They're Baaaack!

So, how long has it been since we've had a new episode of The Sopranos? Sixteen months? Twenty months? Twelve years? At this rate, we will not have to worry about the main characters offing each other - they'll just be too damn old to hold a gun anymore. But I can't lie and say I'm not excited about the new (and reportedly final season). Of course, David Chase and HBO are dead set (no pun intended) on torturing fans by dragging this season out (12 episodes begining this Sunday, then the final 8 air in early 2007), but if you've watched from the begining like I have, then you're a glutton for punishment anyway. So Sunday at 9 I'll be glued to the set even though part of me is still ticked that it takes 21 months to get new epsiodes on the air. I hear that the last few minutes of episode 1 contains an old-school Sopranos shocker for the ages. No matter what happens, you know this ain't ending well, and I guess that's why we keep coming back for more.

You Had Me at "Yellow"

Chris Martin is in love with me. I mean, he didn't exactly say, "Jennifer Erin Casey Alderman, I am going to leave my beautiful Academy-Award winning actress wife Gwyneth Paltrow and you should leave your perfectly lovely husband and we should live together forever in my castle in the English countryside.", but when he sang "Look at the stars, look how they shine for you", I'm pretty sure that's what he meant. Because from my seat in the sixth row center stage at the Coldplay concert Thursday night, I know that he was singing directly to me. And when he sang "For you I bleed myself dry", I know he was telling me he loves me. This has happened before. I'm sure you remember the raging crushes Dave Matthews and John Mayer had on me after I saw them in concert. Before you feel sorry for Mr. Alderman, please be advised that he was firmly convinced that the opening act, Fiona Apple, was making a pass for him. While mumbling incoherently and pulling her hair and rubbing her belly in between songs, he was pretty sure that was her way of telling him she wants to have his baby.

So aside from the proclimations of love, the concert was amazing. This is one of those rare occasions where I can say that the band sounded better live than they do on their studio albums. It was worth every expensive penny we paid for the tickets, and I would go again in a heartbeat. But sorry Chris, I'm a committed woman. Unless you sing one more verse of "Yellow" - then I might be convinced otherwise.

Back to School

I finally have my new camera that I will be using as a professional photographer (I even have trouble typing that with a straight face!). Here are a few samples of what I've taken so far while just playing with my Nikon D70s. It is significantly more advanced than the camera I have been using for the past several years, and so I feel like I have gone back to school as I work my way through the textbook-sized operation manual. However, I am so excited about starting this new adventure that I'm actually enjoying reading all the technical jargon about setting the proper white balance and setting the right ISO speed. I already have two clients on the schedule and I can't wait to begin.

Throwback

I know that "throwback jerseys" (detailed reproductions of jerseys worn by your favorite players of the past) are pretty popular right now - just scan the crowd at any NFL or NBA game and you'll see a good portion of the crowd sporting them. So Casey was right in fashion last night at the neighbor's Super Bowl party when he wore an AUTHENTIC "Mean" Joe Greene 75 jersey. This shirt actually belonged to me, and (inexplicably) was for a time my most favorite thing to wear. My Mom was able to hang on to it through all our moves and it's in incredible condition after 25 years. Just so you know, the adult-sized #75 jerseys go for $325 on Mitchell & Ness' website!

He's a funny kid about this kind of stuff. He reacted the same way when I put the jersey on him last night as he does when he wears his #18 Manning jersey - he seems to know he's wearing something a little special and it adds a little strut to his step. When he opened the Manning jersey from Nannie & Grandaddy on Christmas morning, he immediately wanted to put it on. Same thing last week when we went shopping for new shoes. I strapped the new ones to his feet and set him down to check the size, and he took off running through the store and refused to let me take them back off - he insisted on wearing them out of the store (thankfully they fit!). Perhaps he's just taken after his mother when it comes to new clothes - I've been known to get a little excited about a new pair of shoes myself.

