Thank you for all the fabulous anniversary wishes! I partied in style by going to Bible study and crawling into bed by 9:30. It was a wild night, my friends.
So it is Sunday evening and I realized that I have a few tidbits to share with you. I believe a list is in order:
1. Lists and kettle corn are my love language.
2. It is supposed to be a high of 1 on Tuesday. How are humans supposed to survive that? I may just wear my down comforter to work.
3. I searched cake recipes all weekend just so I could find the perfect anniversary dessert. And I have chosen to make a Hummingbird Cake! It looks amazing! Have you ever heard of it? Ever tasted it? All I know is that it has cream cheese frosting, so you know, SOLD.
I'll be sure to take lots of pictures and give you my recipe.
4. I made lentil soup for dinner tonight and it was so darn good. I highly recommend you make some this week, especially since you will need something to keep you warm as we brace for the Cold Front from the Frozen Arctic Depths of Frigidity.
5. I saw True Grit this weekend and would recommend this movie to EVERY SINGLE PERSON ON THE PLANET. I loved it. That little girl is A-mazing. Seriously, who taught her to act like that at 13? She must have watched one of my drama performances from middle school or something.
Actually, it is a great movie and completely entertaining and funny and heroic and suspenseful. The only bad part: snakes. They made me squirm and gag and I almost slid out of my chair. All I can say is that I am glad that movie wasn't in 3-D otherwise I would be in a padded room somewhere sucking my thumb.
6. My dad drove all the way to my apartment just to carry my grocery bags up the steps. They were so heavy and since I have two bum shoulders, he came to help. He is my hero. Time and again, he is my hero.
7. Speaking of shoulders, I finally went to the doctor and guess what she discovered: I have tendinitis in both shoulders so she prescribed two massages a month.
She is my favorite doctor ever.
8. My BBC show starts in 30 seconds. Brilliant! Let's hope the main girl has a new hair style otherwise I may be forced to write them another letter.
9. I love Isaiah 40. It is food for my soul. It can be food for your soul too.
10. I am pretty sure it is time to buy a new pair of heels. Wait, no, I am COMPLETELY sure it is time to buy a new pair of heels. Any thoughts on what color?
TTFN,
The FC
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Anniversary
GUESS WHAT??!!
TODAY IS OUR ANNIVERSARY!
That's right, Our blogging relationship has been going strong for one year! Can you even believe it? I feel like I should buy you a present or at least take you out to dinner.
What started as a way to chronicle my trip to the Middle East turned into a year-long project on chocolate, shoes, embarrassing moments, FC flashbacks, trips to Oklahoma, week-long illnesses and lots of random weird stuff.
I hope I haven't warped you too much. I can have that effect on people.
I have loved this past year. Truly! I have loved it because it has allowed me to get to know you better. All four of you. You are the best blob readers ever. Seriously, ever. And your comments make my day.
So thanks. Thanks for reading. For commenting. For laughing. Or not laughing. Thanks for chatting about what you have read or seen. Thanks for making Oreo balls and Pesto Spinach Salad and Dark Chocolate Chip Pumpkin cookies. And thanks for supporting me, loving me, praying for me and walking with me. Like I said, YOU ARE THE BEST.
Cue sappy music, I am thinking "That's What Friends Are For." The Stevie Wonder/Elton John version.
So, to celebrate our anniversary, I am baking a cake. A big, ginormous, fluffy cake. I am sure it will involve chocolate and other deliciousness. And you are invited to eat it with me. Come on over. I'll have forks waiting for you. And lots of napkins. And plates, if you are in to that kind of thing.
But you will have to bring your own milk. I loathe milk. I can't help it.
TODAY IS OUR ANNIVERSARY!
That's right, Our blogging relationship has been going strong for one year! Can you even believe it? I feel like I should buy you a present or at least take you out to dinner.
What started as a way to chronicle my trip to the Middle East turned into a year-long project on chocolate, shoes, embarrassing moments, FC flashbacks, trips to Oklahoma, week-long illnesses and lots of random weird stuff.
I hope I haven't warped you too much. I can have that effect on people.
I have loved this past year. Truly! I have loved it because it has allowed me to get to know you better. All four of you. You are the best blob readers ever. Seriously, ever. And your comments make my day.
So thanks. Thanks for reading. For commenting. For laughing. Or not laughing. Thanks for chatting about what you have read or seen. Thanks for making Oreo balls and Pesto Spinach Salad and Dark Chocolate Chip Pumpkin cookies. And thanks for supporting me, loving me, praying for me and walking with me. Like I said, YOU ARE THE BEST.
Cue sappy music, I am thinking "That's What Friends Are For." The Stevie Wonder/Elton John version.
So, to celebrate our anniversary, I am baking a cake. A big, ginormous, fluffy cake. I am sure it will involve chocolate and other deliciousness. And you are invited to eat it with me. Come on over. I'll have forks waiting for you. And lots of napkins. And plates, if you are in to that kind of thing.
But you will have to bring your own milk. I loathe milk. I can't help it.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
It's Like It Was Made For Me
What are the odds that Robert Redford reads my blog?
