Lady Poppyseed is Having a Birthday!

So my niece turned one last week. (I made her apple roses in the last post that I’m too lazy to link to.) And my mom and sister went…well, nuts.

My sister is a Pinterest go-getter, someone who genuinely enjoys decoupaging random crap onto other random crap. She’s not trying to be impressive, she just really is all by herself. All natural like. And my mother never turned down an opportunity to put some grandkid’s face on something.

So obviously, this most hallowed of occasions was going to be a blow out affair.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Not as fancy as Buddy’s first birthday. Here is a picture of his cakes.

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It’s falling apart.

I know. I’m impressed too.

Starting about two months ago, I began recording the stuff that my mom and sister said to each other in complete seriousness abut Poppyseed’s birthday. If you follow me on twitter (And why not? I’m awesome.) you can see it under the hashtag “shitformyniecesbirthday.”

Because I’m classy like that.

Here are some of my favorites.

“I’m looking into posters.” (Why be subtle? Go with the wallpaper! You haven’t updated the dining room lately!)

“But WHERE are we going to put the time capsule?” (I hid mine behind the craptastic cake. Oh wait. That’s right. I didn’t even let him open his presents I just literally shipped them to the other house. I must have lost the time capsule in moving.)

“I’m not sure we can fit any more pictures on the burlap.” (I have that problem too. So many pictures, so little burlap. Because my amount of burlap is no burlap. But then, so are my number of pictures for display. So I guess I planned that one perfectly!)

“I’m going to make a mix CD with songs that have been significant for her first year.” (My list for Buddy’s first year would be a lot of Evanescence and a few songs about how I will never be happy again.)

“Huh. I don’t have the professional pictures of Poppyseed’s baptism.” (Huh. I don’t remember Buddy’s baptism.)

“I needed to pay extra for the postage because her invitations are four pages long.” (My “shit his birthday is coming up why don’t y’all come over around 5ish” email blast just seems paltry now.)

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FOUR. PAGES.

“I ran out of mod podge!” (That happens to me all the time! Oh wait. I mean never. That happens to me never.)

“The pink for the poster is a little strippery don’t you think?” (Yes. We wouldn’t want to be tacky.)

“Oh yeah, I like that better. There’s texture and dimension.” (All things a one-year-old cares about in party decorations, amiright people?)

“I missed the promotion to make coasters!” (I literally have nothing for this one. Coasters?)

“I had to mail her invitations as packages! They were too big to be letters!” (Brb, dying over here.)

“They’re for the photo wreath!” (Oh! The tiny decoupaged pictures of your daughter’s face make sense now!)

“I decided to go with the abbreviated family tree, I couldn’t fit the one that goes back to 1790 on the windowseat.” (I mean, I always have major geneological research at my kids’ parties. It’s just fun explaining why Theresa Rimmele was probably murdered at the hands of some Austrian who was invading her village in Bavaria. Another cookie anyone?)

I am legitimatley joking you guys. The party was absolutely gorgeous, and it was so much fun. I don’t have a ton of pictures, because she isn’t my kid and you don’t know her like that, but trust me, it was delightful.

Poppyseed’s birth was and is such an important moment for our family. It brought us all so close together and honestly redeemed childbirth as an experience for me. Okay. It came close. And the last year with her has been such a delight. I can’t believe we are lucky enough to have you in our lives, Lady Poppyseed. I can’t wait to watch you grow into a beautiful daughter of God.

We love you so much.

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DO ALL THE TRADITIONS!

Oh man you guys. So my family has this one* big tradition. And my bonus family has this one big tradition. And that’s awesome!

Except that they fall on the same weekend every. single. year. Which is not actually a big problem, as they both just involve walking around places and having people buy me embarrassing amounts of food and take cute pictures of my kids.

*That’s a lie. It’s so many more than one.  We hold most things holy, including death dates and days we came home from the hospital. My husband had NO IDEA the emotional minefield he was marrying into. And good luck finding a week where I don’t expect to have a big weepy family gathering.

