Breakfast Club

This weekend was a big one around here. Elton John and Billy Joel were playing at Honda Stadium, and everybody but yours truly was going to see them. (including my parents! Who are then going to Phoenix next week to see BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN. When did my life become so much less interesting than my folks'?). Among the audience was an old, old college friend of my husband's that flew in from San Francisco. Despite this being his first trip away from home with his wife since having children, he insisted he wanted to stop at our house for breakfast before his flight this morning.

I was told to be ready at 8:15am. That's almost the middle of the night for me, especially on a Sunday morning. But I did it. I rallied. I made the beds, made sure the kids looked presentable, made a pot of coffee, popped the breakfast casserole in the oven, cut up some fruit and started frying bacon. Then the phone rang. It was now, 8:30am.

"Ummm...... hey there. " my husband says. "You haven't taken a shower yet?" he looks at me, nervously.

"No problem. We're not too far away. No, I wouldn't suggest stopping at your hotel's All-You-Can-Eat breakfast buffet, we've got plenty of food here for you guys." He then refuses to make eye contact with me as I start slamming bacon around the kitchen. I may have told you before, but I'm not much of a morning person, and I HAD MASCARA on, people! Sheesh.

"Ok, great. See you in a few." he hangs up the phone.

They showed up at 9:30, and after we welcomed them in, his wife walks into the kitchen and says to her husband, "Why didn't you tell me there would be food here? Why did you insist we eat all of that food at the hotel?" The husband looked at me sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders and said, "Because it was free." Last I checked, we didn't charge anyone for breakfast at our house, but whatever.

So later, they start telling us how they are throwing Mr. Free Buffet a 40th birthday party at a Raw/Vegan restaurant in Berkeley. They ask if we'll come. My husband, because, at times, can have the BEST comedic timing on the planet quickly replies, "Oh yeah, we'll go. But first, we'll make sure we stock up at our hotel's All-You-Can Eat buffet."

I love him.

Losing It

So, to further add proof to the fatty, fatty pudding that I am, indeed, not cool- I signed up for Weight Watchers this week. My weight has been creeping up, and no matter what I did, I just couldn't get a handle on it. (Spinach artichoke dip from Costco certainly didn't help matters). So on Wednesday, I buckled down and went to see the senior citizens in their Hot Cotton that man the scales.

This time around, I'm going in to weigh at the center (in person, because 75 year old women with tightly permed hair scare the weight loss bejeezus into me) and I'm using their online tools. So far, I've lost 2 lbs. My husband would scoff and tell me this is all water weight, but hey, I'll take it.

I will not be posting my starting weight here folks, (no flogging for me, my husband has NO clue what I weigh) but will try to keep you abreast of my progress. And if you happen to stumble upon me scarfing down some M&m's- you have my full permission to kick me in the ass. Please?

Let's Do Lunch

Three other friends are joining me in the creation of a new blog about (what else!) food and cooking. We are working through the set up, but as soon as we work out a few kinks, I'll include it in my blog roll. In the interim, here's my latest post:


Today I did something decadent. Something out of the ordinary, definitely not part of my normal routine. I met my husband for lunch. At a hole-in-a-wall Vietnamese place near his hospital, we giggled over Pho and spring rolls.

My husband works. A lot. Some friends think he is only a figment of my imagination because they never see him. But, despite his long hours- he does call me. All the time. Seriously. Like 20 times a day. I'm supposed to fill his drive home with witty banter, or occupy his time if he has to walk across the street. It can be charming, it can be disruptive, but it's never boring.

This morning he called to find out what I was up to. I had an hour to kill before picking the kids up, so he suggested I swing by and pick him up for a quick lunch. Over a Vietnamese iced coffee (Guys! Have you ever tried this? The coffee is mixed with condensed milk to give it a caramel, rich flavor that puts Starbucks to shame), we wondered why we didn't do this more.

We started our stolen lunch with spring rolls. Perfect for the heat wave we are currently experiencing. Rolled in a rice wrapper were freshly steamed shrimp, mixed with cilantro, bean sprouts, basil and mint. After dipping it into a hoisin sauce, it's like a bit of summer exploding in your mouth.

We then moved on to Pho. Ours was chicken broth based, with floating pieces of poached chicken breast, cilantro and glassine noodles. Our server brought over a platter of bean sprouts, basil leaves, lime wedges and spicy peppers to add to our soup. Matt and I also liberally added the chili sauce on the table, and a couple of unmarked bottles that I have no idea what they were.