Salad Days

My very good friend Colleen graciously brought me a bottle of Rich & Charlie's salad dressing from St. Louis when she came to KY this month for our annual Girl's Christmas Extravaganza. I want to say a very public Thank You to Colleen, although my thighs might have a different message. Even though this stuff has 18 grams of fat per serving, I can't seem to get enough of it. I am regularly eating 2 servings of salad a day - I think I could actually just turn the bottle up and chug it straight. And, I found this wonderful website www.foodcraver.com that will ship you St. Louis favorites such as toasted ravioli, Amighetti's Special Sauce, shredded Provel cheese, and Del Pietro's salad dressing (not to mention the coveted Rich & Charlie's!) - all delivered right to your doorstep. You might not get the same ambiance as a visit to "The Hill", but it certainly saves you the 4.5 hour drive just for salad dressing.

The Kid from "A Christmas Story"

Ever wonder what happened to him? You know, the little brother who was so bundled up in his snow gear that he couldn't put his arms down. Apparently, he has been reincarnated in Casey.
We finally had the opportunity to test the new snowsuit, mittens, and boots that Casey's Nana gave him for Christmas. I would say that we "played" in the snow, but since Casey couldn't really walk so well in the boots, we mainly just "sat" in the snow.

Photos of Jake

Some of you know that I am planning on trying to turn my hobby of taking photos into a little side business. I had my first "session" with my friend Terri's little boy, Jake. Here is a link to what I thought were the best of the session. Pretty good considering Jake was way overdue for a nap in addition to being constipated!


http://www.photoworks.com/share/shareLanding.jsp?shareCode=A533F52BF12&cb=PW

My Slate Stays Dirty

When I arrived at the gym yesterday morning, I didn't need a calendar to tell me that a new year had started. The child watch room was packed to capacity and every available treadmill was being used, which to me signals that everyone has made new year's resolutions to get their flabby butts in shape. So as I waited patiently for my turn on an elliptical machine, I fought the urge to get frustrated and tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that in two months the gym will go back to being deserted at 10am in the morning as all these well-intentioned resolutions are forgotten.

Which is why I don't make new year's resolutions. I love the concept of a "clean slate" we all award ourselves in a new year - the idea that with a new calendar we can shake off our old ways and become brand-new, habit-free individuals. But it seems to me that we are simply setting ourselves up for failure. Whether it is a resolution to be thinner, smarter, smoke-free, or better rested, we seem to place more emphasis on the resolution itself than the actual work it will take to accomplish our goals. Then, when the work involved with trying to be thinner or smarter or smoke-free becomes harder than turning the page on the calendar, we give up. And wait for the next new year to try and "start over" again. So I skip the whole process and deny myself a "clean slate" on January 1.

I'm not saying there aren't some things I need to work on in terms of personal growth. But over the past few months (turning 30 will mess with your head a bit) I've reevaluated some of my old goals. I've just felt out of balance - you know that nagging feeling that something internally (I'm speaking mentally and emotionally, not digestively) is out of whack. Strangely enough, a random decision to catch an afternoon yoga class the week before Christmas sparked an "Aha!" moment that allowed me to put my finger on at least one culprit of my inbalance.

There's a 12:30pm yoga class on Wednesday afternoons that I never get to because that's typically smack in the middle of Casey's nap. Rob was off the week before Christmas, so I decided to capitalize on it and sneak off to yoga with the idea that an hour spent stretching would serve me well in the middle of all the crazy running I had been doing in order to get shopping, cooking, etc finished. The instructor was running late and I was silently regretting coming to class and contemplating hopping on a treadmill instead in an effort to burn some last minute pre-Christmas calories. When he finally arrived, I could tell right away he was one of those "touchy-feely" yogies that was going to ask us to align our mind-soul center and balance our chakras or some other hooey. I read a quote from Julia Roberts one time in which she said, "I don't want yoga to change my life, I just want it to change my ass." and I pretty much prescribe to that theory myself. I think of it as a good workout that doesn't make my knees hurt. Anyway, we got started and he started talking us through the positions, and I'm mainly tuning him out and focusing on not falling on my head during "triangle pose", and then he said something that stopped me cold in my triangle. In an effort to get us to concentrate on the pose instead of focusing on how our muscles felt like they were about to implode, he said, "Make peace with your body". Aha! What an extrordinary concept. His words rang through my head for the rest of the afternoon as I slowly realized that I had been waging a silent war with my body for the better part of 16 years. I could barely remember a time from young adulthood on when I looked in the mirror and didn't find fault with something. Legs too flabby. Arms too skinny. Hair too straight. Not quite smart enough for the job. Not enough patience to be a good mom. And so on and so on. I realized I was exhausted from all the internal fighting. I started looking at what my body had accomplished. It has successfully completed a dozen or so triathlons. It managed to graduate college and gain employment and even a few promotions. And most importantly it created and nurtured and nourished a new life. I see many of my friends and family waging similar little battles, but when I look at them all I see is strength and beauty and intelligence. Why couldn't I see these characteristics in myself? Suddenly I wondered what all the fighting was for.