So this weekend we did Zoo ala Carte with my bonus family, and Irish Fest with my growing up family. AND WE ATE ALL THE THINGS.

Literally. All of the things.

On Friday Buzz and I abandoned the children with various grandparents to get the maximum adult alone time enjoyment out of Irish Fest.

(That sounded dirty. I assure you, the only dirty things that happened this weekend were the sheer number of fried things I consumed.)

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I love taking the kids to Irish Fest,and I think it’s super important for their development as my children that they realize this is essentially an obligation which can never be abrogated. But they can get that on Sunday. On Friday, mommy gets to eat by herself and shop with minimal whining and no worrying about where people are. (Buzz is a big boy. He can find his way back to the car. I’m pricing Aran sweaters over here.)

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There was a lot of fried things. I don’t even know what this was, but Buzz is adorable, isn’t he?

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There’s a lot of music and beer at Irish Fest. And sometimes it leads to spontaneous family-wide dancing.

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Every year for as long as I can remember there has been at least one torrential downpour during Irish Fest. One year we ended up crashing a wedding because we ran to get away from the storm. One year I got stuck in a tent that was literally collapsing and there was broken glass and random shit going down and it was REAL yo. And every year, I forget to bring an umbrella.

OR.

I bring an umbrella and my husband convinces me “It’s totally not going to rain! I checked the radar! We don’t need it!” AND THEN IT RAINS ON MY CHEESE CURDS.

And my head.

I’ll let you pick which one happened.

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It was an absolutely gorgeous night.

The next day we Zoo ala Carte and again, so many different things you can fry and are amazingly tasty. Which the one exception of the sad sad loss of my chocolate mousse shooters, it was perfect.

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Buddy was so excited he was doing the Titanic stance.

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YOU GUYS. Loaded tater tots. THEY’RE THE FUTURE.

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Despite the fact that his grandfather offers us literally everything in the world this weekend, Joey chose some popcorn from the main gate. Of course.

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Handsome men. Sensually eating thai noodles.

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We’ve had a rough week with Squeaks around here. Saturday was the first day she really had her personality back, and it was such a joy to see my silly, beautiful little girl again.

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Joey finally acquiesced to a brownie, and went at it with two utensils. That’s my boy.

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Sunday we went back to Irish Fest for the whole day, this time as responsible parents with children in tow.

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We started with Mass, which is, I’m pretty sure is Jesus’ favorite Mass to attend in the Eucharist.

The kids were super happy and well behaved, mostly because attending Mass in a concert venue is super fun and different and Joey loves pretending to be the presider. Keep that up kid, I don’t want you to get married.

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It was my niece’s first Irish Fest as a non-fetus, and she was walking around being so adorable and I could barely handle it.

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My children? Also adorable. My mom made t-shirts for all the kids with their Gaelic names on them. My niece and Buddy were legit, but frankly I think someone just phonetically decided to change Eva since it’s not terribly Gaelic to start with.

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Seriously guys, I can’t tell you how awesome it was to have my kid back to normal.

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Or, you know, normal for them.

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It was a beautiful weekend.

Snapshots From Rio: Catch Up

Oh guys, I’m back. I know. You missed me.

I was suuuper busy taking keeping my children alive almost entirely by myself because Buzz has had a Super Important Manager Meeting the last few days and had all sorts of Important Manager Things to do like Going Out to Dinner and Taking a River Cruise and Talking About Our Communication Styles and Other Random Stuff My Wife Likes Making Fun Of.

(I’m kidding honey. I love you and your paycheck that allows me to stay home and whine about how the Olympians are in such good shape while finishing the kids’ mac and cheese.)

(But mostly you.)

(Ohh guys! Wanna know the whitest guy sentence ever that he said yesterday? “I was underwhelmed by that foie gras.” I’m dying here you guys.)

But! I snapped some pics from the last few days While the kids ate pizza and ran around me and I tried to figure out ADHD meds and sleeping hormones and…oh, sorry. That got heavy. Another post.

