Ring Pop.

Friday night I got the call. A last minute sittin' gig. Lucky me. I love these kiddos.

After supper, coloring time and homework, we hit the pavement for a walk.

Because I am a "Disneyland sitter", I was treating to ice cream...Hard to beat a Thrifty cone. But of course, the ice cream counter was closed. Pretty heartbreaking to report this news to two very excited five year olds.

We re-grouped and found our way to the candy aisle. The kids chose RING POPS. One of my all-time favorite candies and my "go to" road trip treat.

The candy made for some very complacent, happy children and when I spotted this bench and rose bush, I knew it was the beginning of a photo shoot. But my-oh-my! Taking pictures of kids is hard! The candy helped A LOT. But I really feel for all you mamas. I think I took about 50 pics and just got a few good ones. How do you do it?? Are your cameras on sport mode all the time? It seems that kids move at lightening speed.





This last one is one of my favorite pictures that I have ever taken.

We were headed to the park and I suggested that we all have a quick seat with our ring pops. I haphazardly set the camera on the stroller, we plopped down and ten seconds later, the timer "clicked". And this is what the lens found:


I love when photographs surprise you. After I took it, I thought it was a flop...but as I uploaded it, Ryan turned is head towards the computer and told me what a cool shot he thought it was. I looked at it in a new light and felt quite proud. Compliments from Husbands are the best kind I am convinced.

I know it is not technically well-done, and another viewer may find it silly, the lighting is harsh and I had to do some editing, but I still love it and I assure you it has nothing to do with the fact that I am a part of this picture.

I love the position of the trees in the background, and even the light post, which just helps make this shot something special to me.

I love that Madden's legs are positioned in a much more ladylike position than mine. Five years old and already a lady.

I love the spontaneity with which this picture was taken.

And most of all, I love that Jackson's shoes are on the wrong feet.



Who knew Friday nights with five year olds could be so fun. Especially when Ring Pops are involved.

Carrot Craze

On the nights that Mr. Kelly works late, I try to eat lite, so that I can fully enjoy those "square meals" (you know, meat, veggie, salad, carb) that we eat when we are together.

Lately, carrots have been doing the trick...

Slice those beauties up, add a pinch (or two) of salt...

Time to add some thyme...

Olive oil, pepper and a shake of brown sugar...and voila!

Dinner for one.

De-lish.

Now if I could just find a stick of cheese...

Gotta have a bit of protein, right?

Keepin' it real

Before you start thinking that my life is full of prancing unicorns, double rainbows and fluffy chocolate covered macaroons at every turn...


behold...


my dirty, little secret.



In the last few days, I have learned that somewhere in the span of the last three years, while living in a spacious home that is loaded with closet space and a two-car garage, I decided to become a hoarder pack rat of treasures and trash. Not my finest moment. Apparently, I have turned into one of those persons. You know. The one that believes in "out of sight, out of mind", i.e. stuff it in a closet and forget about it. The one that saves my school work from second grade, stashes extra BBQ's and gas cans, and hides loads of glassware and old jeans, "just in case" or "for a rainy day". Good theory for pennies, not so much for stuff.


THIS is what we now have just fourteen days to pack, organize, sort, and determine the answer to that pesky little question that constantly rattles around in my brain...."can't live without it, or, donate it?"



That's right....we are moving.



We are beyond excited to be moving to a quaint little neighborhood with a big back yard, friends for neighbors and... wait for it.....hardwood floors! But you see, I am nervous. Very nervous.



I always start a move ambitiously, thinking about life's big changes and the excitement that fresh paint and empty rooms bring. As I begin packing, I try to dress the part and trick my mind into thinking we (meaning my brain and I) are having fun by wearing Keds and a red handkerchief in my hair, dreaming of the day that overalls will be fashionable again while picturing us eating Chinese take-out on our new floor among piles of boxes. But this rosy outlook never lasts long. You see, I have been scarred.



