding guests were very generous, and honestly, it’s like a Williams Sonoma catalogue vomited Cuisenart, and Calphalon, and Le Cruset all over my tiny kitchen – so it’s not for lack of tools, or anything like that.
Scott can cook his ass off. I think that might be part of the problem. I have a husband who is very generous with his time and energy and usually doesn’t complain too much about cooking dinner, but I know that deep down somewhere he’s got to be thinking “Jeez, how’d I get such a dud wife? This bitch can’t cook a lick…and she’s not great at cleaning, either…or pretty much pitching in in any way, except to grow me a baby and complain for nine months straight…” (But we all know you married me for my fine ass, and my fine ass alone, right babe? What’s that? My ass has devolved into giant pregnant mush? Oh.) Anyway…
So yesterday, (after a very long Thursday that ended with us coming home late to an empty refrigerator and nothing for dinner besides Trader Joe’s pizza and half a jar of pasta sauce) I decided that I was going to *try* to give the guy a break and have dinner ready for him. I went to the market – I bought some cooking type things and I came home, all proud of myself, that we were going to have a relaxing evening wherein he could chill on the couch and I would cook for him. I would even make dessert. So I get out all of my tools, and start to bring out the ingredients, and I realize…I have completely forgotten to buy the meat, which is the center of the dish I am attempting to make. And now it’s kind of late, and I’m a lazy a-hole, and there’s no way in hell I’m going back to the market to get it. I mean, I could, I consider it….but NO. Scott suggests I make it without the meat, and just cook up some rice to fill in the blanks (the blanks being our stomachs) and since that seems like a better idea than going back to the market (which as I mentioned, I’m already against) I concede. We will have the beautiful chicken dish I had planned, sans chicken.
And then the real fun starts. And this is what is at the root of my cooking issues. I’m just too impatient to cook. I can’t read instructions. I can’t be bothered with prep. I tend to just fire up the burners, and GO! And that usually doesn’t end well with meals that have more than one component. Last night, I even took the time to chop the onions and vegetables first…or so I thought…only to discover that as the onions were sticking to the bottom of the cast iron pan I should never have attempted to use (with all that stainless steel and cast iron we have lining our cupboards, my cooking usually only employs our single non-stick pan) I hadn’t prepped the asparagus, and things were burning, and my eyes were tearing up, and I had to call in reinforcements to wash the rest of the vegetables so I could get them into the pan as quickly as possible to avoid totally destroying the pathetic half-meal we would end up with.
In the end, it wasn’t disgusting. It was edible. I even had seconds. Through my apologies for being so lame, Scott continued to insist he liked it… But I was reminded of yet another thing I’m going to need to improve on before I try to feed my child anything that’s not coming out of my boobs, because how embarrassed will she be when she invites a friend over for dinner and they see her frazzled sweaty Mom running around the kitchen shrieking for help and end up with some concoction of sides on their plate because good ‘ol Mom forgot to buy the meat? Oh…and then I threw up. (I actually think it was unrelated to the cooking debacle…I am pregnant after all…but it was a kind of hilarious end to a disastrous meal attempt, if I do say so myself. …Although I wasn’t laughing at the time.)
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**Disclaimer: I’m not completely useless. I’m good with a crock pot, I make a mean bowl of Chili, and I actually CAN bake. So until further notice – all you gourmet friends of mine – I’m going to continue to offer to bring dessert to your dinner parties.**
