Friday Photos - Come Sail Away

Warning: This is more like a picture book than a picture blog. 

I'm just sayin'...

I kind of like the idea of sailing away. It sounds romantic, idyllic, and breezy. With extra e's like this... Breeeeezy.

The other day I went sailing with a batch of boys. I wasn't going to go at first. I thought my plan to stay at home and wallow in a puddle of self-pity while trying to watch my iPhone come back to life was perfectly acceptable. But I was gently persuaded otherwise. So I headed to the lake with the boys.

You should know that one of the best parts about being me is my people. And by people I mean my across the street neighbor who has a racing sailboat that is gracious enough to host a bunch of Boy Scouts for an afternoon.

And if you've ever hosted a bunch of Boy Scouts for an afternoon you know just how gracious this is.

I took my camera to the lake. After the iPhone plunge you have to understand what a gamble this was.
Because the only thing worse than seeing my iPhone at the bottom of a toilet would be seeing my camera at the bottom of a lake. So I kept a death grip on it the entire time. The good news is that death grips make for some nice, clear, well-focused pictures.

And today I'm going to share.

Let me introduce you to our fearless crew of boys and men. Well, actually a fearless crew of just boys. In big and not-quite-as-big bodies. The Boys.

This is Captain Cook, across the street neighbor and sailor extraordinaire. 

He wears this boyish grin just especially for his sailboat.

This is The Man, leader of the not-quite-as-big-boys, organizer of sailing adventure.

And gentle persuader of self-pity wallower.

This is Ty Man, other leader of the not-quite-as-big-boys. They think he's cool. 

He thinks he's cool, too. 

; )

This is Boy James, poser for dramatic photos. 

And evidence that not-quite-as-big-boys is sometimes a loose term.

This is Boy Chaz, with the most excellent hair. 

He's quiet and unassuming. But works hard. 

It's a nice combo. Especially with the hair.

This the The Little Man.

 Trying to take a page (or two!) from Ty Man's Book of Cool.

And this is Boy Hunter, who thought that when we said "sailing", we meant "parasailing". 

Which might explain the pensive look.

This is how the day went.

First it was warm and sunny. Like this...

Then it was cold and rainy. Like this...

The boys took turns warming up in the cabin. And eating chips.

My camera and I stayed warm in the cabin. Taking pictures. And eating chips. 

Then it was still and calm. Like this...

The Boys raised the spinnaker sail. I like how that sounds. Spinnaker sail. Spinnnn-na-ker. Sail. 

The spinnaker sail has a name. 

Bob. 

And we listened to Bob Marley when the spinnaker was up. 

Everything is better with Bob Marley. And Bob. 

Bob looks like this...

The Boys told stories...

And posed for some relaxed shots...

We danced. We sang. It was beautiful.

Then a big wind came up. And the spinnaker sail came down. The Boys had to work hard! 

I'm not gonna lie, my favorite part of this was Captain Cook yelling out, "C'MON GIRLS!!! LET'S GO, LET'S GO, LET'S GO, LET'S GO!!!", as they tried to work this out in the gustiness. 

And with that encouragement they were able to accomplish in 4.5 minutes what it takes his race team 30 seconds to do. It was magical!

We raced some friends.

And won. Of course.

I took pictures of some birds... 

They are pelicans. 

And learned that I find the intricacies of a sailboat to be very fascinating. 

Especially All. Those. Ropes!

By now it was super calm and getting late. So we sailed back to the docks...

The Boys put away the sails...

And I took pics. 

Of this...

and this...

and this...

Look closer...

Yes, this is a flotation device. Attached to a boat. It warns, "Not Intended To Be Fastened To A Boat". 

And, "Do Not Dry Clean". 

Really? It reminds me of my curling iron that warns, "Do Not Use While Sleeping". 

One last parting shot of the crew. The Boys.

And we drove away into the sunset.

The Boys learned that sailing is hard work. And probably really not that romantic or idyllic unless you hire a crew to do the work for you. Like in the movies.

I learned that sailing really is that breeeeezy. Like in the movies. 

And The Man was right. If you get the chance to sail, wallowing can wait.

Thank you, Captain Cook, for a terrific time! We'll sail away with you any day. : )

Happy Weekend!