My last move was from a itty bitty 600 square foot apartment and didn't even require a moving truck. But in the midst of packing, I had a complete meltdown and didn't subside until my dear (and far less dramatic) sisters drove to the rescue after recognizing from the sound of my voice the psychological crisis fragile state I was in. They walked through the door and looked around the place with eyebrows raised. After they got over the horror and made fun of me for about five minutes, they rolled up their sleeves and just began kindly giving me orders direction. When I say that I could not have done it without them, I am not kidding. So they saved the day, and I was left scarred. Swearing that I would never move again.



And yet, here we are.



Last night, we headed out to tackle the garage. I stood in the doorway for a moment with that same frozen look on my face, the one that my sisters witnessed three years ago. I thought about how I can not let "stuff" cloud my landscape, and I began filling the garbage can and garage sale pile. Soon, Ryan followed suit. It was a frenzy of paper, old socks, dust and clutter. We packed, we organized and when we were done, we laughed because it looked like nothing had changed. Ryan assured me that we will survive this move, and all the others to follow, marriage and sanity intact. I believe him and we toasted to "hope and optimism" with a big glass of wine and lots of guacamole.


So despite my seeping pessimism and nervous twitch, I am hopeful that I have matured in these last three years, that I gained some insight and that my excitement for hardwood floors will ease the burden that weighs on me. After all, moving is exciting, right?



And did I mention how much I love hard wood floors?

Under the freeway - Part two

There seem to be lots of surprises under the freeway.

But on this Sunday, the first Sunday of every month to be exact, "special things" were everywhere, but not in the form of perishables this time.

The antique flea market was the event, under the freeway, the venue.

We like to call days like this "work", since my Mama has a space in an antique shop, but really it's just F.U.N.

Buttons, watches, stamps, pretty glassware, vintage clothing, furniture, gorgeous fabric, jewelry, silver, pottery...it is endless. Eye candy awaits at every turn.

My Mama and Grandma traveled up this way for the occasion.

Check out my Mama's cart - isn't she just the cutest? Most of the time I think that she is so cute I could just dip her in chocolate and take a bite.

But I would never try that in real life.


I remember when I was young, my mom would often pull over the car for a garage sale or a quick stop at the antique store. I THOUGHT IT WAS SUCH A BORE. I used to think, "why are we here", "what could be so appealing about all this junk"? I was such a miserable child at times.

I wonder if my mom knew that one day her girls would enjoy the very activity we used to equate with torture. I now see the appeal: there is so much mystery in vintage treasures, so much joy in finding something special among the funky and aside from that, there is so much style and charm in the old. And it's "green"!

As we weave through the rows, I like to wonder about the woman who once wore that apron while sipping mint juleps, or who got married to the love of her life wearing that hat, or who baked cakes using that bowl, or who once admired that silver mirror on her dressing table, or who fed her babies in that high chair, decades, upon decades ago. Her name is always Eleanor in my head and she looks a lot like June Cleaver. Except she is a brunette. There are secrets behind her polite smile and feminine posture. She isn't as perfect, or as good as she seems. But she is always a true "lady". She has mastered angel food cake, loves her Mister fiercely and she refuses to wear stockings.

Don't mind me and my wicked imagination. We are pretty close.

My dear Grandmother. Sometimes we all need to take a load off...



Mama brought egg salad sandwiches for lunch. One of our favorites. This is what my mom ate after she spent hours laboring and birthing me, without the use of drugs I am compelled to mention. She said she was starving (it seems so wrong to deny a laboring woman food) and the sandwiches she packed tasted so gooooood. I can only imagine how very good they tasted.

I like to think that long after the umbilical cord was cut, my mom and I are still connected through egg salad sandwiches. Every time we eat them together, I ask my mom to tell the story of my birth day and her picnic lunch and I listen and smile like its the first time I have ever heard the tale. Dramatic? Maybe. But I think its just good nostalgia.