So if I made new year's resolutions, then I guess mine would be to make a peace treaty with myself. I suppose that is really the anti-resolution - to decide to not work on losing weight or being smarter or any of those old goals and to just do the best I can, every day, and being satisfied with the results. So this year my slate stays dirty, and for the first time in a long time, that is just fine with me.

Chronic

I rarely stay up anymore for SNL, mainly because it hasn't been worth staying up for. I did catch last weekend's episode and this short film cracked me up.

Must Not Tackle Sister for her Clogs. Must Not Tackle...

(Audible sigh)...I am still lusting after these bronze Dansko clogs my sister bought when she was here for Thanksgiving. I am now seriously regretting not tackling her on the way out the door and yanking them off her feet. She's pretty scrappy, but I think I could have taken her.

Here Comes Santa Claus

Yesterday Casey made his first visit to see Santa. He wasn't quite sure what to make of Jolly Ol' St. Nick, and when Santa asked Casey if he'd like a truck for Christmas, Casey simply looked up at him as if to say, "Who the hell are you?". He wore the sweater I knit him for Christmas, and unfortunately was having a bit of a bad hair day as you can see most of his hair is standing straight up. He still managed a smile though, a testament to his good nature.

Feliz Naviblah

If you watch "My Name is Earl", you'll recognize the title of this post as a line from the Tuesday's show, but it quite accurately describes the Christmas spirit we are experiencing in the Alderman house.

First, let me just rant for a minute about a very disturbing show I watched on television the other night, "The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show". Nothing truly puts you in the spirit of the holidays like the giant dose of inadequacy and insecurity you experience after watching Brazillian supermodels waltz around a stage in their underpants. I saw somewhere that Heidi Klum did this show just six weeks after giving birth. I have been six weeks post-partum, and that is not what it looks like. My only conclusion is that Heidi Klum is an alien. The only model who looked even remotely like an average woman was Tyra Banks - you know, if the average woman was 9 feet tall. I still don't understand what this all had to do with Christmas, but I digress.

The issue that really has us feeling the Feliz Naviblahs around here is the Christmas tree. Anyone who has ever been over to our house at Christmas time has marveled at the size of the trees we hike out to Huber's and cut down, and you've probably heard me recount the stories of how Rob magically morphs into Clark Griswald when we get out to the tree farm. We were all excited and got all bundled up on Sunday and drove out to Indiana for our annual tree cutting extravaganza. We had built up all these images in our minds of carrying on this tradition with our kids and we just knew that this year Casey was going to have a blast helping us pick out and cut down the tree. Well, this year things went a bit differently...