Ode to the Apple Store

Ode, oh Apple Store,
For it is you who would show compassion at the sign of distress,
And relieve the addicted and lost.

Ode, oh Apple Store,
For it is you who understands the importance of calendars, and contacts, and apps,
And seeks to restore, renew, or replace.

Ode, oh Apple Store,
For it is your Genius Bar Man that searches for corrosion and today found none,
Even where there should have been.

Ode, oh Genius Bar Man,
For it is you who checked our records and took note that we do not abuse our precious electronicals,
That toilet plunges are not typical.

You offered solutions, you offered hope,
You extended a first-time mercy,
And replaced my beloved iPhone.

Oh, Apple Store, this ode for you.
For today it was you and your Genius Bar Man
Who made the world a better place.

This ode for you, and a photo
Oh, Apple Store, and Genius Bar Man,
And iPhone addicts everywhere.

Has there been ever in phone history a sweeter sight than this?

Friday Photos

It's Friday.
Friday after Thursday.
Friday after Thursday that my iPhone took a dive and left me stranded without my life.

This morning it was buzzing at me from the bag of rice. A pathetic little buzz. The kind of buzz that lets you know it's alive, but not living. I took it out of the bag of rice and it is just that. Alive. But not living. I put it back in the bag.

I'm choosing to think of the bag of rice as life support till it can breathe on its own. And that the phone is not really dead, just comatose. This gives me hope for a better day. Hopefully, tomorrow.

In the meantime, here are a few Friday Photos for you to enjoy. And this series has a name.

"Don't Let This Happen to You"

Okay. So I'm all about heels. I love them. They are a very important part of my height to weight ratio. 

And this really does matter to me. 

But there is a time. And a place. And a color.

At Fair St. Louis? Probably not the time. Or the place. Or the color. I'm just sayin'. 

Not that the heels are the worst of her problems....

 Alright, I could give this guy credit for trying to demonstrate a little American Spirit. But, um...ew. 

Would the amount of credit ever match the infinite amount of things that are wrong with this picture? 

I think not. 

And I'm talking about subject matter here. Not the photography. 

This may look innocent enough. Well, actually not really. 

But here is the thing you should know about this pic. 

It was snapped near the beginning of a half marathon. In 80 degree weather. 

Trust me. I would not want to see what these costumes look like at the end of the race! 

And if we're being completely honest here, does this seem like a good race day option? 

Not even in 40 degree weather.

And we'll end with my personal favorite. Mostly because I know and adore this person. 

And obviously, there is a story here. This is it.

Once upon a time a boy went tubing with a bunch of other boys. 

And a girl. 

While taking his turn on the tube he began to feel his swim trunks sliding down his legs. 

He screamed! Like a girl. Ack! 

He let go of the rope. And retrieved his swim trunks just before they were gone forever. Phew! 

And then he put them back on. 

Inside out. And backwards.

But he didn't know they were inside out and backwards. 

Till he was back on the boat with a bunch of other boys. 

And a girl. 

The End.

Here's wishing you a Fabulous Friday and a Wonderful Weekend! 

And remember...from the heels to the swim trunks, please, Don't Let This Happen To You!
And mostly I am talking about my iPhone. Still in its bag of rice.

Addictions

You should know that as I write this I am eating a bowl of Ben & Jerry's Late Night Snack. 

It is not late night. Nor is it a snack. It's more like lunch. Late lunch.

The good news is that I have downgraded from consuming the entire pint in one sitting. 

And after days of feeling completely uninspired to blog I finally have a post that can write itself.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Addictions.

Alright. Go ahead and admit it. We all have them, right? And for some of us, not just a few.
I have one. And everyone around here knows what it is.

My iPhone.

True. Blue. Addiction.

And if you have an iPhone you know what I'm saying here.

But it's not just an addiction, it is my life. In a very, very lovely 4.5 inch by 2.31 inch by 0.37 inch package.
It pretty much does everything but wash the dishes and take out the trash. Which is about all a girl could ever want, right? So it stands to reason that it goes with me everywhere.

Well, today my iPhone accompanied me to the doctor's office.
This was super great for keeping me distracted while I waited in the exam room for the doctor to show up.
But as soon as he walked in the door it was all downhill.

