tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78974765599885950732024-02-19T01:41:58.019-08:00Vanessa and CompanyVanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-10927135475778210562009-09-11T09:22:00.000-07:002009-09-11T09:36:47.122-07:00Bye, Blogger....<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0hSS5-h9w79cJwrxoSJVXKy_4kDrYJDFhyR3CfuryDKPOYE4YXesnlWg8IbESWVoTCHUPX4iaRF_8aRfQHTb1UZn4VujTAcIPPx0rFUvfQwowEAymWaZgWU1LU0SQRutE951mmi21ks/s1600-h/babycrying.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 325px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0hSS5-h9w79cJwrxoSJVXKy_4kDrYJDFhyR3CfuryDKPOYE4YXesnlWg8IbESWVoTCHUPX4iaRF_8aRfQHTb1UZn4VujTAcIPPx0rFUvfQwowEAymWaZgWU1LU0SQRutE951mmi21ks/s400/babycrying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380249314744044146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photo courtesy of http://www.ed2010.com</span><br /></span></div><br />I'll miss you, I really will. Even though, I've been a lackluster blogger these last couple of months, we really had a good thing going. Don't be sad though, it's not you, it's me. I know, I know, that's such a crappy "break-up" line, but well, it's true....mostly.<br /><br />See, I just gave my website a makeover, and integrated a blog into the <a href="http://www.vanessaandcompany.com/">new site</a>.<br />I really wanted to keep using you, but I had to switch over to Wordpress.<br />It's all <a href="http://www.godaddy.com/">Go Daddy's</a> fault. Yeah. They don't offer you as one of their platforms.<br />I had no choice, I swear.<br />Oscar made me do it.<br /><br />Can we still be friends?<br />Okay, okay, I understand. At least we'll have our memories.<br /><br />P.S. Come visit, over at my <a href="http://www.vanessaandcompany.com/wordpress">new home</a>!!Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-6534328183091069012009-07-28T23:59:00.000-07:002009-07-29T01:10:49.628-07:00Celebration<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZR6YGhspOsU3nE24wmV_VqNksGsPcYyPJgkaiu4nTl-yRmkb73vhvYZfS89JyBff8c-J2KBwCKllAMi_EAM0fbVUX8JAKuY9PcYJ2OYZjNxoSx7nWyYwh4vi18PZViLuLhSoto8o0ltU/s1600-h/Chloehospital1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZR6YGhspOsU3nE24wmV_VqNksGsPcYyPJgkaiu4nTl-yRmkb73vhvYZfS89JyBff8c-J2KBwCKllAMi_EAM0fbVUX8JAKuY9PcYJ2OYZjNxoSx7nWyYwh4vi18PZViLuLhSoto8o0ltU/s400/Chloehospital1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363783632491362130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Baby Chloe at CHOC the day we brought her home. She was so tiny, only five pounds.<br /></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;">It's exactly midnight, July 29, 2009, as I type this.<br />It's just another day to many, but it's a day of great significance to me and my little family.<br />Six years ago today, our Chloe came into the world.<br />SIX YEARS. I cannot believe it.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaTpRUVtSUQ0HlLus5pmsWQyhVEbHzYnsiRLZPkNYBkwpUlCqbvkdB2FHY3xJkxqyW0CYpr_-YGiEFlY4UV5iYWRtlxOXoI7jD5UduFnVKTD0Vh2rTeKe8SWn0NEdiBPivmHCexFb2t0/s1600-h/chloeandsabrina.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaTpRUVtSUQ0HlLus5pmsWQyhVEbHzYnsiRLZPkNYBkwpUlCqbvkdB2FHY3xJkxqyW0CYpr_-YGiEFlY4UV5iYWRtlxOXoI7jD5UduFnVKTD0Vh2rTeKe8SWn0NEdiBPivmHCexFb2t0/s400/chloeandsabrina.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363783642532062290" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Sabrina and Chloe, first day home.<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />You may be thinking, "Yeah, yeah, it's your kid's birthday, big deal.."<br />But, you see, it is indeed a BIG deal. Huge.<br />It's a big deal because when Chloe was born, we didn't know how long she would be with us.<br />She was born with medical issues, lots of them.<br />We didn't know there would be any problems with her health, beforehand, and were caught completely by surprise.<br /><br />Parenthood is already a roller coaster ride, but for parents of children with special needs, it is doubly so. I have never been a fan of surprises, but the situation that we found ourselves faced with, ultimately brought out our best.<br />Our support system has been phenomenal. To all of you, my heart is filled to the brim with love and gratitude. You will never know how much, truly. You mean the world to us.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7-fZCPSrpkIQYY2YS-xcEFY9xwJWjGKQvMwHNPUwAAQwRxuKRAX5xmg67e5t5gUkqwKdMVaeexLi8noUjTJZtjIX-shVknijhu7rHhb1jyDfABDNM9zJQoaHrWzA9Dxi07SCZJ4CdGQ/s1600-h/chloeoneyear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7-fZCPSrpkIQYY2YS-xcEFY9xwJWjGKQvMwHNPUwAAQwRxuKRAX5xmg67e5t5gUkqwKdMVaeexLi8noUjTJZtjIX-shVknijhu7rHhb1jyDfABDNM9zJQoaHrWzA9Dxi07SCZJ4CdGQ/s400/chloeoneyear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363783647139234706" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Chloe's is one year old here. What a cutie pie!