Who knew so much fun could be found on a sunny morning, under the freeway...

New Kicks.

The other night, Ryan went to bed early. Before I retired for the night, I was cleaning up the casa. I picked up Ryan's shoes and through the soles, I saw the carpet and my cherry red toenails.


He had two holes in his right shoe, both the size of silver dollars.


I burst into tears.


I couldn't believe that he had been going to work for who knows how long with nothing separating his precious feet from the ground but his dress socks.


My heart broke. Here I have been stashing pennies and blabbering on about a new camera and this man, my husband, has holes in his shoes. And he hasn't complained once.


Sometimes we have more in our wallets, sometimes less. But we certainly can always manage soles free of holes.


First thing that next morning, I headed to the 'Rack in search of new soles that would fit Ryan's "boats" (his term, not mine, but I use it as a term of endearment). I wasn't overly hopeful. Ryan's sizes are illusive and always crazy expensive.


I couldn't believe my luck - not only did they have his size but it was also "LARGE SIZE SHOE" day. The perfect fit, the perfect price.


When Ryan got home, I met him at the door with his new kicks. He shot me a knowing smile and tried them on. They fit.


And I was happy once again.

Birthday Boy

Today is this guy's birthday...

And he is one of a kind.

Trevor. is. also. really. funny. In fact, it just isn't a party in my book unless this guy is there. Most of the time, I feel like this guy completely beats me on the "cool-meter", but I pretty much feel like a celebrity just walking beside him.

One thing I know about Trevor is that if we were stuck in a window-less, concrete room with just four-walls, if Trevor were there, it would be a great party. For me at least. But it would be Trevor's worst nightmare. Being around hoards of people is when Trevor really shines. He feeds on socializing and he is really good at it. I always marvel at his ability to walk into a room full of strangers and walk out with seventy percent of the party shouting his name, getting his number, or writing on his Facebook wall.

Fun follows him. Like a shadow. He just can't help it.

In honor of the man's birthday, I thought a little trip down memory lane would be fitting. Through all of the years, here are my favorite Trevor moments:

*Trevor convincing me that I should dye my hair red in the seventh grade. He also convinced me that afterwards I should ride my bike home, whip my helmet off, shake my new scarlet locks and declare to my horrified mother that I was "a new woman." I did it.

*In middle school and high school, we lived in Erika's room. He got the recliner, I sat on the bed and Erika at her desk, manning the computer, or music. There we formed our club, LET, short for Lauren.Erika. Trevor and our motto? LET there be love.

*Road trip to Santa Barbara. Three of us crammed in the front seat of an old Buick for hours, stopping only for Burger King. Remember, that stop on the San Luis Obispo beach Trev? I do, and I am still mad. ;)

*Summer trips to Trevor's family cabin in Buck's Lake. One of my favorite spots on earth.

*Living right across from one another at the lovely Lincoln Place Apartments. We were so cool, we formed our own sorority.

*Sharing a room for nearly six months. Two beds, side by side. Lucy and Ricky style. We watched the First Wives Club over and over again and laughed at the same spots every time.

*Vacation to Myrtle Beach to celebrate Trevor's twenty-first birthday. I remember...most of it.

*The rad parties we threw for Cinco de Mayo and Christmas. They were fancy.

*The surprise party Trevor planned for my 22nd birthday at Lemon Grass. My one and only surprise party and all my friends were there. Perfect.

*Trevor's last Halloween costume. Mr. T. Hysterical. See photo above for proof.

*At our Mexican engagement fiesta, Trevor made his grand entrance wearing huge sunglasses, a rainbow colored poncho and a ginormous sombrero. I won't forget that image for the rest of my days.

*Deciding in ninth grade that we would dance under twinkle lights to "A Whiter Shade of Pale" by Procol and Harum at my wedding. Fourteen years later, just two months ago, we did just that.

Then he did the splits. Twice, actually.