First, I didn't have a chance to put the phone back in my purse before he came in. So I just sat it on the exam table beside me.

This was a Very Bad Idea. Because iPhones refuse to be ignored. And it did not sit in silence.

So I watched,
and wiggled,
and squirmed,
and bit my lip,
and clenched my fists,
and tried with all my might to keep from completely popping out of my skin
while my iPhone buzzed....
and buzzed...
and buzzed.

Right there. By my leg.
Texts.
And more texts.
And phone calls.
And email.
My lifeline to the outside world.

I could hear it.
I could see it.
I could feel it.
But I couldn't touch it.

I am quite certain I did not hear one word the doctor said between, "So what brings you in today?" and "Just take this slip back to lab and they'll take care of you."

The lab? Really? THE LAB! I have never before heard such welcome words! This meant escape. I could take the phone with me and catch up on the texts that were screaming my name. Yay!

So I grabbed it. And stuffed it in my back pocket.

(You should know I left my purse. I know what really matters.)

The lab lady pointed me to the ladies room.
For a urine sample.
Ew. I know. Overshare.
But stay with me, because this part is important.

I hate giving urine samples. There is no good way to do this. The list of things you have to do to prepare for it is really overwhelming. And trust me. You do not want to get this wrong and have to start over. It is all kinds of distracting to the fact that you have an iPhone in your back pocket.

So I did my thing.
And then I stood up.

And then I heard it.


Plop!

Connect the dots here and replay that sound with me.


Plop!

You should know that I did not drop my iPhone in the toilet.
I would never do anything so careless.
Nope.
It leapt.
Yes, leapt. (It's a word. I looked it up.)
My iPhone leapt out of my back pocket.


And into the toilet.


AAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Never in a million years did I imagine it would be so easy to stick my arm into tinted toilet water!!
But I didn't even hesitate.
And my hand moved.
FAST.

I grabbed the phone.
I dried it off.
I washed my hands. Thoroughly.
I grabbed extra paper towels.
I headed back the exam room.

And then I started to panic.
The phone had power but I couldn't get past the home screen.
I saw my life flash before my eyes.

What would I do without my contacts?
Or my calendar?
Or my email?
Or my Facebook?
Or my Google maps?
Or All.  Those.  Apps?

There was only one thing to do. I had to have my phone. 

So I shook it. Hard. 

You know, to shake out the...eh...moisture. 

And little droplets flew everywhere. 

I don't think this is the most sanitary idea for a doctor's office. 

Or any office, really. 

But I was desperate.

Then I blew as hard as I could into every crevice possible to try and get out the rest of the...eh...moisture. 

And voila! 

No luck. 

A home screen I still couldn't get past.

And by then the doctor returned.

Here's what you should know about my doctor.
He is not just a doctor.
He is a therapist.
And a philosopher.
And a conversationalist.

And he talked...
And talked...
And talked.

And I squirmed,
and wiggled,
and sighed.

I have never been so anxious to leave the doctor's office in all my life!!
I just wanted a chance to get my phone back.
And the minutes were ticking away.

Aaaaack!!

And now I am home. Writing this post. And patiently waiting.

This is my phone after the toilet plunge.

This is my phone now.

In a bag of rice.

It worked for Kid Middle's phone after it took a plunge in her bubble bath. So maybe it will work for mine. I have no idea how long this will take. It took 48 hours for hers.

The Man has suggested that I get a new SIM card and use my old Blackberry while I wait for revival. I'm going to have to do this. I mean, texting is the only way I know my kids are still alive. But I can't do it forever. Because anyone with an iPhone knows that there is no going back. Ever. 

Dictionary.com says that cessation of an addiction causes severe trauma. 

I am here to tell you it's true! This is traumatic!

So if you see me cursing at my Blackberry over the next couple of days months 

you will know the rice didn't work. 

And I am not over my addiction.

More Ben & Jerry's while I wait? Don't mind if I do.

Lean On Me

It happened on a run last spring.
On a contemplative run, when I was feeling especially vulnerable.

And especially alone.

I rounded a curve on the trail and saw this most majestic sight!
It was a tree, or maybe two.
I'm really not quite sure how it works.

But it spoke to me.

It spoke of refuge,
of sanctuary,
of protection,
of support,

of a place to lean
when I am not strong enough to stand on my own.