Maybe it was the coffee. It could have been the fresh ingredients and the awesome combination of basil, mint and lime that flavored everything. But I think it was the company that made this impromptu lunch get away the most fun of all

Back To Normal

I"m slowly recovering. We've had out of town guests for the past few days and engaged in a six day fat fest that was only broken up by 2 exhausting days at Disneyland. It was fun, except for when the 2 five year old girls convinced their dads to take them on Splash Mountain at 7:30 at night, with no change of clothes. It may be 80 degrees during the day, but the minute the sun goes down the wind chill makes it feel like 20.

Yesterday morning, we dropped our friends off at the airport, I began the mountain of dirty laundry that was taunting my name and convinced the kids to take a THREE hour nap. Today, we're almost back to normal, and I'm going to take the kids over to the pool to let them splash around. (And read Jane Austen's Book Club, but you didn't hear that from me).

Finding Balance

Yin: He gets up at 4:30am. Happily. HIs eyes pop open, he jumps out of bed, and can't wait to start his day. Morning is his favorite time of day.

Yang: I hate the morning. Despise. Always have, Always will. I sleep until the last possible moment, and my mornings are a crabble of lost ballet slippers, breakfast eaten in the car and any makeup on my face is a leftover from yesterday.

Yin: he's an introvert
Yang: Well, I'm not. At All.

Yin: He loves to fill our weekends with lots of things to do. Outside of the house.
Yang: I would happily while away my life in my pajamas. If only it were socially acceptable to walk around bra-less, in my Costco pjs that currently serve as a form of birth control. And if I never had to leave the house? Happiness.

Yin: He thinks nothing of deciding to throw an impromptu get together with friends. And call them, in the middle of the Italian market where we were buying lunch today, WITHOUT TELLING ME.
Yang: Ummm.. hello? Have you seen our house today? Not exactly company ready. I think I scared the Italian deli guy with my shrieks of disbelief. He hid behind some proscuitto.

But we made it work. And it was really nice to see friends that we went through medical school with. And sit on our patio, and eat Italian cold cuts, and drink a bit of vino. And who cares if the Barbie pieces weren't picked up, or that there were pancake dishes in the sink and that the dog jumped on everyone? And my yin? Well, he may live to see another morning.

Search For LollyBlogger

You may not have noticed me rocking my sidebar with Tweets, but I've caved. I've joined Twitter. And subsequently, become obsessed with it. It's a lot easier to be pithy and funny in 50 words or less. (or something like that). Anyhoo-- if you tweet, please come say hello.

Update

Party went great. Except....

Ms. No Common Sense walked in with her mother-in-law, sister-in-law, AND TWO KIDS. I couldn't believe it.

Lollyblogger The Grouch

One sign that I'm either growing up or turning senile is that now I call people on their sh*t. Years ago, I was a nice person. A very nice person. Some, may even go so far as to describe me as a pushover. I had a hard time saying no. I was used to putting on a smile and making the best of situations. Now that I'm in the throes of my 30's, I'm not so nice.

I can write about this, because the people it involves do not read this. And if they do, well, it's no secret. I'm throwing a party for someone on Saturday, and it's been in the works for a while. Invitations have gone out. A month ago. I received very few rsvps. I don't know most of the people invited, so didn't really know what to expect. Today, TWO DAYS before the party, someone calls and leaves me this message:

"Hi, It's "Person Who Clearly Has No Common Sense" , and I'm so sorry for the lateness of my reply, but I'm calling to let you know that I will be attending the party, and so will my mother-in-law, sister-in-law and my 2 children."

This stuff makes my head explode. I had to call the honoree and ask for No Common Sense's phone number to tell her she, at the very least, couldn't bring her kids. This didn't go over very well. Apparently, this person told them it was ok. Because, my kids will be there. Because they live here. But whatever.

I kind of like being a meanie, but I'm pretty sure the people around me don't.

Girls

Every morning, she stands on a stool that's painted to look like a panda bear. I grab the hair brush, and start to work on the knots and tangles. She chitter chatters, and likes to tell me different ways she wants her hair, or how she's feeling, or sometimes she will sing a song. She carefully deliberates which hair accessory makes the cut that day. Currently, her favorites are 2 hot pink hearts that clip on to her pig tails.

After I finish styling her hair, I always give her a small hug, and catch her eye in the mirror and exclaim "Look how pretty you are!" And for that moment, that is enough. She smiles, and you can see that from the top of her pigtail to the bottom of her toe that she feels beautiful. And my heart catches for a moment, thinking of all of the days ahead when my words, and a clip on heart won't be enough.