Baby Fever

No, I haven't quite caught it yet (sorry, Mom!) but with the insanely cute little munchkins my friends keep having, I'm kind of surprised I'm not more feverish than I am.

Fortunately, because Heather has a boy (Beckett Michael), Christina will be having a boy any day now (Brayden Nicholas), and Holly has twin boys (Aiden Tyler and Andrew Thomas) and a baby girl (Brenna Elsie), I have all my bases covered in the event I see a cute tiny-person outfit that I feel compelled to buy on the spot.

I think Jack was starting to get a little concerned when I ordered a bunch of summer outfits for Brenna and proceeded to spend the next hour cooing over how cute they were (keep in mind we're talking about clothes here...not an actual child). He had to draw the line when I threatened to buy itty-bitty shoes for Mason to wear. But seriously, the little embroidered mini skirt with matching espadrilles, and the ruffled yellow polka-dot swimsuit and matching sun hat were just too damn precious.

As the case may be, however, the cuteness of these little outfits paled in comparison to the cuteness of the kiddos.

I got to spend a bit of time carrying around the insufferably adorable Beckett at Christina's baby shower last Sunday. Seriously, this kid might be the happiest little muffin I've ever met. For the three hours we were at the shower, he didn't cry or even fuss once. Despite being passed around to all of our friends and having to deal with me holding him for about 20 minutes while Heather got some food, he was always grinning or just taking it all in. Such an angel!






And, of course, last weekend I also got to meet the latest addition to my best friend's brood....Brenna. Even at six weeks old I think she might still be smaller than Beckett was at birth (Heather, you're a trooper!) but she has every bit as much spunk and insatiable cuteness. She wasn't quite as content to let me hold her as Beckett was, but she did eventually fall asleep in my lap. With Holly's big blue eyes and already a fantastic sense of style (her big brothers help pick out her outfits everyday!), this little princess is gonna be a heartbreaker.

I can't take credit for the following pics because they were actually taken by another one of Brenna's pseudo-aunties, Jenny K., but they were too precious not to include.

Craig is 30!

Our trip back to St. Louis last weekend was really just one big surprise party. Less than 24 hours after we surprised Tara and Craig with an engagement party at Joe's house, Tara surprised Craig again with a 30th birthday party at The Dubliner in downtown St. Louis. She co-hosted the party with Craig's older brother, Jeff, and managed to pull off an event that was not only a total surprise for the birthday boy but also one hell of a party for all of Craig's friends and family.

Craig's actual birthday is today (4/28) so he totally didn't see this coming nine days in advance. In fact, the poor guy was so convinced that his fiancee had forgotten his birthday that he was already putting together an impromptu backyard celebration for this weekend. He had absolutely no idea that his friends and family had come in from as far away as Louisville (and San Diego!) to help him bid his twenties farewell.

Tara got him to the bar by having me send out a fake email asking a few friends to join us there for dinner since we were going to be in town for the weekend (little did he know that his party was the main reason we chose that particular weekend to come into town). He walked into the upstairs bar, which was completely reserved for the party, to see his parents, siblings, and about 40 other friends waiting for him. Tara had arranged for an appetizer buffet, an open bar, and a really amazing gourmet cake. To say that we all indulged would be an understatement. Because last Saturday also marked our buddy Brian's last night in the Lou before moving to Miami, we had all the reason in the world to get our drink on. Let's just say I had enough vodka tonics to have to use my camera and outgoing text messages the next morning to piece the end of my night together.

After several hours at The Dubliner a few of us moved the party on down the road to the new downtown location of Tin Can while the rest of the crew headed back to our trio of rooms at The Millinneum Hotel to order pizza and pass out (Jack and I bought Craig a hotel room there for his birthday. But under no circumstances will we ever stay there again. It was awful!). We rounded out the night by saying our goodbyes to Brian, trying our best to wake up all our inebriated friends by invading their hotel rooms, and consuming copious amounts of my favorite drunk food in the whole world--White Castle!! (There are no White Castles in SoCal, so every time we're home I send my poor husband out in a cab to fetch me some jalapeno cheeseburgers and chicken rings with cheese....heaven!)

Note: Pics have been carefully selected and edited for content to protect our friends' children from knowing how scandalous their parents are when they're not around.

Not my best photography, but it was the best I could do to catch the expression on Craig's face when he walked in and realized what was going on.

Craig and his sister-in-law.

Craig with his mama and wife-to-be.

The pictures really started getting a lot more scandalous after this point.

Awwww...aren't they cute?

Our crew. Don't know why I have a white dot over my face, but whatev.

Saying bye to Brian.

The Cat Lady

Ever had one of those nicknames that is just really unflattering and that you just can't shake? I just acquired a new one.

