Breaking the Rules

I'm definitely NOT supposed to be posting these photos here for a multitude of reasons (among them probably the fact that my photography skills do the building no justice whatsoever), but I just have to show you where I get to go to work everyday.  It's amazingly beautiful; I keep saying that the architects simply didn't miss a detail.  I still cannot  believe that I have had the honor of opening this brand new, absolutely exquisite school.  I have to pinch myself every time I turn into the drive.

The Boys of Fall

In high school, it was Friday nights at Aerie Stadium.  In college, it was Saturdays at Jack Trice.  Now, it's usually a Sunday afternoon in front of the TV.  Different places, same story: tradition, intensity, victory, sacrifice, pain, love.  I am so, so ready for The Boys of Fall.  If you haven't seen it yet, watch Kenny Chesney's new video here.  If you're any fan at all, it will give you chills.

Late Summer Reads

I couldn't attend book club this morning because I was at work.  I'm as disappointed about missing the opportunity to eat breakfast at Cafe Brazil with my girlfriends as I am about not being in on the discussion of this book:

Marching Powder is a non-fiction book co-written by Thomas McFadden, a former prisoner at La Paz's San Pedro Prison, and Rusty Young, the journalist who stumbled upon him there (and subsequently spent months living in the prison in order to secretly record Thomas's stay at a jail unlike any you've ever heard of or seen (if you've seen a prison)).  Though non-fiction can sometimes be dry or too information-based for my liking, this book read so much like a fictional story that I often had to remind myself while reading that the events detailed are, in fact, absolutely true.  Parts of the book were difficult to read, but those same parts gave the story credibility and authenticity.  The events, after all, really did play out in one man's life while he was incarcerated ... nobody would expect it to be all roses.  McFadden's story is nothing less than truly fascinating, and I'm so glad he told it.

This past month I also finally got around to reading this masterpiece:

I borrowed Water for Elephants from my mom's shelf when we were in MN last month.  Practically everyone I know had already read it, and once I started seeing previews for the movie version featuring Reese Witherspoon, I knew I needed to take time to read the acclaimed story if I ever hoped to see the movie.  I was not disappointed.  I loved WfE from the moment I opened it.  Although also hard to read at times, everything from the glitz and glamour to the grit and grime that defined the classes in this historically-based story was entirely captivating.  The characters were so well developed, and I found myself internalizing and relating with their stories and their struggles.  My emotions ran the gamut while reading, and I simply couldn't put it down.  If you haven't read this book yet, it's time.  You will love it. 

When I'd finished the two books above, I was without a new book to start and went asking for suggestions.  I actually only asked one person, my sister, and she - between laughs and eye rolls - recommended this classy tell-all:

In my sister's words, the author of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell is basically a huge DB who wrote about his drunken escapades and the resulting - ahem - conquests that took place during his college and law school years.  If anything about the title or description of this book has the potential to offend you in even the most remote way, this book is definitely not for you.  I was able to appreciate tolerate this book because a) I'm an open-minded person, and b) my friends and I spent a lot of time in college hanging around frat guys.  Still, though they had me laughing (and often cringing), even I was nowhere close to prepared for Tucker Max's stories.  Read at your own risk ... don't say I didn't warn you: this book is not for the faint of heart (or the morally sound, for that matter).

Happy Reading!

Wordless Wednesday

Yes, our week really ended this way.

Tonight we went out to dinner with some friends and their two boys.  Sara was crabby from the get-go ... just generally being fussy about anything and everything (which we thought was all over nothing).  After a trip outside with Daddy to go over the rules, Sara sat in her chair and started in on a tortilla.  Seemingly content.  Not long after our food arrived, she started saying, "poo-poo," which could mean she has to go or that she already went.  She was sitting by Steve, who told her we'd change her diaper in a minute.  Well, a minute was going to be too long.  A guy from the table across the way came over and said, "Uhhhh ... you guys have a problem," and pointed straight to Sara.  I stood up to look around and, sure enough, under her high chair was a big pile of liquid poop.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  While it was comical and I can laugh about it now, I'm sure it wasn't funny or appetizing to the other diners who saw the excrement pouring out of her shorts, down the back of the high chair, and onto the floor (which was tile, luckily).  (For their part, those around us were all incredibly kind and understanding, thank goodness).  While Steve carefully carried Sara out of the restaurant, Kristi and I started in on the mess with paper towels, and the restaurant staff followed up with a mop.  Out in the parking lot, Steve and Jerrod cleaned up Sara with the few wipes we had on hand between us, Steve's undershirt, and some random golf towels left in Jerrod's car.  For the record, he said we could keep them.  As you can imagine, that was pretty much the end of dinner.  We got in the car to come home, where both Steve and Sara immediately bathed, and Steve so insightfully stated, "Well, I guess we know why she was crabby earlier."  Yep, I guess so.