<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />As I look at my sleeping baby (well, six year old, not really a "baby" anymore), I am awed at all she has accomplished. If you know her, you know, that it's been a long journey, but an amazing one, an eye-opening one, a cathartic one.<br /><br />I am blessed to have been given the opportunity to raise this little person.<br /><br />Happy, Happy Birthday Chloe.<br />Here's to many, many more.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3Jpn_180w5UyzgB4h8DXkgKfCpb92BWgviktmNJitYbs6YZUMQPlcrC2_42DkLFEOKMUs-QpIBagy_VNnRh1M9T-7LOq9CylXTdngmUfGHIsWTEoo_fvc6YaOVxcm4Eu3x1YmbbqI3M/s1600-h/chloelongbeach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3Jpn_180w5UyzgB4h8DXkgKfCpb92BWgviktmNJitYbs6YZUMQPlcrC2_42DkLFEOKMUs-QpIBagy_VNnRh1M9T-7LOq9CylXTdngmUfGHIsWTEoo_fvc6YaOVxcm4Eu3x1YmbbqI3M/s400/chloelongbeach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363783654732214130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >My big girl.<br />Having lunch at Shoreline Village last week.</span><br /></div>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-57713796081360261422009-07-07T10:11:00.000-07:002009-07-07T16:17:06.687-07:00Summer Lovin'<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBHspa_EVwNis-eOlcCCMMtbdjPKruhilWMLXa7J4_zbq1W6O_q2kdl0JXf2JHR8yY_kfNIZ_Na-FB6xnkpTETzjua1vYXRTtp5lYamlQGfTLKUpq9CMJp_kQXd6M3is7ovbXitX7g5M/s1600-h/brucesmargarita.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBHspa_EVwNis-eOlcCCMMtbdjPKruhilWMLXa7J4_zbq1W6O_q2kdl0JXf2JHR8yY_kfNIZ_Na-FB6xnkpTETzjua1vYXRTtp5lYamlQGfTLKUpq9CMJp_kQXd6M3is7ovbXitX7g5M/s400/brucesmargarita.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355770528645016274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A Margarita made by my brother-in-law Bruce, heaven in a glass.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Photo taken by and borrowed from Monica)</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The summer is flying, flying by crazy fast. It's already July, soon it will be August, and then September, which means time for the little people to go back to school...though Sabrina is already itching to go back...nutty kid!<br /><br />There are lots of things I love about summer, as it's slowly evolving into one of my favorite seasons.<br />Okay, so lets see....summer love is:<br /><br />Backyard BBQ's<br />Running through the sprinklers<br />Frozen yogurt with mini M&M's<br />Nana's Potato Salad<br />Blue skies<br />Slip 'N Slides<br />Margaritas with extra salt<br />The smell of Sunscreen<br /><br />I love summer! Hope you're lovin' it too.</span></span>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-80393559199335022052009-06-20T18:04:00.000-07:002009-06-20T18:35:29.233-07:00LOLSabrina and I have an <span style="font-style: italic;">agreement.</span><br />She's allowed to have fast food once a week.<br />It started out as Fast Food Friday, but I have since thrown caution to the wind, and let her pick whatever day of the week she wants, to have fast food.<br /><br />Last week, we were pulling out of the drive thru at Carl's Jr, when I glanced at the girls in the rear view mirror, and happened to catch a glimpse of Sabrina examining her arm.<br /><br />"Sabrina," I said "How many times do I have to tell you to put lotion on your arms?"<br />"You really need to put lotion everywhere," I continued. "I tell you that ev-..."<br />"I know, I know," she interrupted me, "I have dyslexia!"<br />"What?" I said, confused.<br />"Sabrina, do you even know what dyslexia means?"<br />"Of course I do!" she said exasperatedly "It means I have really dry skin!"<br />After a couple of seconds of silence, I erupted into a fit of giggles so fierce, I almost had to pull over to avoid getting into a car accident.<br />"Mama, what is so funny?" she demanded.<br />After I caught my breath, I said "Sabrina, you don't have dyslexia, you have <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">eczema</span>!<br />"Oh," she said "That's what I meant, eczema."<br /><br />When the giggles finally died down, I explained what dyslexia was, and told her that I wasn't laughing at people that have dyslexia, it was the confusion between the two words, that got me going.<br /><br />LOL indeed. I haven't laughed that hard in years.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-30923711879422187052009-06-12T08:56:00.000-07:002009-06-12T19:49:37.836-07:00A Melange of SortsFirst of all, I have to say this gloomy weather is killing me.