Several weeks ago I attended a private mediation with my boss and a client. The mediator was a very well-respected, retired judge (read: someone upon whom you want to make a good impression). So we're in a private caucus with just me and the boss, our client and the judge. Our client (who was resisting acquiescing to his ex-wife's monetary demands) was trying to illustrate the fact that just because someone tells you to do something doesn't mean you would actually think it was a good idea to do it. As an example he said to the judge, "If you had a cat and found out you were allergic to it, you wouldn't kill your cat," to which the judge, without missing a beat, replies, "Sure I would. I'd shoot the damn cat. I hate cats."

Now, any person of normal sensibilities could probably see that the judge (who is actually a kind, older man who wouldn't harm a mouse) was just making a point. However, being the extreme cat person that I am (if you need a refresher on this point, check out this post), I was horrified. Purely on impulse, my jaw dropped, my eyes got big, and I audibly expressed my dismay that anyone would find it okay to say they'd shoot a cat. The judge stopped mid-sentence and everyone in the room turned to look at me. Not my most professional moment.

Last week, a handwritten note arrived from the judge and addressed to my boss. In a very unusual move for a judge, he was writing to tell her that our research had been spot-on and our brief superbly written (which I took as a huge compliment since I did all the research and most of the drafting). He also mentioned that he found "the cat lady" to be very poised.

Um, What? After that whole three hour mediation and every other insightful thing I said to him, he doesn't even remember my name? I am to be known as "the cat lady?"

Adding insult to my injury, my boss forwarded the note onto the named partner who heads the entire litigation department. Because it was such an honor (and rarity) to receive a written compliment such as this from a judge, the big boss had the note copied verbatim and forwarded it to the entire firm....every attorney, paralegal, secretary, file clerk, and mailroom attendant. Just to make sure everyone was clear on who "the cat lady" was, my name was specifically added to the text.

Awesome. To all the people in my firm (including many with whom I've yet to even speak), I shall henceforth be known as The Cat Lady. Now that doesn't make me sound desperate, old, or weird, does it?

Tara and Craig's Engagement Party

If I could ever find a way to make as much money planning parties as I do practicing law, I'd hang up my bar card for good. For at least the last six years or so, it's been a sort of not-so-secret passion. Unfortunately, because we now live in a smallish apartment and don't really know enough people here to pull off anything more than a happy hour, I'm going through party planning withdrawals.

So if you can't plan a shindig where you are, you plan one where your friends are, right?

Coordinating a surprise engagement party for Tara and Craig from 1800 miles away was a bit of a challenge, but I think it came together really nicely. Our friend Joe graciously allowed me to host the party in his house, and all our friends did a great job of keeping everything a secret.

I convinced Tara and Craig that we were actually meeting Holly for dinner and that Joe had decided at the last minute to join us and wanted us to pick him up. We staged a phone call between me and Joe in which he would tell me he was running late and ask us to come inside and grab a beer while he got ready. Tara and Craig didn't even question it.

All the guests parked a couple blocks away and, after my staged phone call to Joe, hid in the kitchen until we showed up. We walked into Joe's (seemingly empty) house and Tara and Craig noticed that Joe's flat screen tv was playing a picture slideshow. When they saw a picture of their two cats as babies, Craig said "those cats on Joe's tv look a lot like Izzy and Cali," but they still didn't know what was going on. When the next pic that came up was a picture of them, they started to get suspicious. Right then, all of our friends poured out from the kitchen and I said, "Oh I forgot to mention that we're throwing you a surprise engagement party." Tears ensued. Many hugs were exchanged. And a night of debauchery began.

Jack and I bought enough food to feed a football team and everyone stuffed themselves on burgers, brats, hot dogs, salad, grilled garlic potatoes with cheese, chips and salsa and 7-layer dip, rye bread and beer cheese dip, and custom-made M&Ms in their wedding colors. Several hours into the party, in honor of the fact that my darling college roommate has been known to eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner, we had a little ice cream social with three flavors and all the toppings. And of course there was some beer, a spiked punch (also in the wedding colors), and some beer. Oh, and then later we had some beer.

Given that we planned for Tara and Craig to stay the night (no one should leave their own engagement party sober enough to drive home) and Tara would probably not want to sleep in the clothes she wore to the party, I had a t-shirt made for her (in the wedding colors, surprise surprise) that said "bride-to-be." And we also made a shirt for Joe to thank him for letting us use his house. You'll see pics below. The text and graphics are kind of an inside joke that will make sense to only about 5% of my readers, but rest assured that it's really funny.

Overall, I think the night was a success. Tara and Holly did such a fantastic job planning all my wedding-related events last spring, so I was really happy to be able to bring everyone together to honor Tara and Craig in the same way....even if that meant coordinating it from two time zones away.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I also wore the wedding colors? :)

The whole crew. Gotta love self-timers.