I wish the picture could do it justice.
It is so magnificent!

And profound.

I have gone to visit that tree again. And again.
It always takes my breath away.

And quietly reminds of those who have been there with me
when I could not have been there alone.
And I am grateful.

We all need somebody to lean on.

Sometimes nature speaks loudly the most fervent whisperings of our souls.

Jeans Shopping

Jeans shopping. Ugh.

It's the worst, right? But awhile ago I lost some weight and told myself that after I had maintained for a year I'd head to Buckle and buy myself some of "the most amazing jeans" my daughters are always telling me about. Well, it's now 18 months later and I needed a little shopping therapy the other day. So I dragged Kid Four to the local mall and into Buckle.

This is Kid Four. She is easy to drag to the mall.

You should know that this store intimidates me. A lot. I am way too old to be in there. Or to buy jeans with sparkly pockets. And I was warned by Kid Four that the guy sales people always help out the chicks.

Could jeans shopping get any worse?

But I have been brainwashed for years that it would be worth it to give it a try. So I held my wrinkled forehead high and started browsing.

It wasn't long before Attractive Young Male was hanging out asking me about sizes.

What size am I?
Really? Is it okay for a guy to ask that question?
And I was suddenly feeling a little exposed. Because the truth is that every single stinkin' pair of jeans I own are different sizes.
And they all fit the same.

Then he asked about styles. Whew. I question I knew for sure about.
The answer goes like this...

NO SKINNY JEANS! The End.

Well, not really the end, because no blingy bum either.
Now The End.

Oh, except for no frontal thigh fading things going on to accentuate the obscene.
And please search for pockets that will make my rear look narrower.
Now The End.
For real.

And then I waited as Attractive Young Male went and grabbed a stack of jeans. A very tall stack.

(A photo while we wait...)

This is Kid Four looking all sassy in jeans. 

They may, or may not, be from Buckle. 

I really have no idea.

Then the best thing happened! 

While I tried stuff on, and between helping other customers, and fetching me more jeans, 

Attractive Young Male decided to strike up a conversation with Kid Four.

Trust me when I tell you that there is not much that is more amusing than listening to a guy 

trying pick up your daughter on the other side of the dressing room door.

And this is how it went:

Attractive Young Male: So....you off work today?

Kid Four: No...I'm home from college till January.

(And I think, "What does that have to do with anything?)

Attractive Young Male: Taking a semester off?

Kid Four: No...I go from January to July.

Attractive Young Male: Oh, so are you working then, or what?

(See? He totally thought the same thing I did.)

Kid Four: Um, no. I just kind of hang out at home.

(And I think, "Nice. You just admitted to hanging out at home.")

Attractive Young Male: Oh. Well do you know of anything fun to do around here at night?

Kid Four: Um, no. Not really.

(This just gets better and better.)

Attractive Young Male: Oh, so there's not really anything to do?

Kid Four: Well, I don't really know. Before I went to school I spent every night at the ballet studio.

(Yep. That's my girl.)

Attractive Young Male: Oh, so you do ballet?

Kid Four: Yeah.

Attractive Young Male: Cool.

He was trying so hard! And all I could do was giggle.

Kid Four (to me): Hey, mom. We need to leave in 40 minutes.

And Attractive Young Male tries again: So, you have to leave soon? What do you have going on tonight?

Kid Four: Oh....I'm going to a church thing.

Attractive Young Male: Oh, cool.

Okay, honestly. Could she have given him any less to go on? 

I'm not sure whether I should be really proud of her aloofness or enroll her in flirting class!

And twenty-five pair of jeans later (yes, really, twenty-five pairs!) I finally found one pair (yes, just one pair) that wanted to hang out in my closet. Sadly, they didn't have the right inseam length. So I left the store empty handed.

But Kid Four didn't! 

Because as we left, Attractive Young Male handed both me and Kid Four a business card. 

Mine had his name and the jeans styles and sizes I liked best.

Hers had his name...
And phone number.

We giggled all the way to the car. And then all the way home, as we revisited this exchange.

It went like this:

Kid Four: I just kind of hang out at home?

Me: (I Laugh. Hard.)

Kid Four: I spent every night at the ballet studio??