<br />I am usually digging the gloom, but since June is reaching it's middle point, my brain is seriously confused. I mean, it's supposed to be warm, sunny even, umm, you know, <span style="font-style: italic;">summery.</span><br />No, luck though.<br />It's been overcast and rainy going on two weeks now, with no end in sight.<br />Oh well, another excuse to fire up the 'ole oven, and bake with abandon.<br /><br />The other night, Sabrina casually mentions that the 4th/5th grade "Hoedown" is coming up, and would I be so kind as to pick up a "few" things at the market, you know, our contribution to the party.<br /><br />"Coming up?" I ask, "What does that mean exactly? When do you need to bring this stuff to school?"<br />She looks away from my piercing death stare, and mumbles,<br />"Um, let me go get the note."<br />She hands me a crumbled piece of paper, and as I'm reading it, I notice the deadline to bring in hoedown items is <span style="font-style: italic;">today</span>.<br />"Sabrina," I say "When did you get this note? The deadline was today."<br />"Oh," she says quickly, "It's okay, Mrs. V. said we could bring stuff in tomorrow too."<br />"Well, that's a relief," I say sarcastically.<br />Then she adds, "Mama, do you think you can make me some of those jeans with the patches, and a cowboy shirt?"<br /><br />Okay, I love my kid, I swear, but this is Wednesday night, and the hoedown is Friday.<br />I am many things, but I ain't no miracle worker.<br />Not to mention, I have been working like a dog on a wholesale order I need to deliver <span style="font-style: italic;">soon</span>.<br /><br />I promptly tell her she's crazy, and there is no way I can produce an outfit with such little notice.<br /><br />"Okay mama," she says in a sweet and gentle tone, "I understand."<br /><br />Can you say, "bad mother"?<br /><br />I of course, buy the hot dogs and lemonade for the hoedown, and proceed to descend into the realm of guilt, where even the best of mamas end up occasionally.<br /><br />Yesterday afternoon, giving in to my guilty conscience, I attempt to produce a "cowgirl-ish" outfit for the hoedown.<br />I have to say, the fact that she would even want to wear an outfit made by me (she is almost ten, which says it all), is a victory in itself, and well worth the extra effort on my part, to sew it all at the last minute.<br />She looked adorable, and was so grateful, that I really felt like a heel for my initial reluctance.<br /><br />Here's my girl:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEUP_ssYAruE2UzeUiRg5vqMEMgLq9G54bHEuiGsUAfQAKpw_GTuvmO7Viskh3V4nt7qN5NgBzoW41R0oY1-9uh8aCZ_ckkh5ivPhHREwsr_B5XKocy8HXSumaPU6HhyKCYFBgbujO84/s1600-h/sabrinahoedown3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEUP_ssYAruE2UzeUiRg5vqMEMgLq9G54bHEuiGsUAfQAKpw_GTuvmO7Viskh3V4nt7qN5NgBzoW41R0oY1-9uh8aCZ_ckkh5ivPhHREwsr_B5XKocy8HXSumaPU6HhyKCYFBgbujO84/s400/sabrinahoedown3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346485789637512402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bright eyed and bushy tailed.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYj-rl44PbjsTtjr2FkT9tZSSSNo9s9z5aWYg6-yH4uSq-aK-cYKqvLtjme-Y0g3MMMKpS0usG6iX9GY-1SEPpmHf6qVPt2W_8azsAQzVmG0KKESmxn0XWlcQOTj_hFCdOoMJCgiSK8Q/s1600-h/sabrinahoedown2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYj-rl44PbjsTtjr2FkT9tZSSSNo9s9z5aWYg6-yH4uSq-aK-cYKqvLtjme-Y0g3MMMKpS0usG6iX9GY-1SEPpmHf6qVPt2W_8azsAQzVmG0KKESmxn0XWlcQOTj_hFCdOoMJCgiSK8Q/s400/sabrinahoedown2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346485712542320530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Love the jeans.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDS9Fd90FRop6Iq7w70u6P0t3518BJx2iCmaTU6h17iEB4Reua3z6a0K6TZP9TNxby68ViobeHUZwQPPkJDBIaPr6h3LuEcxlAe4bjxxRyBdyCgoIGwvdv4AWR-k6p7Ytef5l8_1v9lU/s1600-h/sabrinahoedown1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDS9Fd90FRop6Iq7w70u6P0t3518BJx2iCmaTU6h17iEB4Reua3z6a0K6TZP9TNxby68ViobeHUZwQPPkJDBIaPr6h3LuEcxlAe4bjxxRyBdyCgoIGwvdv4AWR-k6p7Ytef5l8_1v9lU/s400/sabrinahoedown1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346485599429570690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Ready to get down at the hoedown.</span><br /></div><br />On another topic entirely, I have to give some props to Oscar for his transformation of my fabric <span style="font-style: italic;"></span>cabinet. In a nutshell, I got the cabinet from Monica, who graciously gave it to me <span style="font-style: italic;">gratis</span>.<br />It originally had glass panels, because I believe it was intended to be used as a china cabinet.<br />I kept the panels for quite some time, but since I used it to store my fabric, which most of the time, was not a pretty site, I longed for a solution that would keep everything inside, hidden.