Proud parents-to-be. Due in one month!

Our gracious host and his hot little lady.

Ryan and Heather boxing each other. And yeah, that's the groom-to-be passed out on the couch.

Evie and Sean--less than three weeks until "I do!"

Dogs Don't Forget

When we pulled our Uhaul out of St. Louis last summer to move to San Diego, we had to leave more behind than just our house, family and friends. As you may know, our sweet lab/shepherd mix, Lizzie, couldn't come with us because our apartment complex would only allow one dog.

We've been asked a million times how we chose between Mason (who lives in San Diego with us) and Lizzie (who now lives with my parents outside St. Louis). People ask, "Isn't it like choosing which one of your children you like better?" If only that were the case.

To be honest, we took Mason with us to California because he was the bad dog and we were pretty sure no one else would want him. I'm so not kidding. He also happens to be more suited to apartment living (we got him when he was just a baby, so he was accustomed to small living quarters and moving, whereas we got Liz when she was almost two and she was already pretty set in her ways and routine). But really, the main reason was just that Mason has a serious case of canine ADHD and thinks he's smarter than you, and we knew the chances of stumbling across another person who found these qualities endearing was slim to none. Liz, on the other hand, is docile and calm. She doesn't bark and she listens (or at least tries to). She is essentially a really big, simple-minded lap dog. Everyone loved Lizzie. Everyone merely tolerated Mason.

So Mason hopped into the cab of Jack's pickup truck and came to California, while Lizzie curled her big, lanky body into a tight little ball in my parents' car and headed off to her new life of spoiled, gluttonous relaxation. When we pulled away, I think Lizzie was just so excited to be going for a car ride that it never occurred to her that we weren't coming with her. I, on the other hand, cried most of the way to the Oklahoma border and called my parents along the way only to ask how she was doing.

It's been almost ten months since we moved and Liz has spent that time getting to know my mom's two white, prissy, yappy dogs (who, despite the fact that they are entirely annoying, probably irritate her significantly less than Mason did) and nuzzling her wet black nose right into my parents' hearts. She now sleeps on the couch (which we never let her do), eats as much as she pleases (and has put on a few extra pounds), and happily lounges in my parents' boat when they all go away for the weekend.

Given that I'd only seen Liz twice in the past ten months (and Jack has only seen her once) and she's so enamored with her new life, I felt certain that she wouldn't even remember who we were by now. So imagine my surprise when we showed up to my parents' house during our trip home last weekend and found Liz bounding to the door to greet us. Her tail was wagging so fervently that her entire butt was swaying back and forth. Strangely enough, she even seemed to have a smile plastered across her little doggie face. She couldn't seem to get enough of Jack and didn't let him get more than three feet away from her at any time.

Much to the chagrin of the two white yappers, Lizzie got to come downstairs and hang out with us for the night. Even though Mason isn't allowed to so much as put a paw on our bed (or any piece of furniture for that matter), Jack invited Liz right up to sleep with us, assuming she'd curl up at the foot of the bed where it would be cooler and she'd have the most room. Not so much. Neither of us suspected she'd inch her 70 pound body all the way up to the pillows, plant herself firmly between us, and commence a very contented panting six inches from our faces while we tried to fall asleep. Despite Jack's best efforts to reposition her or push her to the foot of the bed, once she was up there, it was evident she wasn't going back down.

And so that's how we slept...

Liz lodged in between us, with one paw on my pillow and one paw on Jack's, and her head on my stomach at such an angle that she could feel if I so much as moved, while simultaneously monitoring every breath Jack took.

Maybe our sweet girl hadn't forgotten us after all.

Our best attempt to get a picture with Lizzie. One of my mom's fluffballs decided to join the photo op and we ended up with just a little bit of Lizzie's face and really horrible picture of me. At least Jack looks cute.

Green is the New Black

There is a reason they call San Diego "America's Finest City." When you're basking in a 77 degree day over some of the best sushi or Mexican food in the country while the sun glistens off the Pacific, you really can't help but agree. And although southern California universally gets a bad rap for its air pollution, emissions and smog, none of that ickiness seems to cross over the Orange County/San Diego County line. Around here, our air is fresh and our sky (as long as there are no wildfires) is clear.

Nevertheless, my little southern Californian slice of heaven--like the rest of the planet--is at serious risk unless we, as a nation, clean up our act. Pronto. Two other major California cities are already on MSN's list of the cities most at risk of rising sea levels with global warming, and I have a feeling San Diego may not be far behind.