So we get out to Huber's and it's like 12 below zero out there (much colder than expected) and so we freeze our rears off during the "hayride" out to the tree field. Then, the trees all appeared to have experienced "shrinkage" from the cold, because hardly any of them were over 5 feet tall. This is completely unacceptable for Clark - oh, I mean Rob. So we leave there empty handed and stop at another tree farm on the way home, but at this point Casey & I practically have frostbite and I refuse to get out of the car and continue the "hunt". Rob heads out into the farm on his own (big mistake) and calls fifteen minutes later proclaiming that the trees are amazing and he has found the perfect one. We haul it home, and he proceeds to whack 3 feet off the damn thing just to get it in the door. After much struggle, we get the monster in the stand and upright, and although it takes up a third of the living room, I have to admit that it is a beautifully shaped tree. We hang the lights and decorate it (which took me nearly two hours to do because the kind of tree he got had very soft needles and the ornaments kept sliding off). The Alderman's were ready for Christmas, right? Wrong. Yesterday morning I woke up to a note from Rob which read that he had found the tree laying on it's side when he came downstairs, and that he had it propped up against the wall and would get it back upright when he got home. I came downstairs, and there was water and pine needles all over the friggin' carpet. He comes home yesterday afternoon, and we spent 3 HOURS trying to get the tree to stand up straight. Finally, in an act of frustration and surrender, Rob heaved the tree over the deck rail and flung it into the backyard.

So now we are the proud owners of a very lovely artificial tree. I put it up and decorated it last night, and it certainly serves it's purpose, but I have to admit that I miss the giant tree that usually occupies that space. And I can tell that Rob is bummed out that his grand holiday tradition has been crushed, and he's really not very impressed with the new tree. We've decided that next year we'll still hike out to Huber's and cut down a much smaller tree and put it downstairs, so that way the tradition will remain intact, without the risk of one of us being crushed by falling timber in the living room.

"I'd be a dog, because they get to stay inside and get on the couch."

I should have added "My Name is Earl" to my list of favorite things. Aside from "Arrested Development", which appears to be all but defunct now, "Earl" is the only show on tv right now that makes me laugh out loud. The title of this post was Earl's response last night to his brother Randy's question, "If you could be any animal in the world, what would you be?". And why not a cat? As Earl explained, because he's allergic to cats and he wouldn't want to go around making himself sneeze all the time. Genius.

Maybe being from the South makes this show just a little funnier because I have known (and am possibly related to) some people who would actually do or say some of the things shown on "Earl". I hope this show sticks around for awhile, because it seems like the shows I really enjoy always seem to get cancelled too soon. And I love the theme of the show, that if you "Do good things and good things will happen to you. Do bad things and it will come back and bite you in the ass. " I'll leave off with some of my other favorite lines from the show:

"Never underestimate the power of confidence. And never underestimate fifteen beers, a little enlightenment, and the power of Rob Base and DJ Easy Rock. "

"Whether picking up trash, returning stolen merchandise, or helping a homosexual find love, it always has the same reward… feeling good about yourself. "

Joy - "There is nothing in the Bible that says people have a right to learn stuff. I have read it."

"Quittin' smokin' is kinda like going to prison. If you can get through the first three days, you got a fighting chance. First we tried the tapes, then we tried the patches. Someone told us to try carrot sticks as a subsitute, but we couldn't get the damn things to light. "

"To some people, a free beer might not mean too much. But for a guy who just lost his last 12 dollars and is stuffin' free nuts in his pocket,...it's a life saver."

And my all time favorite so far:

Earl: "Yah, but that dress has a stain on it." Joy: "It's OK, that's where I'm gonna' Bedazzle my initials!"

Casey's Favorite Thing

I couldn't add this pic to the previous post, but I thought an image of Casey enjoying his favorite blanket was in order.

Favorite Things

So, I have to admit upfront that I am a little late to the whole iPod craze. To be perfectly honest, I just didn't get what the big deal was and was perfectly content to keep on using my Sony minidisc player while working out. But recently I started to notice all the other folks in the gym with their teeny tiny iPods, and my minidisc player (all 12 ounces of it) started to feel like a dinosaur strapped to my arm. So when Mom & Dad offered to hand down one of their shuffles (Mom has upgraded to the iPod nano - I am being out-teched by my mother!) I jumped at the offer. I get it now. I loaded 3 hours worth of music onto the thing and its not even half full. No skipping, light as a feather and CD quality sound. Now I am drooling over the new iPod, although I readily admit that I have no idea when I would actually watch Season 1 of "Lost" on the damn thing, but I like the idea of being able to should the mood strike me.