<br />I tried papering the glass, which was okay, but I didn't like it as a permanent solution.<br />Mirrors? Antiqued mirrors? It was brilliant, but I continued to drag my feet.<br /><br />Recently, I asked Oscar if it would be possible to put beadboard in place of the glass.<br />"Sure," he said "No problem."<br />No offense to my lovely husband, but sometimes "projects" take a while to get done around here.<br />To my delight, a week later, he completed this project for me, and happily, I might add.<br /><br />Here is the cabinet in its various stages of metamorphosis:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1Z92fN3QPvOF0pF-7VtJ3oEbYZmD97ESXYjtqmAHB0F4FJL062e6dqVDlRFUMmRMIJLfxnRyRIWfyVMjunoywOwEsCLqM598btJb5jFTHHDg62hlqTrC4V-pVe0bAY2LIOipWcZsiXA/s1600-h/fabricstash2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1Z92fN3QPvOF0pF-7VtJ3oEbYZmD97ESXYjtqmAHB0F4FJL062e6dqVDlRFUMmRMIJLfxnRyRIWfyVMjunoywOwEsCLqM598btJb5jFTHHDg62hlqTrC4V-pVe0bAY2LIOipWcZsiXA/s400/fabricstash2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346487173406260834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The original glass.<br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzHABtwAZzYSo0WM-7ul5do6uyGMamuv2ush1j2mFsUUDJo1zQcZ2jfQ9PO523gwpNOoC5IefNtm0L5lVjoZgaRHcyocIzH4RhUpzCZd82UkvQQMzbNxVb-GOb8D1-9pWR5EsJKJ0xLg/s1600-h/fabriccabinet1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzHABtwAZzYSo0WM-7ul5do6uyGMamuv2ush1j2mFsUUDJo1zQcZ2jfQ9PO523gwpNOoC5IefNtm0L5lVjoZgaRHcyocIzH4RhUpzCZd82UkvQQMzbNxVb-GOb8D1-9pWR5EsJKJ0xLg/s400/fabriccabinet1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346486908626868338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The papered glass.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhdagv9yU6kTcv8dBQ8v8TAsFxNJIbfZnYS6tKT1s2zC79T8kWNah1XlqEdK4mhf1qehJ1NUUvlv-3iUxxhHzxJKDSQS8I4PZSYcl1TIE-0EUCLI_xCgkxEA8KLbH8V8EUxoEzxwvXX0/s1600-h/armroire1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhdagv9yU6kTcv8dBQ8v8TAsFxNJIbfZnYS6tKT1s2zC79T8kWNah1XlqEdK4mhf1qehJ1NUUvlv-3iUxxhHzxJKDSQS8I4PZSYcl1TIE-0EUCLI_xCgkxEA8KLbH8V8EUxoEzxwvXX0/s400/armroire1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346487373266970050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The new and improved cabinet, with beadboard panels.</span></span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rXSapHwSXpTVlOC4SbkiBiqPGQjtT1E2HoaiKTofHkeTQrkQbb6eu7n8fjDr_g9ZtpOUh0XoWprtJIrYvyussY0LVCYIRBklCm5D4s86tVJf4iOFXbtbU4hFNr5crYDT7zkqRiV5agg/s1600-h/armoire2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rXSapHwSXpTVlOC4SbkiBiqPGQjtT1E2HoaiKTofHkeTQrkQbb6eu7n8fjDr_g9ZtpOUh0XoWprtJIrYvyussY0LVCYIRBklCm5D4s86tVJf4iOFXbtbU4hFNr5crYDT7zkqRiV5agg/s400/armoire2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346487510613395394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ooh pretty.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBiaA7wNhrAP-cJ6imS-utMPzsrIOYcKRx5z93uANyV42edeOXeBzpxRgEXCGfTyCbAnRQOUUZ6VeAMj0431g9eyLCoi4HXEZNSp1SgIilimnxAkiaofqpQP6DAtezlRVQndDtHZOj0jg/s1600-h/armoire4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBiaA7wNhrAP-cJ6imS-utMPzsrIOYcKRx5z93uANyV42edeOXeBzpxRgEXCGfTyCbAnRQOUUZ6VeAMj0431g9eyLCoi4HXEZNSp1SgIilimnxAkiaofqpQP6DAtezlRVQndDtHZOj0jg/s400/armoire4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346487516382756578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Love the birdies.</span></span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWLa0PVom8PgTSaxVGpIgh71WxqqVLNZ6wEZmqrMUNZHL39FrnK2vugnrTuX1uFSIJiLSjQJ6OxENok8UFhUwqqdQ7jnp4tIO72APg80BIwKD6YnoonbA-t2zaP8R3mSw69fhM0Nb1zU/s1600-h/armoire3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWLa0PVom8PgTSaxVGpIgh71WxqqVLNZ6wEZmqrMUNZHL39FrnK2vugnrTuX1uFSIJiLSjQJ6OxENok8UFhUwqqdQ7jnp4tIO72APg80BIwKD6YnoonbA-t2zaP8R3mSw69fhM0Nb1zU/s400/armoire3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346487516995200082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">One more birdie in flight, and check out those boss rose knobs.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I think it turned out well. You?<br />The knobs are from <a href="http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=670475&navAction=jump&search=true&parentid=SEARCH_RESULTS">here</a>, and the birdies, from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?ref=sr_list_14&listing_id=26341935&ga_search_query=birds&ga_search_type=user_shop_ttt_id_5988949">here</a>.<br /></span><br />It's Friday, yay!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Enjoy.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div></div>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-52023923242456717422009-06-02T14:52:00.001-07:002009-06-02T16:01:54.062-07:00Please forget the lyrics.