Mama's Got a Brand New Bag

After two years of lugging around baby gear, the diaper bag I bought before Casey was born was starting to look a little worse for the wear. And although I loved it when I bought it (black microfiber Nine West - looks like a Kate Spade) I have come to find it awkward to carry and I'm just plain tired of the plain black bag. So I have been looking for a replacement but haven't found anything that fits the bill, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I made this bag myself and I'm in love with it. I can carry it across my shoulders so it doesn't swing around and slap me in the face while I'm trying to get kids out of the car, and it has a bunch of internal pockets to keep all our junk organized. Plus, it even has a little pocket on the strap for my cell phone so I can actually answer it when someone calls rather than spending 5 minutes digging around in the dark recesses of my bag to locate it. Now I'm having to fight the urge to make one in every color.

Redneck Baby

I promise we aren't keeping him on a steady diet of Nascar and Miller Light, he's just naturally like this.

The Many Faces of Casey

I guess being 21 months old is a very complex time in someone's life. Or, at least, that's what you might be led to believe after looking at this sampling of recent photos of Casey...




The "It's Monday Morning and I Don't Want to be Bothered" Face








The "Uh-Oh" Face








The "Elmo's World Induced Trance" Face








I would love dearly to post the "Happiest Boy in the World" face, but it seems that part of the complexity of being 21 months requires that you no longer make that face in front of a camera. Other interesting behavioral phenomenon are presenting themselves, such as the desire to simultaniously be doing something and not doing something. For example, Casey will desperately want to sit in your lap and not sit in your lap - AT THE SAME TIME! I have to tell you from experience this is a very difficult task to accomplish. But don't get me wrong, there are still plenty of simple things that make this 21 month old boy very happy. Fresh strawberries, chasing his best friend Abby, and kisses from Ani are a few examples. Simple pleasures for a complex boy.

Ever Feel Like You're Being Used?

Like, all you want to do is take a little nap on a beautiful early spring day, and yet there is an obnoxious rooster perched on your back peck-peck-pecking away at you? Casey & I joined our neighbors Amy & Abby on Wednesday to visit Henry's Ark, a non-profit farm in Prospect. When I saw the poor sheep pictured here, I had to take his picture, because it seemed to appropriately describe how life is like sometimes. In addition to the hen-pecked (ha!) sheep, we witnessed several other comical animal scenes. For instance, a random cat jumped in my truck and attempted to lay down and snooze and had to be shooed off by Amy (I'm frightened of cats I don't know, OK!). Also, we thought we were going to be attacked by this ostrich for the kid's graham crackers (I heard that ostrich's are mean and fast, and this one had a crazy look in his eye).

It's been a week full of animal adventures for Casey & I. On Tuesday we headed over to Versailles to visit the Elberts while the Stann girls were in town. Courtney is lucky enough to have some real, live horses living in her neighborhood, so we walked over to say "howdy". Lightening tried to eat Christa's fingers when she fed him some hay, but that didn't disuade Casey from petting the horses and pitching a fit when it was time to tell them good-bye. He also enjoyed flying a kite in Court's backyard, so it looks like we may have to invest in one soon.

Gotsa A Malanga!

I'm becoming a little obsessed with the new season of The Sopranos, but when you're a stay-at-home mom of a toddler and 12 weeks pregnant with #2, the thrills of life just ain't what they used to be, so you'll have to forgive me. Anyway, I loved last night's episode, and Christa & I were covered with chill bumps when Tony was at the "Finerty Reunion" and cousin Tony B. was trying to convince him to "let it go" and walk into the house (where we swore the profile of the woman at the door was his mother). And much to my relief it appears from next week's previews that Tony will not spend the rest of the season in a vegitative state. Yah!

I've been trying to figure out what the heck Uncle Junior said when he shot Tony, but since I found this mp3 mix of lines from the first episode, I truly don't care what he said or what it meant. I'm too busy walking around singing "Gotsa a Malanga". You can download it here:

http://bestweekever.blogs.com/best_week_ever_blog/files/malanga_remix.mp3

After the article last week, I checked back in with the NJ Star-Ledger and I think this guy probably does the best recap of the show anywhere (ah, yes - more tidbits of useless knowledge to gunk up my brain with):

http://www.nj.com/sopranos/ledger/index.ssf?/sopranos/stories/seasonsix_4.html

T-Shirt Talk

I'm not a huge fan of the message t-shirt trend, but I may have to order these from cafepress.com for Rob & I later on this summer...

and maybe we'll order this one for Casey... (the caption reads "I'm gonna be a big brother...but I'd still rather have a pony."

Countdown

"Everytime I think I'm out, they keep pulling me back in!"

Any Sopranos or Godfather fan will recognize the title of the post, and the words of Michael Corleone accurately describe how I'm already feeling about the new season of The Sopranos. I still haven't formulated my own opinion about what the heck is going on, but Rob's convinced that Tony is already gone, and we'll spend the rest of the season watching the repercussions, from "The Family" imploding (it's not hard to see a power struggle between Silvio, Paulie, and Christopher, not to mention Vito being all cozy with Phil Leotardo and the New York crew), to "the family" imploding (Carm's disasterous spec house, no cash coming in from Tony, AJ's total dysfunction, Meadow's inability to decide which career to over-achieve in). Me, I'm not so sure. I found this article that certainly provides some interesting theories. I was also surprised to read that the voice of Tony's wife in the dream sequences was not Anabella Sciora (aka Gloria, the car salesperson who killed herself after her affair with Tony) - I was convinced that it was and that the dream was Tony's subconscious' version of what his life should have been. Another note: I agree with the article that something else is going on with Agent Harris and his frequent visits to Satriales. I remember a few seasons ago when the FBI's case against The Family had once again collapsed that there was some mention of trying "the terrorism angle" to bring them down. There was never any follow-up to the scene, but maybe that's all a part of David Chase's master plan. Maybe we'll get the answers to all the loose ends from all the seasons. Perhaps we'll finally know what happened to the Russian that disappeared in the woods from Chris and Paulie?

John P. Glynn, if you're out there and watching, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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.