Anyway. Olympics and self loathing. Coming right up.

I watched the rest of the women’s gymnastics events, and yeah no what everyone else has said is true. Aly Raisman’s parents are the most amazing people ever and they’re so typical parents and if my children had any talent I’d def behave like that as well. (Or I’d be figuring out how to sneak gin into the arena.) Simone Biles is a…I don’t even know what but it’s not human. My favorite person though was Sassy Gabby Douglas. She’s just…awesome. And that little perky one who was just there because she was good on the bars. She kept trying to be nice to everyone and it was so cute.

But even better than that was the 41-year-old from Uzbekistan who’s been hanging around the Olympics since like 1976 and just absolutely low-level kicking ass at it and dude! Forty one! Like, not an American 41 where you’re basically just out of your parents basement. Maaaybe have one failed marriage but basically still young.

Nope. This chick is an UZBEKISTAN 41. That’s really hard living right there. And she’s all like pssh, whatever, I’m just gonna put out my communist cigarette and pound on this vault for a while. Tell me more about your cheery American life and braided ponytail, Madison Kocian.

She’s even better than Sassy Gabby Douglas.

I was slightly disturbed that every single Chinese gymnast looked like my daughter. My SIX YEAR OLD daughter.

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You know how you can tell an athlete is American? They’re weirdly hot and look like they save girls’ numbers under “( First name) (Bar we met) (score of hotness)” in their phones.

Better than a passport.

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Also in the pool, Maya DiRado proved she’s even more adorable when winning. She won her super awesome race and then kissed her super awesome husband and then went back to her super awesome house and super awesome job because she like JUST graduated from college and OF COURSE she has a job and she’s never had to think about graduate school in the humanities while living in her parents’ house…sorry. Got a little off track there.

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Oh! I went with a gin martini the last few days, in case anyone was super interested in following the Olympics of Kathleen’s Evening Libations.

I love gin martinis and Buzz makes them exactly how I like them- shaken (yes I know it’s incorrect) while glancing at an unopened bottle of vermouth.

Our marriage you guys. It’s awesome.

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I’d really like to be in a place in my life where I could be running a super long super fast race and also take the time to do a KILLER matte red lip.

Damn girl. You go.

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Keeping up with the theme of these games, which is apparently weirdly specific facts about Kerri Walsh Jennings, we have a list of her 13 greatest days. Which sounds to me like a little high school- “On October 3rd he asked me what day it was…”

If I had to make a list of my 13 greatest days it would be like,

1.) Births of children (including the one I wasn’t there for)

2.) Wedding day blah blah blah

3.) Day I saw Jerry Buting and Dean Strang talking about JUSTICE.

4.) Day that a student wrote I was hot on my evaluation.

5.) Day I quasi-mastered false eyelashes.

6.) Day I touched Josh Groban’s hand

7.) Day I got retweeted by Noodles and Co.

8.) Day I started my Gwynnie Bee subscription

9.) I’m sure there are more.

10.) um….

11.) Oh master’s degree. That was pretty cool.

12.) Staying in a castle in Ireland.

13.) The day I figured out the perfect proportions for that awesome rum drink from Williamsburg.

Hers are more appropriate for TV.

ABSENCE OF PICTURE BECAUSE OF COPYRIGHT LAWS. 

I didn’t get a picture but somebody got proposed to on the medal stand and oh man. It’s a good thing im marred or I’d legit be taking to my bed in anguish. My parents are like thanking the Lord it’s not 2010 all up in here. It would not be pretty. I can tell you that much.

Four Years

Buzz and I have been married for four years today. This makes me feel a variety of things, like happy, and thankful, and old.

Happy because I am so, so glad that I met him and we fell in love and he gave me the best life ever and my beautiful children.

Thankful because I’ve been with him on a fourth anniversary before, an anniversary that was devastating. And it made me realize that I have to be thankful for every single moment alive together that we get to experience our marriage. Because it can be gone so incredibly fast.