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxtkPMIkuqdjg0-yX7DzbdmQwK869cIDf4EDoCyFnF-EUNt0_ZWDQPfCsboENGwNHZTg77_vQUUqPVK2MtCzfEao_-i2K_qIFgUooAetfBnnjohRr3tOm4WMZITBvB1Jk3qHXNzjDueQ/s1600-h/ladygagapic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxtkPMIkuqdjg0-yX7DzbdmQwK869cIDf4EDoCyFnF-EUNt0_ZWDQPfCsboENGwNHZTg77_vQUUqPVK2MtCzfEao_-i2K_qIFgUooAetfBnnjohRr3tOm4WMZITBvB1Jk3qHXNzjDueQ/s400/ladygagapic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342868348531324066" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(pic borrowed from LadyGaga.com)</span><br /></div><br />A couple of weeks ago, Sabrina, Chloe and I were watching Dancing with the Stars, the finale.<br />Sabrina is crazy for that show, and by default, I guess I am too, a little.<br /><br />My favorite part though, is the results show, mostly because of the guest appearances by some pretty cool singers/artists, whatever they call themselves these days.<br /><br />Anyway, the DWTS (as it will hereafter be known) finale was no different.<br />Lady Gaga was on.<br />Okay, I have seen her perform here and there, even live (although at the time I hadn't heard of her, and since she was one of the opening acts for New Kids on the Block, her performance was lost on me anyway).<br />I'm not sure whether to love her or hate her...until the DWTS performance.<br /><br />She sang two songs, I'm not sure if the first one was "Puh-puh-puh-puh-poker Face", or "Let's Dance" but no matter, since it was the second song that won me over.<br /><br />"Let's have some fun, this beat is sick<br />I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."<br /><br />I thought nothing of it, only that it was a mighty catchy tune, and the girls agreed with me.<br />Well, not Chloe so much, but she's only five, and still worships Barney, so what does that tell you?<br />Sabrina thought Lady Gaga, and the "Disco Stick" song were awesome.<br /><br />The next day, as Sabrina re-watched the DWTS finale, for like the fifteenth time, Oscar happened to be in the room, right as the delightful Lady G was doing her thing.<br /><br />"Let's have some fun, this beat is sick<br />I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."<br /><br />Sabrina was also getting her groove on, belting out the lyrics, at the top of her lungs.<br />"I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."<br /><br />Oscar looked at me, his eyebrow raised, and whispered under his breath,<br />"We can't let her keep singing that."<br />I quietly whispered back,<br />"Oh?"<br />"Well. you know," he said, "It sounds dirty."<br />"What do you mean?" I said, still oblivious to the reason for Oscar's mortification.<br /><br />Boy, am I slow.<br /><br />"Oh crap, " I said, "Disco stick, that does sound bad."<br />I'm sure our minds didn't mean to take a naughty turn into the gutter, it just happened.<br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Don't judge me.</span><br /><br />Our worries were in vain however, since the next day, Lada Gaga and her now notorious song were quickly forgotten, as Sabrina's main concern shifted to what the school cafeteria was going to serve for lunch.<br /><br />Until today.<br /><br />Chloe and I picked Sabrina up from school, and as I was fiddling around with the radio stations, I heard the song, that apparently we all had been longing to hear...<br /><br />"Let's have some fun, that beat is sick,<br />I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."<br /><br />"Let's play a love game, play a love game,<br />Do you want love or you want fame?<br />Are you in the game? Doin' the love game."<br /><br />"Mama, I love this song!" Sabrina exclaimed<br />"Uh yeah, me too," I said "It's called Love Game."<br />"Really?" Sabrina said, "I just call it Disco Stick."Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-71416528884184277012009-05-30T09:29:00.000-07:002009-05-30T10:13:51.138-07:00Sweaty Summer<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNPaNEUxo6EfccTzlUqFtGpnTnsL0OFSL5H_qgabcC_qBqPjhXTLXT2ehVRiFB4bOolIYqBeXeFu2hpeQcB9G-eBYl3r5sUURsebFFyVjLkTZOIu6M5zl88CBa3jWlf-KVAJUIceRr94/s1600-h/emmemermaid6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNPaNEUxo6EfccTzlUqFtGpnTnsL0OFSL5H_qgabcC_qBqPjhXTLXT2ehVRiFB4bOolIYqBeXeFu2hpeQcB9G-eBYl3r5sUURsebFFyVjLkTZOIu6M5zl88CBa3jWlf-KVAJUIceRr94/s400/emmemermaid6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341665351663194530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I love this picture. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When I see it, I definitely think of Summer, not sweat.