Lasagnamania

I love a good lasagna. And although somewhat trite - I think it a perfect meal to bring a family that has just had a baby (freezes well, serves easily, lots of it!) The City of Greenville has apparently infused the public water system with some sort of fertility drug - because around here people get pregnant simply by thinking about it.

Our close friends in Greenville (the Millers) had their baby girl on Friday, AND our next door neighbor gave birth to a baby boy on Sunday, and of course I had to make and extra one for Husband and me . . . . lasagna time!

I had a new recipe from another Greenville friend (Catie) that I was excited to try out. I went to the grocery store and stocked up on sauce (9 bottles), meat (3 pounds), noodles (2 boxes), and cheese (you don't want to know). I had made an entire lasagna assembly line and spent most of the afternoon prepping and baking . . . an otherwise tiresome task that was actually enjoyable because I was doing it in the name of new babies (a worthy cause, in my opinion).

Tonight will be lasagna-drop-off-night, which is really just a clever ruse for get-to-see-the-babies-night. I am shameless.

The Land of (Happy Cow) Milk and (Local) Honey

At a road side market near our house:

I respect religion. All types. But don't you think that declaring appreciation for Jesus's martyrdom on the same road sign as your vine ripe tomato sale and green "p-nuts" somehow diminishes its spiritual value?

ps. Bonus points if you immediately saw that "tomatos" is spelled wrong

pps. There were no berries at this market - even though it was on the board - TWICE.

Prime Real Estate

My Weight Watchers meetings are held in a strip mall between a plus-sized women's clothing store and a Honey Baked Hams.

Why I am and why I'm not.

WHY I AM . . . writing this at 5:50 in the morning.
The power at our house has been out for the past 12 hours. It's too hot to sleep and too dark to do anything productive. So when Husband left for the hospital, I got dressed (in the dark) and headed to work - where I could, at the very least, get something productive done.

WHY I'M NOT . . . writing for the next week.
Tomorrow we leave for my absolute favorite vacation of the year. Every summer, my grandparents take 28 of us (parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings) to Hilton Head for a week. We do family stuff. Play volleyball on the beach, swim, bike (oh, do we bike!), run, read, take beach walks, go crabbing, look for sand dollars, watch fireworks, fly kites, order pizza, go out to dinner, play poker, and just relax. It's the most amazing week of the year and I have been counting down the days since last August. See you in a week!

Know her. Love her.

To truly appreciate this story - you have to know my Grammy. If you don't - you may read on, but with the understanding that this might not be funny in any way without the context of actually meeting her, knowing her, and loving her.

I got a message on my voicemail from Grammy. She's making me an afghan, she says. For the new house. Call her to tell her what colors she should use.

I discuss with Husband. It is so sweet of her to make us something. We really want it to be special. To be used and loved as it should be. Husband offers that we should ask her to make a baby blanket. Even though there is no baby (yet) - how amazing would it be to be born and have a blanket waiting for you - handmade by your GREAT Grandmother. Amazing.

I tell him - Grammy won't go for that. Jewish superstition. Some people won't even keep gifts from a baby shower in the house while they are pregnant. Bad Juju for the Jewjews. There's no way she'll make an afghan for a baby that hasn't even been conceived.

We decide that neutral colors will be best. Browns and beiges . . . to match our living room.

But when I call her - something comes over me. I want the baby blanket. I realize (everyday) how lucky I am to have four living grandparents - and my greatest wish is for my yet-to-be-conceived child to have a piece of every one of them. To know them. To love them. So I take a deep breath - prepared for her to poo-poo the idea - and I tell her that I am NOT pregnant, but what would really be special is a blanket that we could give to our first born child.

She responds:
"Mameshaineh - Don't be silly. I already made one for the baby. I have it waiting in the closet - and believe me it's STUNNING."

I can't wait to see it :)

My Day Off Work . . . At Work

Having just completed the end-of-the-school-year-fiasco that includes IB exams, finals, awards night, and graduation - I decided to take a much-needed day off to recuperate. Not in the traditional sense of laying on the couch and watching Law & Order (my typical recuperation routine) - but instead doing all the things that had fallen by the wayside in the past few weeks (including, but not limited to, bill paying, mail sorting, bank, dry cleaners, laundry, house cleaning, grocery shopping, haircut, prescription refills, and an overdue maintenance service for my car.)

The morning was productive - and the service appointment for the car was scheduled for 2:00. I figured it would take about 30 minutes. Max.

I figured wrong. They estimated work time of 2 hours. Given my vast social network in Greenville (please read that with the appropriate amount of sarcasm) - and the fact that it was too small of a window to make it worth inconveniencing someone else's day - I went to work. On my day off.

School is only about a mile from the service center. I had a co-worker pick me up, and now I am sitting at my desk - committed to doing anything but actual work for the next 1 hour and 40 minutes.

Night Drop Box leads to Morning Trash Pickup

I had to get a picture of this sign spotted while taking a friend to pick up his car at the service shop of the car dealership. Leaving your car after hours? No sweat! Just leave your keys in our Night Drop Box - I'm sure they'll be fine.