Catalog Love

I am obsessed with the Crate & Barrel Christmas Catalog.  Every night, while Herbie reads books to Moo, I flip through it’s glorious red and white and silver pages, knowing, KNOWING, that life would be absolutely perfect if only we owned every single thing in this catalog.

Like this:

How can I survive the holidays without cute red birdie plates and placemats?  I CANNOT.

And this!

Does that make you happy like it makes me happy?  And longing for December?  Never mind that we don’t have a fireplace or mantel to put this on… I could put it on…the kitchen counter!  Sure!  That would distract quite nicely from all the dirty dishes.

HOW DO I MAKE MY HOUSE LOOK LIKE THAT?  Obviously, I’ll need wallpaper.  Or can I use paint?  And then I have the fireplace problem again.  Can you tell that I really love red-and-white for Christmas?  Ahhh, Christmas.  I can’t wait.  I know it’s all about giving and loving and all that gooey stuff, but at this moment I am embracing the GREEEEEED.  I would like to kiss this catalog.   Maybe more.  (Don’t tell Herbie.) 

 And I’m not sure, but I think it smells like peppermint.

Happy Halloween!

We’re All Mad Here

I think I’ve mentioned that Moo is going to be the White Rabbit for Halloween, inspired by her cousin Clara’s Alice in Wonderland dance recital – so, technically, a White Rabbit Ballerina.  Here it is in the making:

Thanks, Mom!  It’s even sparklier now that it’s almost done.

Herbie is going to be the Mad Hatter, and he has a Cat in the Hat hat which I think we can cover with colorful felt (when?), and maybe he can wear his kooky tuxedo jacket (because these are interpretive Alice in Wonderland costumes, not literal – I mean, the White Rabbit is wearing a tutu).  And I was supposed to be the Cheshire Cat, wearing this fantastic costume:

(Except with modest black tights and a leotard underneath, of course.)  It’s the exact costume the cheshire cat wore in Clara’s show, and it was $23 on Amazon on September 25.  Of course I procrastinated, and on October 15, it was $50, in extra-small only.  Unfair!

I was unwilling to wear this:

LOVE that guy.

So I made a trip to Buffalo Exchange, thinking maybe I could find something to pass off as the Cheshire Cat, or if not, Alice or the Queen of Hearts.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like people wear a lot of pink-and-purple striped clothes, or if they do, they don’t want to give them away.  And people also don’t wear light blue sundresses with pretty puffed sleeves.  So I was outta luck on Alice and Cheshire Cat.  But I did find a strapless red prom dress with a black beaded overlay (not as pretty as it sounds) that I thought I could make work for the Queen of Hearts.  Maybe if I found a cape that I could cover with felt hearts?  I dug into the men’s costume section, and finally found one used vampire cape…with what I strongly suspect is a big splotch of puke.

I still bought it.  It’s been sitting in a bag for three days waiting for me to clean it, but – ew.  I mean, I am going to just cut that part off to make a shorter, jauntier cape, but I still don’t really want to touch that thing again. 

Hopefully I’ll find my courage (perhaps I left it in my rose garden, or on the croquet court) and create the perfect heart-festooned cape out of my puke-poncho.  Then all I need is a cheap crown and a heart scepter and I’m ready to rule my minions.

**I was just about to publish this when I remembered that the whole reason I wanted to write about our Halloween costumes was because we went to Dee’s Dancewear today to get Moo her first pair of ballet shoes, and they were tiny and adorable, and I immediately turned into an Annoying Mom and insisted on showing off to the store owner (Dee?) how Moo knows how to arabesque and pas de chat and I totally embarrassed myself, and so…yeah.  Tiny ballet shoes are super cute.

Mystery Road Trip

Still no clue where we’re going:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the I-17, which runs north-south through the state, we’d already passed the obvious choices…maybe the little-known wonderland of Badger Springs?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But then we turned off onto a dirt road:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I spied some incredible views of red rocks:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And Herbie finally divulged that we were descending into Sedona (WOOO!) on the very roller-coastery Schnebly Hill Road, a 100-year-old  wagon trail.  I love roller coasters.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And after woo-hoo-ing our way down the mountain (symbolizing, perhaps, the rocky yet always exciting adventure that is marriage?), we ended up at our hotel in uptown Sedona, with a incredible view of the mountains and the bustling town.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Happy anniversary, Mama and Herbie!”  “Awww, thanks, Creepy Animatronic Cowboy Sheriff!”

To Do

Moo is getting very excited for Halloween.  “I REMEMBER ABOUT ALL THE CANDY!” she told us last night.  I’m getting pretty excited too – Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, mostly because I love the costumes, but also – yes, all the candy!

Yesterday I told Moo that we couldn’t get out the Halloween decorations (we have quite a bit, much to Herbie’s chagrin) until our house was really, really clean.