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /><br /></div>It's almost June, which means that in twenty-two short days it will "officially" be summer, though most people mark summer's beginning as right after Memorial Day.<br />Either way, summer.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I love summer.<br />Longer days, warm weather, the sun.<br />It's all good.<br /><br />The problem is, that along with the heat, comes the sweat.<br />I have the very unfortunate problem of being a "sweat-er"<br />No, not a <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">sweater</span>, like the kind you wear, but a "sweat-er," as in one who sweats...<span style="font-style: italic;">a lot</span>.<br /><br />I don't know why, but I have always had this, um you know, <span style="font-style: italic;">issue</span>.<br />It's pretty embarrassing, and it gets worse if I am particularly stressed out.<br /><br />Example:<br />I am getting ready for a <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">_________(fill in the blank with an important event here).<br /></span>Wedding, birthday party,<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span>confession<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">, </span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>you name it<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">.<br /></span></span></span>It never fails. As soon as the adrenaline starts flowing, so does the sweat.<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span>Once those initial drops start to make their way down my face/back/whatever, I try to relax, deep breathe, think of something or someone, like my fantasy boyfriend Michael Buble.<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span></span></span>Nothing works, and I'm doomed to ride out the sweaty wave, until it subsides on its own.<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span><br />So, what to do?<br />After lots of analyzing and research, I've come up with a brilliant solution.<br /><br />Crank up the A/C full blast, and strip down to the bare minimum, while employing deep breathing techniques, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">and</span> a Michael Buble fantasy.<br /><br />Relaxation will ensue, and the "sweats" will be no more.<br />Standing in front of the open freezer door, with a spoon, and a giant pint of ice cream work too.<br /><br />Ahh summer, can't wait.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-28525130800388575992009-05-15T15:16:00.000-07:002009-05-15T16:50:41.415-07:00I Feel Pretty<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdofVd40nrK6Is2y10h4ITklrmCXhPmNzdsjYiR16DV1Nb1pJdNCAI5IhhaMv9_nX7JWrvVSjTXThpR0HMnVTTils90DFPjih4hVBATDuCj6bJxJ-izQIJIJj0H3WxM4ZQMDqKWgPOVEs/s1600-h/disneyland+018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdofVd40nrK6Is2y10h4ITklrmCXhPmNzdsjYiR16DV1Nb1pJdNCAI5IhhaMv9_nX7JWrvVSjTXThpR0HMnVTTils90DFPjih4hVBATDuCj6bJxJ-izQIJIJj0H3WxM4ZQMDqKWgPOVEs/s400/disneyland+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336184809501502914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me and Monica on my birthday, at the very end of our Disney day.</span></span><br /></div><br />Smart.<br />Pretty.<br />Hot.<br />Cute.<br />Beautiful.<br />Sassy.<br />Sweet.<br />Kind.<br />Generous.<br />Sexy.<br /><br />There are many words we can use to describe ourselves.<br />The way we see ourselves.<br />The way we think others see us.<br /><br />As girls...women, we are always climbing the slippery slope of self-confidence and self-doubt whether we admit it or not. It's true.<br /><br />I'd like to think that I am not defined by the too dark shade of lipstick I choose to wear, or the "cutting off my circulation" jeans I'm too lazy to change out of.<br /><br />Don't judge me if I pick up my kids from school today, wearing sweats and an<br />"I Love Bear Hugs" tee shirt.<br /><br />Don't make assumptions about me, if I have my hair in a ponytail or happen to have a zit (or two) on my chin.<br /><br />Those things do not define who I am.<br />They are just incidental things, things that happen on a sometimes daily basis.<br />Things, I am okay with.<br /><br />Sometimes I have a great hair day.<br />Sometimes my skin is almost totally clear.<br />Sometimes my "skinny" jeans are my "these fit me without having to hold my breath" jeans.<br />Sometimes I eat salad and feel good about it.<br />Sometimes I don't.<br /><br />There are so many cool and uncool things about being female.<br />Today, I choose to embrace the cool parts.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-12671673468532091432009-05-11T11:16:00.000-07:002009-05-11T12:35:39.108-07:00Like, Omigod, I'm so sure!"I am a big fan of words.<br /><br />I like writing them, speaking them, reading them.