Anyway, my newfound appreciation for all things "apple" and watching Oprah give away the new iPods on her annual "Favorite Things" show got me to thinking about current fads and what would be on my list of "Favorite Things" and what wouldn't make the cut. So here's my short list:

FIRST, THE STUPID:
Sudoku - If you've missed the boat on this one, allow me to fill you in. Sudoku is this ridicuolous logic puzzle in which the player must fill in a grid so that every row, every column, and every 3x3 box contains the digits 1 through 9, but each number can only be used once in each row, column, and box. Rob brought me home a copy of one from the local newspaper and after fifteen minutes of hair-pulling and teeth-gnashing the puzzle found its crumpled ass in the trash. I saw a news piece on the Sudoku craze which said that there are people who fill all of their spare time working these puzzles. Now, I'll be the first to admit that logic puzzles are not my strong suit, especially those containing numbers, but give me a break. Can't we find something more useful to do with our spare time, people - like say, computer Solitare? Now that's a good old-fashioned fad I can get behind.

Brangelina - If I hear one more story about Brad Pitt, Angeline Jolie, and Jennifer Aniston I'm going lose my Thanksgiving appetite. I love a good gossip piece about celebrities as much as the next pop culture freak, but I've hit my limit on this one. Here's what I think: Brad Pitt is a aesthetically blessed man with limited personal hygene skills who probably farts at the dinner table. Angeline Jolie is a talented actress whose personal choices (marriage to Billy Bob Thornton, history of self-mutilation, brief stint as a lesbian) simply do not match the public persona she tries to display (UN goodwill ambassador, adopting mother, social activist), so we shouldn't be surprised that she would have some sort of inappropriate relationship with a married man while denying having done so while said man babysits her kids. So they're probably perfect for each other. Good luck, go away. As for Jennifer Aniston, I think she's a pretty hot babe who will have no trouble finding someone else to hang out with, and that since she has like 27 movies coming out this month she should probably take a vacation before we get tired of looking at her. Bottom line is they all have more money than sense.

NOW, THE GOOD:
The Braun Tassimo coffee maker - Spend $170 on a coffee maker that only brews one cup at a time? You betcha! Because it's not just a coffee maker. You can make tea, lattes, cappucinos, hot chocolate - all with the press of a button. No muss, no fuss. Me likey. By my calculations, if you bought 42.5 tall lattes from Starbucks in a year, then you could actually save money by brewing your own with the Tassimo. Of course, since I only purchase maybe 7 lattes a year then it seems a little silly for me to actually add one of these babies to my counter, but a girl can dream.

Rachael Ray and her 30 minute meals - OK, so with a new magazine, new cookbooks, and a new talk show all about to debut, our girl may be a little close to over-exposure land, but until she gets there I am her biggest fan. Cook a full Thanksgiving meal in 30 minutes? Yes, thank you. Only use 10 ingredients readily available at the local Kroger to cook a full dinner? Again, me likey. Who says you have spend all day sweating it out in the kitchen trying to figure out what the hell "brining the turkey" means? Not Rachael, and sure as hell not me. Plus, she's so damn happy all the time its hard to not like her.

So there's my list. And to finish things off, I thought I would discuss a fad that I love that never goes out of style. The blanket. Not those fancy cashmere "throws" Oprah likes to give away as one of her "Favorite Things", but the simple 32x34 version made out of anything that makes you happy and gets dragged through childhood as a loyal companion. Casey has two, a purple one and a green one, and he has one by his side at almost all times. Mine is blue and fuzzy and now scattered with holes, and I sleep with it every night as I have since I was born. Mom has lovingly made versions of these for the family and they are treasured. Rob carried one that apparently had to be frequently repaired by his mom until there was basically nothing left but a hankerchief. Ah, the unconditional love of a blanket. It may not brew a perfect cup of cappucino or adopt children from Cambodia, but it never lets you down. Now that's a favorite fad worth holding on to.