I don’t know why the hell I said that.  Now I have to clean the damn house.  But I really, really want to get those Halloween decorations out, so I made myself a huge to-do list for today, which I am supposed to complete in less than four hours, when I have to go pick up Moo.

Wanna see?

• Vacuum (check!)
• Clean Herbie’s stinky gym clothes pile (because I am a wonderful wife) (check!)
• Water plants/water lawn/mourn dead plants/mourn dead lawn (check! well, the plants)
• Make bed (check!)
• Put away giant pile of folded clothes on top of dressers, and on the floor of the family room, and on the ironing board and dining room table (check!)
• Do dishes (figure out what to do with the oil from last night’s fish sticks…help?) (check! but not the stinky oil yet…)
• Clean Doc’s cage (check!)
• Sweep/Swiffer/mop floors (check!)
• Clean Moo’s room and playroom (should make her do this herself, but oh well) (check!)
• Clean bathroom, ugh (check!)
• Organize under bathroom sink, clean out and recycle all those bottles of lotion that only have three squirts left)
• Reorganize hall closet (Random tiny terra cotta pots, it’s time for you to go.  You’re safe, giant dangly spider.) (check!)
• Sort through giant pile of mail and magazines
• Repaint entire house

Ready….go!

Okay…..GO!

Aaaaaand….now!  Go!

1 2 3….GO GO GO!

Ballet and Baseball

We started out Saturday at SAS, a shop of wonderment that has remained unchanged since I was a little girl.  I used to tag along with my mom and immerse myself in bin upon bin of buttons, doo-dads, and hodge-podge. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mom and I took Moo to look for Halloween costume supplies (she’s going to be the White Rabbit from “Alice in Wonderland,” but… a ballerina version), and Moo found it very easy to entertain herself while my mom and I discussed tutu options:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s a sandcastle, as if you couldn’t tell.

Then that night we squeezed into the Civic with my parents and went to Steele Indian School Park for Ballet Arizona’s free “Ballet Under the Stars” event.  Gosh I love free things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having a little refreshment before the show starts…

The performance was wonderful, although I was pretty distacted by the bunny dancing on my head, Moo trying out her own moves, and the 30-or-so little girls dancing in front of the stage.  “It’s a ballet mosh pit!”  cried Herbie.  They were so adorable even the ballerinas couldn’t help grinning at them mid-twirl.

I couldn’t take pictures of the performance, because I might have blinded a ballerina and caused her to fall and break her ankle and ruin her career and maybe she’d sue me, but here’s a picture of the bows:

Moo much preferred the first half of the performance, when they wore bright red tutus and flowers in their hair.  Those plain black-and-white outfits were cool and modern, but a young ballet fan needs her sparkle n’ spangle, mm-kay?

Then on Sunday, we took Moo to her very first baseball game.  I used to be such a devoted fan of the Diamondbacks, but first, all my favorites jumped ship, and then they moved all the games onto a cable channel we don’t get, so I’m now very uninformed.  But to me, baseball games always equal good times (beer! hot dogs! and also animated racing hot dogs on the big screen!), and it was the last home game of the season, so there was lots of good cheer in the stadium.

We watched the game for a while, then explored the stadium when Moo got antsy, returning to our seats just in time for some really exciting plays.  She loved all the clapping and excitement…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then she got a little tired…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But roused in time to sit on the big baseball outside the stadium:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After her nap at home, she wanted to play “baseball game,” which involved teaching Doc how to play baseball:  “First you take your baseball bat and you wooooo! and then you run on the silky string and then crawwwwwl to the end.”

Sure!  Then what, Moo?

“And then the hot dogs RACE, and- Mommy, we sit right here in our seats, and the hot dogs RACE and Doc can be one of the hot dogs, and then we take off our hats and sing those songs and we all clap and then…”

“Yessss?”

“AND THEN THERE’S A DANCING WAFFLE!”

Delightful!  “And who should be the dancing waffle, Moo?”

“…DADDY!”

Yesssss.

Oregon and GeerCrest Farm

So of course, our family vacation to Oregon coincided with the biggest heat wave Oregon has ever seen in recorded history.  At our fantastic cabin, where our closest neighbors were three apple-hungry horses, we sweat a LOT.  But after I ingeniously improvised some curtains out of blankets to keep the heat out, and we wisely realized that we should probably avoid turning on the oven, we all had a great time.

I was so worried that Moo, ripped from her normal routine and on an anti-nap streak, would be grumpy and sleep-deprived the whole time, but she quickly adjusted, starting with our hike at Silver Falls State Park:

The next day, we visited GeerCrest, the old family farm, where my dad’s…grandmother?? once lived (I’ve heard these stories 10 million times, why can I not retain the correct information?) and where Erika the Farm Goddess now reigns over a family of volunteers and animals, teaching the agrarian lifestyle and changing the lives of  any and all hapless folks and children who wander within arm’s length.  Erika is one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met, right next to 92-year-old Vesper (my dad’s…cousin??), the woman who, along with my grandmother, made me fall in love with the farm when I visited over the course of three years in my teens.