And old because geez, I’ve been married FOUR YEARS. That like one away from five. And that’s halfway to ten. And MARRIED FOR TEN YEARS? Might as well retire amiright?

Our wedding was wonderful. I was worried it wouldn’t be- I was worried somebody was going to pass out or flip out or Buzz would be too upset by having to go through the actual wedding party again and ugh, I just wanted it over with.

And then our rehearsal day happened and shit hit the fan big time. His mom was in the hospital, my mom was maybe having a blood clot problem, the priest who was officiating wasn’t there and the one who was told us to stand different places, my sister’s bank account had been hacked, Buzz’s car was broken, and the photographer had just called to tell us we couldn’t take pictures where we wanted because of an air show we didn’t know about.

Oh well. I was a pretty laid back bride, in that I didn’t care about much of anything except the Mass, so we just pushed through and once everybody was released from the hospital, it was a gorgeous, beautiful wedding day.

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We did pictures before the ceremony, because we had an evening Mass. That was super cool and made the day just so much fun.

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I got super into swinging.

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This was totally normal and not at all awkward.

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I did my own makeup- I told you, as long as they played the right Ave Maria, I was fine with anything.

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Buzz and I cared more about the Mass than anything else, and I love that we were so in line with each other on this. We knew what was important about the day to us and it was so special to share this. The party was cool. It was awesome and we had so much fun. But the Sacramental union and the graces we received that day continue to help us every single day in our marriage.

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Two former altar servers get married and yeah, there’s gonna be incense.

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One of the priests who witnessed our marriage was (is) a dear friend of mine. We were talking at the reception and he told me that he looked over at me after we said our vows and was bowled over because it hit him that I was a totally different person. God had fundamentally changed the person I was, and made me one with my husband. We were totally changed because of this sacrament. I thought that was one of the coolest things anyone said about our wedding.

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It was kind of funny because I thought the same thing watching his ordination, and while we don’t believe that it’s necessarily an ontological change like that which occurs when a man is ordained, the Holy Spirit truly works to to change you and your spouse and I love that it is so apparent spiritually.

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The party was, of course, really fun too.
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So thank you, honey. Thank you for marrying me and taking on everything in my life and being so understanding when I need help taking on everything in yours. Thank you for building this life and this family with me. Thank you for helping me get to Heaven. Thank you for being you.

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I love you and I’m so so thankful I sat next to you that day.

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Snapshots from Rio: Monday

I went with a lovely boxed wine from Target tonight. In case you were keeping up with the Olympics of my liquor cabinet.

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(Right up there with making mug cakes in terms of my awesome events.)

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In an effort to up the shock value and keep people interested for longer than six seconds (It’s the Snapchat era, you guys. Work with me.), NBC has basically shoved Michael Phelps and Guy that Beat Him in 2012 in the same training area and there was major testosterone comparing and basically they were practically peeing on the walls to claim their territory.

And in this shot, Michael Phelps looks like he’s gonna straight up MURDER this guy. And they haven’t even started swimming yet.

Imma get some popcorn.

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ANGRY SWIMMING.

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Okay so Phelps didn’t win the semi, but he did beat Guy Who Beat Him.

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“What were you thinking when that guy was being ridiculous in front of you?”

“Um. Nothing.”

Really? Really tho? Because I’m pretty sure you were. Just like that lady last night was looking at your Olympic Behind.

Just say  you were thinking about your super hot girlfriend and her patriotic Ergo carrier and the most Olympic infant hip dysplasia ever.

We’d all understand that.

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Okay I missed a little bit because I stopped to watch this awesome video about the nuns who make communion hosts.

I know. It’s a little random. But it was super good.

(I’ve got a kid approaching First Communion. It’s not that weird.)

I think these are girls now? Pretty sure. Honestly, they’re all pretty much built the same.

(And by the same I mean, better than me.)

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Oh look. It’s a bunch of people who gave birth like six minutes ago bouncing around in bikinis and being talented at something. My favorite.