P.S. For those of you who are concerned (and I know some of you are), I did manage to suck down my happy hour house margarita on the rocks before our quick exit.  All was not lost.

My Big Girl

Sara is twenty months old today.  I don't have it in me tonight to put into words my feelings regarding the magnitude of that number.  So instead, some pictures of my baby big girl in action.

She's taken an interest in the vacuum cleaner that Uncle Mark gave her.  Last night she was playing with it in her play room, and I asked her to bring it on out to the kitchen and roll it around near her chair.

First, she turned it on.

Smooth and steady.

Oh no, it fell ...

... on her toe.  Ouch!

Never down for long, determined to finish the job.

If only it really worked.

Themed Dress, Life Lesson

If you are one of the lucky ones who went to high school or college with me, you know how much I love a theme.  LOVE a theme.  Themed spirit days, parties, serenades ... you name it, if it requires a costume, count me in.  Even after high school and college, my teaching job in Kansas City lent itself to dress up, thanks to Outsiders Day and our team-wide embrace of Greek Mythology.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, perhaps), my life now has taken on a direction that doesn't require my participation in crazy, over-the-top thematic attire.  However, when I picked Sara up from school yesterday and saw a sign on the door encouraging all kids to dress up for today's Hawaiian Day, I just knew that Sara had to participate.  We swung into Target in hopes that we (I) would be able to find something a) fitting for the theme, b) inexpensive, and c) available now as they are stocking fall clothes.  The almighty themed-dress gods must have been with us on our mission because Target had one remaining Hawaiian-style dress.  It was in Sara's size.  And it was on clearance.  Perfection!

Here she was this morning, Hawaiian dress and flip-flops on, flower in her hair ... (breakfast in hand, ready to go): 

I have no idea what happened during Hawaiian Day.  What I do know is that we talked about it the entire way to school, and by the time we arrived, Sara was so eager to get inside that she practically jumped out of the car, car seat and all.  If I did nothing else for my daughter this week, at least I began to instill in her the pride, the excitement, the absolute rush that comes when the outfit so perfectly reflects the theme.  Sometimes there is no greater feeling.  (We're allowed to teach our kids trivial lessons sometimes, right? Done.  Thankyouverymuch.)

Hot August Nights

Okay, so obviously our backyard isn't home to the annual Reno event that my title brings to mind.  But it is HOT, and it is August, and these pictures were taken at an hour sometimes considered night. So that gets to be my title for this post. 

Thanks to G & G Wick, Sara is now the proud owner of a splash table.

Higgins likes it, too.

I can't even begin to tell you how many pictures I took before Sara actually looked up for this one.  And it must have been my lucky moment, too, because she even smiled!

It's been a good week here.  In addition to the arrival of Sara's splash table, she also received a wagon.  After so many rides from Gpa Todd at Lake Ida, my parents thought she needed a wagon of her own.  Any day now, one of our cars might lose its garage home.  All for a good cause, though.

I do need to publicly congratulate Steve, who received an unexpected - yet welcome - promotion earlier this week!  There were no interviews involved; the leadership team just chose Steve, which I think is a tremendous compliment.  He is incredibly deserving of the promotion, and I'm so proud of him. (Side note: the talented husband of which I speak just came in here to tell me that "blogging is so 2007."  Maybe I should take back some of the nice things I said.  No, I won't do that; he's still deserving of the promotion.  And I'm not above admitting that, like with most trends, I'm usually a good three years behind anyway.)