I'm thinking pretty darn good.
Gotta love the Sundance catalog.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
FC Flashback: "Baton Twirling"
For a girl from northwest Oklahoma, baton twirling was a very big deal in 1984. A very. big. deal. It represented sparkly outfits, amazing agility and pink Tinkerbell lipstick. I knew that I was destined to be a baton twirler.
With that said, I took one amazing and semi-terrifying lesson. All four-year old girls who had dreams of marching in the OU band and flinging batons in the air showed up one afternoon and for an hour we twirled our hearts out to the tunes of the Micky Mouse Club.
It was a girly utopia.
However, after a few wayward batons to the head from less-skilled twirlers, I realized that I was more of a self-taught baton twirler. It was safer that way. So I put on my favorite outfit and worked my magic.
Exhibit A:
What is not to love about this dress? It was big, blue, flouncy and had ruffles in all the right places. I also loved my red shoes. Red shoes must be in my DNA.
My cousin Becky (Hi Bec!) is nine months older than me and I thought she was the coolest person alive. Still do. Becky once told me that when she was born my parents took one look at her and thought they needed one just like her. And nine months later, I was born.
I love that story.
Now Claire on the other hand, is like some cute little woodsy creature. Like a fairy or wood nymph, whatever that is. And don't you think she looks just like the girl in My Girl?
With that said, I took one amazing and semi-terrifying lesson. All four-year old girls who had dreams of marching in the OU band and flinging batons in the air showed up one afternoon and for an hour we twirled our hearts out to the tunes of the Micky Mouse Club.
It was a girly utopia.
However, after a few wayward batons to the head from less-skilled twirlers, I realized that I was more of a self-taught baton twirler. It was safer that way. So I put on my favorite outfit and worked my magic.
Exhibit A:
What is not to love about this dress? It was big, blue, flouncy and had ruffles in all the right places. I also loved my red shoes. Red shoes must be in my DNA.
My cousin Becky (Hi Bec!) is nine months older than me and I thought she was the coolest person alive. Still do. Becky once told me that when she was born my parents took one look at her and thought they needed one just like her. And nine months later, I was born.
I love that story.
Now Claire on the other hand, is like some cute little woodsy creature. Like a fairy or wood nymph, whatever that is. And don't you think she looks just like the girl in My Girl?
Seriously. Maybe this is my long-lost sister. Or maybe Claire was adopted.
We will never know.
We will never know.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Identity Crisis
This past Sunday I filled in for a friend of mine at my church nursery. I love doing this because I love babies and the way they smell and their cute little hands and funny expressions on their faces and the fact that I only have them for 90 minutes then I give them back to their parents.
It is a sweet deal, my friends.
As I was sitting on the floor playing with one of the sweet little cherubs who was drooling on my foot, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a dad walked in with his little bundle all dressed in blue. I had never seen the dad or his baby boy before, which is actually encouraging because I love when we have new people at our church. The other nursery helper welcomed them and helped him sign up his kiddo on the registration form.
Then the dad came over and placed his adorable baby on the floor next to me and at that moment I turned around looked at the baby and said "Well hello there, handsome guy."
Only to be met by the most darling baby GIRL.
AWKWARD.
Like 22 kinds of awkward.
The dad just looked at me like I had grown a third eye. And I sat there wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. I had just called his adorable angel princess a BOY. Oh the issues she will have at 13.
To my defense, if I have one, she totally looked like a boy out of the corner of my eye and she was wearing blue from head to toe. WHO DRESSES THEIR BABY GIRLS IN BLUE? But what I didn't notice were her extremely long, girly eyelashes, the ruffles on her socks and the polka-dots on her shirt. I tried to figure out a way to laugh it off and pretend like I was talking to another boy baby but the dad was the only guy in the room.
Dear Jesus, come quickly.
So here were my choices:
1. Laugh it off and apologize, saying "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you are not a boy! You are a beautiful little girl!" (That was obviously the route I should take.)
2. Hope that the dad thought I was talking to him, which HELLO HE IS MARRIED, would have been inappropriate on so many levels, especially since we were at church.
3. Pretend I didn't say anything and just keep acting normal...whatever that is.
I chose 3, because I am a mature adult, with a good dose of "well aren't HER ruffly socks so cute!" I am such a chicken.
When the dad returned to pick her up after church, I met him at the door saying, "SHE did such a good job! SHE is so sweet and plays so well with others. And SHE is almost walking, you must be so proud of HER!"
Overkill much?
Yes, very much.
So, if you ever need a babysitter, just let me know. I'll try not to warp your children.
And for the dad who brought in his baby girl all dressed in blue, please, for the love of her self-esteem and my reputation, put a bow in her hair. It will save a lot of awkwardness. I promise.
It is a sweet deal, my friends.
As I was sitting on the floor playing with one of the sweet little cherubs who was drooling on my foot, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a dad walked in with his little bundle all dressed in blue. I had never seen the dad or his baby boy before, which is actually encouraging because I love when we have new people at our church. The other nursery helper welcomed them and helped him sign up his kiddo on the registration form.