Me: (I Laugh. Harder.)

Kid Four: I'm going to 'a church thing'?

Me: (I Laugh. Hysterically.)

Kid Four: Really? Could I sound any more lame?!?!

Me: And he still gave you his number!

Both of us officially laughed so hard we got our ab workout for the day. 

But you should know that it gets even better.
Because when we got home Kid Four realized she had some Jimmy John's left in her teeth!
Wow.
And still a number.

You should also know that she is on a date with him. Tonight.

And I can't wait to jeans shop with Kid Four again! : )

This is Kid Four smiling.
Without Jimmy John's in her teeth.

Tomorrow I am going to play with this pic in Photoshop.
Which I have next to no idea how to use.

Friday Photos

I've been going through photos. A lot of photos! 

And I decided that since I still haven't found time to finish a post I started writing three days ago 

that I would share a few of pics I like instead. 

I may decide to make this a Friday tradition. 

Just because I like the alliteration of "Friday Photos". 

I might even add in another alliterative word from time to time. 

Like "Favorite" or "Five" or "Fabulous" or "Phenomenal" or "Freaky" or "Flippin' Fantastic!".

But I may decide not to make this a tradition. 

Just because that's a lot of pressure to put on myself. Really. 

I couldn't even blog for 6 days straight when I first started this thing. 

And I hate the idea of holding myself to impossible standards. 

So here we go. 

Friday Photos

This is Kid Two's Kid One's foot. I took this last week just after his getting out of the pool. 

I like it because his foot is all pruney. And because it's a baby foot. Which is about the best thing ever!

So, check this out.

Okay, is it just me, or is the whole idea of a bed on a roof just fascinating?

On all kinds of levels...

This is on the boardwalk at Venice Beach, CA.

And while we're at the beach, check out this guy. 

I like him because...well...I just like him.

And he held very still for the camera.

Below is Joe.

Joe is a very dear friend of mine and was the official photographer for this summer's Girl's Camp.

I did not take this picture. Neither did Joe.

His grand daughter did. When she hijacked my camera (and I do mean hijacked!).

He wouldn't let her use his.

But I think she's got a knack, yes?

This is also from Girl's Camp.
And this picture I did take.

This butterfly was amazing! It hung around forever and gave me all kinds of chances to get a good shot.

It even was kind enough to allow some photos while resting on a friend's finger.

One day I will share.

Maybe on a Friday.
Maybe not.

And one last parting shot.

I know. Not amazing photography.

But check out the amazing posing!!

The Man, Kid Two's Man, and Kid Two's Little Man

Three tired boys at a Fourth of July celebration.

And that will do it for today.

But not before wishes for a wonderful weekend!
Ahh, alliteration
: )

Monday Morning Rant

I'm sorry to start the week with a rant, but sometimes I just can't help myself. 

And this is definitely one of those times.

My rant for today actually started a few weeks ago when I got a pedicure. Please know that I love a good pedicure! Honestly. If I could get one every day I would. Followed by a massage. Then a shopping spree.

But this most recent pedicure? 

Two words. 

Really. Bad. 

For starters, the man who did it scrubbed like a girl. And when I say this I am seriously talking about a girl. Who is about 6. It was the wimpiest exfoliating, lotioning, massaging, and everything-else-that-is-good about a pedicure that I have ever experienced!

And then I made a fatal pedi mistake. I asked for a decoration on my big toes. I usually like a little decoration on my big toes, and take an unreasonable amount of satisfaction from having a little crystal to rub my feet against. Weird, I know. But I love it. Almost to the point of obsession.

But when I asked for it this time I did not know that my nail technician 

was actually a closet artist. Or so he thought.

And the way his eyes lit up as he rolled across the floor to get his decorating caddy 

should have been a clear sign that I was in trouble! 

It started like this:

Melon colored sparkly polish. Okay, I freely admit that this was all my fault. Because I chose it. And I did second guess it about 10 times. As each toe of the stunningly beautiful girl beside me was painted in a very sophisticated neutral color.

The sparkly melon color may or may not have been a mistake. This I will never know because of what happened next...

A) A white flower on each of my big toes. Not a problem, though I'm quite certain there could have been a better color choice for melon polish.