<br /><br />I especially love the generational slang that I've spoken and witnessed over the years.<br /><br />I was born in 1975, and grew up mostly in the eighties, so there was a lot of this...<br /><br />"Um, like yeah, that's totally awesome!"<br /><br />"Oh grotey, gag me!"<br /><br />"Like, Omigod, that is so totally rad."<br /><br />The words "like" and "totally" were such a constant part of my vocabulary, my parents probably thought it was all I was capable of saying.<br /><br />Though "like" is now an infrequent visitor in my speech, I can't seem to ditch "totally."<br /><br />Of course, the eighties were almost thirty years ago, and seem like the dark ages to the youth of today...like my Sabrina, who is partial to words like "chillax."<br /><br />Me? I'm partial to words like "shenanigans."<br /><br />As in..."Omigod, you guys need to totally stop your shenaningans, and just chillax."Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-62650341850413948102009-05-05T08:13:00.000-07:002009-05-05T09:39:30.111-07:00Wedded Bliss<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-iYaUJSwRGi91ADnjHgGhkhX4lJR-Y7vPeB1FlogCExZam58NSpiWzsekrLK_ysY14d7h8VU1q_RvAlw0v4ZNfXPNJ6xRUdtG1Ok0lkkcMvrb5xz2NjLHbpf7Dq-Pf52eCda_8pY4Qo/s1600-h/araceliandtony1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-iYaUJSwRGi91ADnjHgGhkhX4lJR-Y7vPeB1FlogCExZam58NSpiWzsekrLK_ysY14d7h8VU1q_RvAlw0v4ZNfXPNJ6xRUdtG1Ok0lkkcMvrb5xz2NjLHbpf7Dq-Pf52eCda_8pY4Qo/s400/araceliandtony1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332375213165396994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The new Mr. and Mrs.</span></span><br /><br /></div>It's Tuesday.<br />It's Cinco de Mayo.<br />It's also two days after my cousin, Araceli's wedding (she's on her way to Hawaii as I write this).<br /><br />I arrive at the topic of this post.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">CUPCAKES</span>.<br />If you have had it up to here, with cupcakes, and all they represent, I heartily apologize.<br />I am just about nearing the point of needing a cupcake hiatus myself...<br /><br />Where was I? Oh,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Cupcakes</span>.<br />Glorious cupcakes.<br /><br />I am quite a fan, but have found that a really good cupcake, can be elusive.<br />I have spent countless hours in my kitchen, perfecting recipes, while slaving over a hot oven.<br />So, when Araceli asked me (or maybe it was my suggestion, my memory is fuzzy) if I could make her a cupcake wedding "cake" it sounded like a good idea....at the time.<br /><br />I thought it would be a piece of cake.<br />Easy as pie.<br />No problemo.<br /><br />As her wedding date approached, I baked cupcakes.<br />I baked some more.<br />We even had a cupcake dress rehearsal.<br />I was prepared, ready.<br /><br />The problem is, that I have never executed such a task, and there is a big difference between thinking you are capable of doing something, and actually doing it.<br /><br />The week of the wedding, I began to panic.<br />What was I thinking suggesting a cupcake wedding cake?<br />For the love of all things good and pure....her <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">wedding</span> </span>day.<br />Kind of <span style="font-style: italic;">important</span>.<br /><br />Okay, okay, I know, it's just the <span style="font-style: italic;">cake</span>, it's not like I was in charge of making her wedding dress or anything, but still.<br /><br />The day before the wedding, I dragged my good friend Peggy, (who is married to my cousin Andy) downtown, to the flower mart. She was so gracious, as we wandered through what seemed like thousands of flowers, finally finding some that were deemed worthy of Araceli's wedding cupcakes.<br /><br />On Sunday, the day of the wedding, I woke up bright and early (okay, it was like 10 o'clock, but the wedding wasn't until six...), and began baking.<br /><br />I would love to say that everything went off without a hitch, but sadly, that was not the case.<br />I was nervous. I had stage fright. I forgot things, and almost really botched the job, over and over again.<br /><br />About half way through, I finally snapped out of my my nervous, fumbling haze, and became a cupcake wielding machine.<br /><br />Peggy called to see how I was faring, and politely asked if I needed any help...setting up the cupcakes. Normally, I am all about politely refusing help, because I'm just weird and stubborn, that way, but not this time.<br />There were alot of shenanigans involved in transporting the cupcakes to the wedding site, and in the whole "cake" set up, so I wasted no time in accepting her offer.<br /><br />We arrived at the restaurant <span style="font-style: italic;">on time</span>...which was a welcome surprise, and got to work.