Then the dad came over and placed his adorable baby on the floor next to me and at that moment I turned around looked at the baby and said "Well hello there, handsome guy."
Only to be met by the most darling baby GIRL.
AWKWARD.
Like 22 kinds of awkward.
The dad just looked at me like I had grown a third eye. And I sat there wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. I had just called his adorable angel princess a BOY. Oh the issues she will have at 13.
To my defense, if I have one, she totally looked like a boy out of the corner of my eye and she was wearing blue from head to toe. WHO DRESSES THEIR BABY GIRLS IN BLUE? But what I didn't notice were her extremely long, girly eyelashes, the ruffles on her socks and the polka-dots on her shirt. I tried to figure out a way to laugh it off and pretend like I was talking to another boy baby but the dad was the only guy in the room.
Dear Jesus, come quickly.
So here were my choices:
1. Laugh it off and apologize, saying "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you are not a boy! You are a beautiful little girl!" (That was obviously the route I should take.)
2. Hope that the dad thought I was talking to him, which HELLO HE IS MARRIED, would have been inappropriate on so many levels, especially since we were at church.
3. Pretend I didn't say anything and just keep acting normal...whatever that is.
I chose 3, because I am a mature adult, with a good dose of "well aren't HER ruffly socks so cute!" I am such a chicken.
When the dad returned to pick her up after church, I met him at the door saying, "SHE did such a good job! SHE is so sweet and plays so well with others. And SHE is almost walking, you must be so proud of HER!"
Overkill much?
Yes, very much.
So, if you ever need a babysitter, just let me know. I'll try not to warp your children.
And for the dad who brought in his baby girl all dressed in blue, please, for the love of her self-esteem and my reputation, put a bow in her hair. It will save a lot of awkwardness. I promise.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Letter to the BBC
Dear BBC,
Every Sunday night at 9:00 pm, you welcome yourself into my living room with the most delightful stories of intrigue, scandal and romance. Most of the time I have no idea what your actors are saying but your scenes of tranquil gardens and 19th century evening gowns make up for it.
Often I am left with the feeling that I should have been born 150 years ago into a noble British family, where all I would do is talk about the roses in my garden and drink tea with old ladies. But alas and alak (I am using one of your phrases, BBC), my desire for indoor plumbing, central heating and Starbucks brings me swiftly back to reality and I once again become thankful for being alive in 2011.
But please do not let my 21st century needs and wants deter you from producing such cinematic sensations as your six-hour version of Pride and Prejudice, or your six-hour version of Emma, or your six-hour version of Cranford. Not only do you whole-heartedly stand by your belief in multiple-hour miniseries, but you also take any and every opportunity to highlight the Poster Child for Brit Lit: Jane Austen. I do love Jane.
Currently, I believe I am in hour seven of your latest accomplishment, Downton Abby, which, by the way, is delightfully charming even though the oldest daughter in the show is super snobby and needs a new hairdo. Perhaps you could work on her hair before the last episode airs next week. Thank you.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I would like to make a request: please send Mr. Darcy, Mr. Knightly, and some dude named Matthew in the show I am currently watching, in my direction. My neighborhood could use a few charming, dashing, slightly arrogant and entitled yet humble and assertive, men. And if they have top hats, that's even better.
Thank you for your consideration of this request.
A devoted fan and lover of scones,
The FC
Every Sunday night at 9:00 pm, you welcome yourself into my living room with the most delightful stories of intrigue, scandal and romance. Most of the time I have no idea what your actors are saying but your scenes of tranquil gardens and 19th century evening gowns make up for it.
Often I am left with the feeling that I should have been born 150 years ago into a noble British family, where all I would do is talk about the roses in my garden and drink tea with old ladies. But alas and alak (I am using one of your phrases, BBC), my desire for indoor plumbing, central heating and Starbucks brings me swiftly back to reality and I once again become thankful for being alive in 2011.
But please do not let my 21st century needs and wants deter you from producing such cinematic sensations as your six-hour version of Pride and Prejudice, or your six-hour version of Emma, or your six-hour version of Cranford. Not only do you whole-heartedly stand by your belief in multiple-hour miniseries, but you also take any and every opportunity to highlight the Poster Child for Brit Lit: Jane Austen. I do love Jane.
Currently, I believe I am in hour seven of your latest accomplishment, Downton Abby, which, by the way, is delightfully charming even though the oldest daughter in the show is super snobby and needs a new hairdo. Perhaps you could work on her hair before the last episode airs next week. Thank you.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I would like to make a request: please send Mr. Darcy, Mr. Knightly, and some dude named Matthew in the show I am currently watching, in my direction. My neighborhood could use a few charming, dashing, slightly arrogant and entitled yet humble and assertive, men. And if they have top hats, that's even better.
Thank you for your consideration of this request.
A devoted fan and lover of scones,
The FC
Thursday, January 20, 2011
P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S
Me: "Hey Noah, what does P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S spell?"
Noah: "Sarah"
I told you he was a genius.
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