Photographic Evidence

In case anyone forgot, here's a pic of me as Princess Lea, Colleen's halo & wings, and Court draped in clear plastic with a roll at the bottom (and of course Ben in the background dressed as Spock, but that wasn't a costume). I may be fuzzy on some of the details, but I'm pretty sure her condom costume was the top prize winner at the Ball that year.

And a few more in case anyone forgot the drinking nun (Sister Mary Colleen) or "the road" or the Robert Palmer chics....

Halloween: Harmless Fun or Child Abuse?

Judging from the picture, you would probably choose the later of the two. Ah, but you would be wrong. Contrary to photographic evidence, Casey actually enjoyed his first official "trick or treating". He started out a little tentative when approaching houses, but by the end he was reaching into the candy bowl and grabbing his goodies like a pro. Although we never could get him to clearly say "trick or treat" he did manage his own version which sounded like "trickatrickatricka". He was the cutest monkey on the block.

Watching all of the little princesses and PowerRangers and witches and chickens (yes, there was an adorable little girl in a chicken costume) made me remember how much I used to love Halloween. Growing up it was my favorite holiday, and not just because of the free candy (although, let's be honest, free candy makes just about any occasion better). It was more about the costume, the chance to be anyone or anything else, even if just for a day. My friends and I would spend weeks planning our costumes, and with a stash of cardboard donated from my Dad, we would create our masterpieces. One year we were a pair of dice, another we were playing cards in the form of Blackjack (it's a wonder I didn't grow up to have a raging gambling addiction). There were of course the requisite years of being a hobo or a punk rocker, and those early teen years where we tried to get by with just putting on our PJ's and telling people we were disguised as babies (you remember those years when it was no longer "cool" to go trick or treating, but you secretly didn't want to give up the candy or the dressing up?). Even those years when the costume wasn't totally originally and well planned, it was still serious fun and I loved every minute. And yes Colleen, I certainly remember the Ball on the Belle when I was Princess Lea, you were an angel, and Courtney was a giant condom - the addition of massive quantities of alcohol taking the place of free candy certainly never did anything to diminish my affection for Halloween.

So I felt a little jealous watching all of our little neighborhood ghosts and goblins roaming the streets Monday night, and I've decided that next year I am getting back into costume. I may end up being the oldest fake punk rocker on the block, but who cares? Free candy and the freedom of being someone else for a day are calling my name.

Fall Pics of Casey

Here is a link to some recent pictures of the boy.

Peek A Boo

Perpetual Motion

Why haven’t I posted anything for a few weeks? What could possibly be keeping me from documenting all the fascinating minutia of daily life in the our household? I’ll tell you what – walking. Lots and lots of walking. Finally we are hearing the pitter pat of little feet around here. Casey started walking about four weeks ago and ever since he started walking we have all been on the run. Nothing and no one in his path is safe, most importantly himself. Once again, the dog is utterly freaked out.

Perhaps it is not the walking that has Ani so freaked out but his gait. He doesn’t so much walk as stumble around like a drunken midget. Watching him stagger around her house caused my friend Colleen to begin singing “What do you do with a drunken sailor?” It totally cracks me up. I love watching his little face light up with pride as he makes his way around the house, totally immersed in experiencing freedom for the first time.

While we have delighted in Casey’s latest milestone, it has also brought on some interesting personality changes in the boy. Apparently, learning to move around upright has awoken his little sense of independence, and he is asserting it whenever possible. For example, when you pry something dangerous (such as an electrical cord) from his surprisingly strong death grip, previous to walking his most common response was to give you a ear-to-ear grin and move on to shove something else sharp and hazardous into his mouth. Now, his response to the same situation is to fling himself on the ground, turn an alarming shade of bright red, and to begin yelling “Nyet!” at the top of his small lungs. “Nyet” is apparently Casey’s version of “no”, and it makes him sound like a very tiny but militant member of the Russian army when he screams it in your face.

So needless to say we have been in constant motion around here. Perpetual, loud, ever-changing, freeing, scary, and necessary motion. It seems that this is the very definition of our life now, and although it quite often leaves me feeling exhausted, it also fills me with a feeling of complete exhilaration. I suppose much like the feeling of learning to walk.