B) White flower followed by....red stripes? Yes, you read that right. Red stripes. And since I was in a good mood that day, the beginning of a giggle.

C) Eh....red stripes followed by yellow polka-dots. True story. Oy. (More giggling.)

D) Yellow polka-dots followed by very long and large bright green leaves, extending diagonally across nearly the entire surface of the nail. Are we serious? Apparently so, because the nail technician was clearly pleased with himself. And I was now giggling audibly. I couldn't help it.

E) Then the crystal. Ah! I love the crystal and it always makes me smile, and usually signals the end of decoration on the toes.

But this time? Not so.....

F) Must. First. Add:    Silver Sparkly Leaf Lining!     Huh.....?

And I officially have a party on my toes!!
A very obnoxious party.

Here is proof. 

You needn't look far to see everything that is wrong with this pedicure.
Starting with the over-coating of the topcoat.
Not to mention the poor cuticle trimming.
Or the party.

Which brings me to my rant...

This morning I removed the polish, which should have lasted much longer than it did. And my toenails now need clipping. But I cannot find a good pair of clippers anywhere!! Am I the only one with this problem?

I promise that I have purchased no less than 20 pair of good clippers in the last not so very long. One time I even bought every single person in the house their own pair of good clippers at the same time.

But what was there to be found this morning? Only the bad clippers. The ones that have been passed down from generation to generation (trust me...this is something that should never happen). The ones that are rusty. The ones that are dull from cutting clothing tags and loose threads.
Only the worst of the clippers are to be found.

And why do they even exist in my home?
I. Do. Not. Know.
Not one good pair in sight!

So you should know that as soon as I click "publish post" and throw on a pair of shoes you will find me at the Walmart. With long toenails. Sans shower and make-up.

I will be purchasing 5 pair of good clippers. For myself.
I will hide them everywhere.
And then make a spreadsheet to remind me where I put them.

Lucky for me, I have this to make it all better.

Monday morning rant over. 

And why shouldn't it be? 

Isn't he about the cutest thing you have ever seen?

: )   : )   : )

The Thing About Eggs

Okay. Confession. I am a breakfast eater. But not really an early breakfast eater. 

More of a late breakfast eater, like around 9am, when I start to feel hungry. 

And I really, really like breakfast foods. 

In my perfect world it would be several big, fluffy, french toast with lots of butter, just the right amount of syrup, and a dollop of whipped cream (yum!); 12 pieces of bacon; scrambled eggs with ham and cheese; super crispy hash browns with ketchup; and chocolate milk (and none of that skim stuff). 

All of it. Every morning. 

But alas, there is no amount of running that can undo what a breakfast like that will do. 

So I usually stick with one egg, canadian bacon (at 15 calories a piece) and a piece of whole wheat toast. 

BORING! 

Even still, I like my protein in the morning. And I really like eggs. 

Except for this one thing. 

Raw eggs. 

And the carton. 

(And by one thing, I mean, two.) 

There is just something about a raw egg that creeps me out. They are icky, and sticky, and slimy and gooey. And have you ever tried to clean one up after it falls on the floor? So disgusting! 

It is at times like those that I wonder how I can ever eat the things!

I try very hard to separate myself from all that is gross about eggs so that I can still enjoy them for breakfast. 

And you should know that I love my red meat cooked medium rare. Give it to me red and juicy, baby. 

But the egg?

Must. Be. Overcooked. 

No exceptions. 

And there's one more thing. The carton.

 I have very strict rules. 

They go like this:

Can you see what's going on here?

If not, try again.

And again.

Here. I'll make it easy for you.

See what I'm talking about?

Balance. It's all about balance.

I am not making this up. Call me neurotic, call me obsessive, call me crazy. I don't really care. 

The truth is that I am deeply disturbed when the eggs are not perfectly balanced in the egg carton. 

I try very, very hard to ignore this. But sometimes (often?) I can't help it and I have to add to or take away from my egg breakfast so I can return the egg carton to the fridge in perfect balance. 

And over the years I have come up with just about every possible arrangement of eggs to achieve this. 

I know. Whacko. But still. It is what is. 

And this?

One word.

NEVER.

Never, ever put empty eggshells back in the carton. 

Don't do it!

It's just...Ew.

And that's the thing about eggs.

(And by thing, I mean things.)