I know my life would have a lot less laughter and many more regrettable outfits if it wasn't for his jokes and fashion advice. And if I can take one good thing from the seventh grade (bad haircuts and sweatpants pretty much ruined the that year for me), its that I met Trevor. I am pretty sure that my laugh had to adapt and grow in volume to accomodate the laughter he brings... But aside from the jokes and pranks, this man really has a heart of gold.

I love you Trevor. Thanks for being my BFF.

Happy, happy Birthday.

Let there be cake. And not just for birthdays.

Today I decided to bake my first "from scratch" cake in preparation for Mr. Kelly's impending birthday.

Ok, his birthday isn't actually until December but it is Saturday and I love to bake on Saturdays.

So I chose the chocolate cake recipe my mama always uses and when I called her with a question (I usually call her with several), she laughed and informed me that Brandy called her for this very recipe two days ago...I think that means we are soul sisters or something.

Beatty's Chocolate cake is the title...

I should first disclose that my decision to attempt this cake may or may not have had something to do with this movie and this ruffled cake stand, which my Tante's gifted me for my last birthday and which I had yet to use...isn't it darling?

So it begins...down to business.

This is the part where I sample, you know, just to ensure it is still edible. It was.




It looks like it is working...



I was proud that I did the toothpick test eight minutes early. Something just told me it was done. The smell, the look, I don't know. But I do know that I have been waiting for this type of intuition to arrive, and it is, slowly but surely. There is hope after all.


My mama taught me to clean as I go and I am a very obedient girl. Sometimes I clean with my finger, sometimes with soap. It just depends on my mood.

The frosting was more complicated. Sifting, double-boiling, blah, blah, blah. This part required a cold one.

This part, however, just required a cold glass of milk.

I am happy to announce that the frosting was like the most delicious velvet and the cake was quite moist, if I may be honest. And Ina was right, the coffee in the cake most certainly does add "depth of flavor". I now know exactly what she means by that statement. Before, I had no clue. Depth of flavor? What the...?

I get it now, Ina. And you are brilliant.

Feels good to have a classic staple, like a chocolate cake, under my belt.

Bring on the birthdays. This girl is ready.

Taco Thursday

Last night these two newlyweds came over for dinner. Remember them? They are so cute.


We ate tacos and guacamole and drank homemade beer.


We talked in a big group and then separated. Boy group and girl group.


The girls talked about our respective weddings and honeymoons, haircuts and jobs. I can't report on what the boys talked about, because, who knows what they talk about. Probably monster trucks and interest rates, you know, silly things like that.


We talked about being neighbors soon and about all the things we will do together. Like garage sales, Oktoberfest parties, the beauty of being able to walk home from each other's houses after we have sampled a bit too much beer, and shopping at the new Target that will open soon. The boys joked that we will only be allowed to ride our bikes to Target to limit the amount of goods we can come home with. I nodded and gave them my best defeated face. But I didn't tell them about my backpacking backpack. Ha! I could fit a large pony in that thing. {Enter sneaky smile.}


Later, we all gathered again to share scary fire stories. I of course, shared how I earned my nickname, Torchie, after burning off my bangs and eyebrows while working at the local El Torito-two words: flaming fajitas. Jimmy and Landra's fire story topped ours however, with a roommate who once decided to boil oil while trying to make fish and chips. Funny story.


I love watching Ryan belly laugh with one of his oldest friends. I usually belly laugh too, because Jimmy is very, very funny.


The night ended with brownies and hugs.


I love Taco Thursdays.


But I love couples friends even more.


P.S. Sorry for the picture-less post. I will try not to make a habit of it.

Lovey

I couldn't put my love for these two in words if I tried...

...but I think this picture tells us how they feel about one another:


Nothin' but love.



And that is why this is my favorite picture of them.


Well, maybe my second favorite picture.