For those who live in San Diego, the opportunities to go green and stay green are all around you. Given that San Diegans throw out enough recyclables to fill Petco Park from the dugouts to the nosebleeds five times over each year, it's no surprise the city recently passed a mandatory recycling ordinance which requires recycling of plastic and glass bottles and jars, paper, newspaper, metal containers and cardboard at private residences, commercial buildings, and at special events requiring a City permit. The state already requires a stringent "smog test" before you can license your car. And the City of San Diego alone has more than 30 organic grocery stores catering to those who want to do their part to keep our crops insecticide free. All in all, around here, it is easy being green.

Of course, that's not to say that there isn't always a little more we can be doing. We may not all be ready to bike to work, install solar panels on our roofs or avoid toilet flushing to save water, but I'm a firm believer in it being the little things that count.

Assuming you've already heard a million times the basics like turning off the faucet while you brush your teeth and recycling your aluminum cans, here are a few other random "green" tidbits I've recently uncovered to help us all be a little more eco-chic.

1) Properly dispose of liquid cosmetics. Products such as suntan lotion can harm aquatic life if not disposed of properly. Before throwing away liquid beauty products, pour the liquid into cat litter, let the litter absorb the liquid, then toss the whole thing.

2) Turn off your computer. You'll save an average of $90 in electricity a year (not to mention saving wear and tear on your computer). The Department of Energy suggests shutting off your monitor if you're not going to use it for 20 minutes, and your entire computer if you're not going to use it for two hours.

3) Wash your laundry in cold water. Most loads don't need hot water (and let's be honest, who wants to shrink yet another pair of jeans?) and 90% of the energy used by washing machines goes into heating.

4) Cut off the junk mail. Experts estimate that 100 million trees and 28 billion gallons of water go into sending Americans junk mail each year. You can stop up to 75% of the junk by registering (for a fee of $1) on the Mail Service Preference on the Direct Marketing Association website.

5) Lay off the disposable water bottles. Americans add over 30 million plastic water bottles to our landfills everyday! These petroleum-based plastic bottles unnecessarily burn fossil fuels in manufacture and may take up to 1,000 years to biodegrade. So leave the Dasani and Fiji on the shelf and start carrying your own refillable, reuseable bottle (recent reports indicate that the popular Nalgene bottles and other similar shatterproof plastic bottles may, over time, be harmful to your health; opt instead for a reuseable aluminum bottle such as those from Sigg. I just ordered this eco-chic bottle myself last week). In addition to doing your part to save the planet, assuming you drink a liter a day, you'll save yourself somewhere between $500 and $1000 per year by drinking the (totally safe, EPA regulated) tap water instead of bottled.

For more green tips, check out The Daily Green or read up on green travel at my friend Ashley's travel blog, Life Love & the Pursuit of the Next Great Vacation.

From the "greenest" county in southern California, Happy Earth Day!

Broken Tail

My poor Mason has a broken booty. :(

Last weekend Nick and Noosa came down from Orange County to stay with us again. Despite the fact that it was cold (by California standards, at least....it was about 60) and windy, we decided to back up a cooler of beer and head to the beach with the pups.

Jess and I froze our bums off but the dogs had a grand ol' time. Labs are notorious for their love of the water and Mason certainly enjoys a good swim every now and then, but when we're at dog beach he's usually a lot more interested in chasing other pooches around in the sand than romping in the surf. However, given his apparent crush on Noosa, he was more than content to follow her wherever she went, even if that meant they were both neck deep in the chilly Pacific.





Of course when we all got back to our place to get ready to go out, we had to throw both dogs in the tub to wash off the sand, saltwater and other crud they got themselves into. Somehow the combination of cold ocean water followed by warm bath water gave Mason a condition known as "cold water tail."

According to my savvy internet research, this is an injury that affects primarily labs and other retrievers. The water temperature causes the pup's tail to become limp and painful. Instead of sticking up in the air and wagging, it points straight down to the floor, doesn't move, and is sensitive to touch. We were convinced his tail was broken at first, but the symptoms of "cold water tail" seemed to fit a lot better.

We first noticed something was up with Mason on Sunday morning when he couldn't sit on the kitchen floor for a treat and had to back up to the carpet before we could put his butt down. Within a couple hours he couldn't sit at all. If you told him to sit he'd start to move his bum downward but the moment his tail made contact with the floor he'd stand straight back up and look at you with an expression of pain and total confusion. Eventually he stopped even trying, and telling him to sit caused him to plop down in the yoga position known as downward dog--a reverse "sit," if you will--with his front paws on the ground and his butt stuck up in the air.



The poor guy couldn't figure out how to lay down at all and it was obvious that he was really tired of standing for hours at a time, so we started having to just push him over onto his side so he could relax. Not the easiest thing to do to a 70 pound confused and injured dog, let me tell ya. And it took five days for his tail to be fully operational again. My poor fella.