Father watching daughter watching a (barely visible) frog:

 

Moses, Chief Goat, who once disappeared with the entire herd in order to rescue a lost member of the family, inspiring the popular film, “Saving Private Udder”:

 
Moo got a little tired after raking out the stables and working in the fields all day:

 
Irwin and Clara, collecting eggs: 

 
While Moo seemed less-than-enchanted by the farm, demanding we carry her everywhere (“Come on, Grandpa, don’t you want to pick me up?”), Irwin and Clara seemed to fall in love.  Clara just had to sit next to Erika at every meal, and Irwin took notes on everything she said.  They even got to milk the goats, which I will spare you pictures of, and just leave you with this picture of Moo and Clara relaxing on a swing dedicated to the farm’s matriarch, now and forever:

Goats

Tomorrow morning, at an hour when everything good and natural in the world should be ASLEEP, we’re heading for the airport to go on a little family vacation to Oregon. My (rather distant) family has a farm outside of Salem, where the good ol’ Geers settled after trudging endless miles on the Oregon Trail.  So it’s, like, historic and all.  Pretty cool.

My parents are turning mumble-ty this year, and wanted to celebrate with an Oregon trip, so my sister and her family are also heading up, and we’re all staying in a rented log cabin next to a creek where hopefully we can skip rocks and float leaf boats.  Then we’ll visit the farm, including matriarch Vesper and Farm Madame Erika, who will undoubtedly seize the children and put them straight to work collecting eggs and picking basil from the garden. 

The farm has special meaning to me, because I visited several times with my grandmother as a youngster, and then many times again when we lived in the Northwest.  The first time I met Erika about seven years ago, she shook my hand and said, “Here, hold this goat.  I’ve got to take its temperature with this anal thermometer.”  It may have been the single best introduction of my life.

I can’t wait to see what she’s got in store for the kids.

Be back Wednesday…

4th of July Cupcakes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Coffee, Please

When Herbie and I got back from Yuma on Valentine’s Day, we dropped off Moo at my parents’ house for a sleepover and immediately cranked up Franz Ferdinand when we got home, and poured ourselves cocktails while we got gussied up for a night out.

We spent our evening at Bomberos, a wine bar in North Phoenix (so nice to enjoy a few glasses of really good wine after drinking all the cheap stuff we usually get).  I love Bomberos, or at least I did until the last 20  minutes of our visit.

As I reached down to my purse for my five-minutes-till-departure-lipgloss-application, I noticed a puddle under the table.  Then I noticed that my purse was sitting in the puddle.  I yanked it up to the table – yep, the whole bottom of the purse was soaked.  As I frantically tried to mop it up with napkins, our waitress sauntered over to the table.

“Oh, did you guys have a spill?”

No, we did not.  YOU had a spill.  I hoped it wasn’t a leak from the dishwasher – I have seen the water that comes out of a restaurant dishwasher, and it is truly horrifying.  After the owner walked right by us twice and dabbed at the wet floor with a rag, he finally came over to our table and apologized, handing me some dry rags.  Turns out the coffeemaker in the bar overflowed and puddled right under our table.  Oh great, coffee – that doesn’t stain at all.  He made some noises about giving me the number to their dry cleaner, and I asked, “And then I’ll just bring you the receipt?”  He looked surprised, and then mumbled something about getting his card.

After he gave us his card (which we were supposed to do what with, exactly?) he disappeared again, and we waited another five minutes before the waitress came over with our bill.

“We took care of your bill tonight,” she said.  “We’re so sorry about your purse.”

That’s more like it!  Herbie thinks she had to talk the owner into it, and I don’t blame her.  I remember from my days waitressing that if something goes wrong and the owner doesn’t apologize via the bill, the guests always get their revenge via your tip.

So we left her a nice tip, and picked up some club soda on the way home.  I spent 20 minutes dabbing the bottom of my purse with club soda (when really, on Valentine’s Day in a house to ourselves, I should have been focused on other things) and left it on the counter, hoping for an overnight miracle.

No such luck.  My Isabella Fiore wool purse now has a nice attractive coffee ring.  And I don’t know what to do.  The restaurant paid our tab, which was roughly the amount I paid for the purse (I found it at a consignment store), but on the other hand, your neglected coffee maker ruined my purse and you should be held responsible!  So I don’t know what to do – call it even and let it go, or take my purse to the dry cleaner (and hope for the best), and then deliver the receipt to the owner.  Anyone have any opinions or experience with purses ruined by random restaurant puddles?