I also adore their wedding photo - picture this: Mr. Studly (or as my friends call him, Patrick, as in Patrick Swayze) and a pretty little disco queen-all dressed in white and sportin' humogous grins like they both just hit the jackpot.


I think they did. Hit the jackpot, that is.


xoxo

P.S. Don't you just love the contented expression on my mama's face? I do.
P.P.S. Don't you think my dear ole' Dad's apron is just rockin'??

Lemon, Basil and Cream-Oh my!

I pondered:

what to do with a bowlful of lemons that would soon belong in the garbage...

a surplus of basil...

and left over heavy cream from our sister bake party...

And I slowly remembered this recipe that Pioneer Woman kindly shared with her blog friends last week. Do you know her? If not, you should really introduce yourself. This red-headed beauty/genius makes me giggle daily and makes NO apologies for the amount of butter most of her recipes call for. I couldn't resist giving this recipe a whirl. After all, I had all of the ingredients (when does that EVER happen?), and bottom line: pasta is my favorite guilty pleasure...

I think lemon and basil make for such a great couple...




Yah...




...it was pretty much a hit.

Scheidecker Saturday

These two lovers were married on Saturday... they vowed to "hike and hunt" and "shop and dance" with one another. It was sweet. So sweet. But it was Tim walking his daughter down that grassy aisle that really got my water works going...

And that cake...oh that cake. Handmade by the Bride and her posse. Now that's talent...




Mr. and Mrs. Kelly-oh yah, that's us!

Oh, happy day. Smiles from all...




Drinks were flowing...




And mischief and fun were rampant. Did I mention that my sisters and I danced as if all the music in the world was about to be destroyed forever? We may have been the only people on the dance floor, but I am pretty sure everyone was either jealous or seriously entertained because we really "danced with like no one was looking".

P.S. Girls, my feet still hurt. And I miss Sparkle.




These two really have something special...BFF's or "brotha from anotha motha", as Em likes to say. They may look grown here, but in my eyes, they will always be little ones, playing in the pool donning life jackets and toothless grins.




Gotta love: 1) cowboy boots under a big, white dress, 2) the song that will never die Macarena and 3) a father/daughter dance.



My favorite part of this wedding was, hands down, the photo booth. I was in that thing all night. And I am not exaggerating. Obsessed, I was.

And here is the proof:

Here's to the Jones'!

Welcome to the married club.

And I gotta say...it's pretty grand.

Sunday Sturgeon

On date nights, I try to look as cute as possible. Last night I wore Ryan's favorite outfit...a little white summer skirt that I have had for over FOUR summers. For some reason, the man loves it and never tires of it. It isn't short or tight, it's just fun and screams "SUMMMMMMER!". Hard to complain about that.

I worry what will happen when this little skirt comes out of the dryer one day in shreds. It's bound to happen. I asked Ryan what we will do when that dreaded day arrives and he said simply, "I will buy you another one". I didn't have the heart to explain how fleeting fashion is and that it would be impossible to visit the store and request a duplicate of the skirt I bought so long ago. Here's to hoping.




Anyway, because we planned to enjoy an appetizer waterfront, I thought my faux wayfarers would be particularly fitting...




The Virgin Sturgeon is a favorite Kelly family haunt...but I had yet to visit the establishment.

I thought that since my last name is Kelly now, I had better get in that place. Lucky for me, Mr. Kelly agreed.




The entrance was so kitschy and cool!

Love dinner with a view... especially when law enforcement is in full swing. You see....Mr. Kelly and I share a love for being "in the know" and sometimes our curiosity gets the best of us. But this time, we didn't have to jump in the car and follow the sirens, it was all viewable from our table-yessss!

Tasty little suckers!

Mr. Kelly treated me to a coffee for dessert....

This beautiful skyscape, however, was free of charge.

P.S. I found this tree verrrrry spooky and it had me yearning for the return of Fall and for streets full of yellow, crunchy leaves...only 51 days to go.