Hang on. Imma get more wine.

And maybe run around the block.

(My husband just said, “They’re so…bronzed.” Yes. Yes dear, they are. But you’re stuck with…freckled.)

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This is how I feel about women’s beach volleyball.

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This is an oddly specific daily schedule for someone whom we don’t know in real life.

Also, hey! I took a nap today too! I’m basically an Olympian.

(Buzz: How are they not covered in sand? Me: Because it just slides off the sexiness.)

Oooh, Walsh Jennings was five weeks pregnant when she won gold oooh pssh whatever. At five weeks pregnant I was ordering a BellaBand on amazon for super fast shipping because none of my clothes fit and discovering how many different places you can puke at your kid’s music class. (A lot. Just FYI.)

Show off.

I could also win a medal in morning sickness. Mug cakes, alcohol, and morning sickness. Guys. I’m kind of a triathlete.

 

 

 

 

Snapshots from Rio: Sunday

(And by Rio, I mean my television while I sit on my couch on my chubby American behind and contemplate my nails or something.)

(Essie Gel Setter? Not sure it’s worth it.)

 

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Meanwhile, my kids are attempting to do each and every sport. Which is difficult given that we’re in our suburban living room and they lack talent at anything other than being adorable and whining at volumes only discernible to dogs. So basically they’re jumping, falling, running, and then stopping and putting their arms up in the air. It’s actually hilarious.

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Okay. Dude. All these “push to the limit of human possibility” commercials are very insulting to those of us who are sitting here in our leggings blogging and trying to decide whether or not we should go with the rum drink or just gin and tonic and should we do brie and crackers tonight? Or just mug cakes. Guys. The only thing I’m out of this world good at is making mug cakes.

Mug cakes is my event.

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Can we talk for a minute about Simone Biles? And how apparently she was a foster kid on top of being amazeballs at like everything she’s every done? Seriously? Some kids were mean to me when I as four and frankly, I’m still a little upset about it and yes it’s been 24 years and I’m married with two children and they just called me stupid, not abandoned me because of drugs, but you know what? IT HURT AND IT’S PROBABLY WHY I QUIT THE GYMANSTICS TEAM.

*woe*

See, I was a gymnast. I was good. Well, I mean, not like this. But like pretty good for an nine-year-old in the midwest at a gym that only had a regional team. However, I eventually realized that you were expected to have a modicum of grace (which I don’t) and an exceptional dedication to doing things other than sitting at home by yourself and reading Saddle Club books (also no.) And thus died my Olympic dreams.

So this? This cuts deep, you guys.

I’m going to have to go with the gin. I’m not fooling around tonight.

That’s just the kind of commitment to excellence I bring to all my…ahem…sports.

Like mug cake making.

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Okay. I can’t do literally anything else this lady is doing. But I could help her blend out her eyeliner. Call me, Simone.

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WHAT IS WITH THESE LADIES GIVING BIRTH AND THEN PLAYING BEACH/WATER SPORTS???? Looking better than I have ever looked in my entire life and certainly better than I looked FIFTEEN (hell, 36) MONTHS AFTER GIVING BIRTH TO A CHILD FROM MY OWN VAGINAL CANAL.

IT IS ANNOYING AND I HATE THEM.

END RANT.

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I went with a lovely tropical rum drink, in case anyone was super interested in that.

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Okay, these little backwards races? I could not do.

(Stop laughing. Yes, I know I couldn’t do literally anything else in these Olympics.)

(Also yes that is cake on the table in the foreground.)

(Go USA.)

But the starting backwards? Would be very difficult. I think I would throw my back out or something. And just like perching there? Ugh. So many muscles you have to use.

Nope.

Not worth it.

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That Olympic official lady on the right is UNABASHEDLY ogling the entire US relay team. And she is my new hero. It’s like Twitter sent a reporter to the games and they infiltrated the pool.

I’m dying. This is hilarious.

That lady deserves a medal.