<br />It took about forty-five minutes total, and I have to say, was relieved when we were done.<br /><br />I finally breathed...after awhile.<br />And the cupcakes...well they weren't too shabby.<br />See for yourself.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDo7U1yxZoD8M7KYH2xXZRvHMrsUg5tOLg_wmHn8gUqsuKrlOc2y3lo4vx1Q4TRQJYa705qS1-RW7ROH458DEGO4OGJ1w0OO7UVSCy_KqoSwia0Z45VNGLc66damJYf1EEw2pHiGjfFw/s1600-h/cupcakecakessun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDo7U1yxZoD8M7KYH2xXZRvHMrsUg5tOLg_wmHn8gUqsuKrlOc2y3lo4vx1Q4TRQJYa705qS1-RW7ROH458DEGO4OGJ1w0OO7UVSCy_KqoSwia0Z45VNGLc66damJYf1EEw2pHiGjfFw/s400/cupcakecakessun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332375428506550754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A view of the cake table, in the last bits of the afternoon sun.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwckkCqtsZQqNnP-wGPckYiufcdkU25-j_KSFxfGLEg1PRFV3b35DzKZkUVSS8bgoo4FX1v6SpiK4WLGAnf8eZdBItapgDajg0ZMjAwzHUWv7c6aOIip0kIKuy-5Hxt6-azPk6RFdU5o/s1600-h/cupcakemain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwckkCqtsZQqNnP-wGPckYiufcdkU25-j_KSFxfGLEg1PRFV3b35DzKZkUVSS8bgoo4FX1v6SpiK4WLGAnf8eZdBItapgDajg0ZMjAwzHUWv7c6aOIip0kIKuy-5Hxt6-azPk6RFdU5o/s400/cupcakemain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332375835132522338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The center stand. The cupcakes were Red Velvet with Cream Cheese frosting.</span><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocW6mylUwOiT2djeQ9sCHWT8RzdkEWmjr_DB5LFPRI-f3aHYXn2i6mrfwossgjDIKqZBV_n0hHFrZumYZJsoWrw7ICNK96ELKxySsUuWUH-K5WigIM_W0ciUxGm2FZjbosgbpHINX2GY/s1600-h/pedestalcupcake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocW6mylUwOiT2djeQ9sCHWT8RzdkEWmjr_DB5LFPRI-f3aHYXn2i6mrfwossgjDIKqZBV_n0hHFrZumYZJsoWrw7ICNK96ELKxySsUuWUH-K5WigIM_W0ciUxGm2FZjbosgbpHINX2GY/s400/pedestalcupcake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332376068221120226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">One of the cake pedestals.</span><br /></span></div><br /><br />Oh, and the cupcake consensus at the wedding was favorable, yay.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-17604774615946692492009-04-27T15:09:00.000-07:002009-04-27T16:52:02.668-07:00Amish Friendship Bread<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UZ5z7IEhQIR1ekSfa-eoNKl5wDzLCW8Q1EAaRUTFYKIu4lAtr0aAwIB0lSVeG25rpcOWEHfPdjaN9GhD9LDnmoiFOrGXohu1YR8at8r6Jm1TNVv2boxS4YQZrIeiWHvvMaXX1BKLqqQ/s1600-h/friendshipbread.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UZ5z7IEhQIR1ekSfa-eoNKl5wDzLCW8Q1EAaRUTFYKIu4lAtr0aAwIB0lSVeG25rpcOWEHfPdjaN9GhD9LDnmoiFOrGXohu1YR8at8r6Jm1TNVv2boxS4YQZrIeiWHvvMaXX1BKLqqQ/s400/friendshipbread.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329515073491727026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A couple slices of the finished product. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm no food stylist or photographer, but take my word for it this is good stuff</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />I'm an average cook, but love to bake, and as far as I know, nobody has ever had to go to the emergency room after consuming any of my baked goods, which in itself, is a victory.<br /><br />Recently, my brother-in-law, Bruce, gifted me with a "starter" batch of Amish Friendship Bread.<br /><br />I have known Monica and Bruce for a long time now. I'm pretty sure I've received a "starter" batch of this bread at least once before, which I never saw through to the end....if I'd only known what I was missing.<br /><br />So, I get this Ziploc bag full of goopy batter, along with instructions to make the bread.<br />It's a ten day process, which of course I thought was a crazy amount of time, but decided to give it a shot.<br /><br />I got the batter last Saturday, and the ten days were finally up yesterday.<br />I waited until eleven o'clock last night to finish the bread (typical me), and since it takes an hour to bake, was up until 1:00 A.M.<br />I waited for it to cool, and helped myself to a slice.<br />My word, it was D.E.L.I.C.I.O.U.S.<br />Not exaggerating, honest.<br /><br />After ten days, and a ton of steps, I was beginning to think there was no recipe, Amish or not, worth all those shenanigans.<br /><br />I stand corrected.<br /><br />Try it, you'll like it...unless you hate cinnamon....then you won't like it (this recipe has lots of cinnamon, though there are other versions of it <a href="http://www.momswhothink.com/bread-recipes/amish-friendship-bread.html">here</a>).<br /><br />I found the "starter" recipe<a href="http://www.momswhothink.com/bread-recipes/amish-friendship-bread.html"> here</a>, but am going to re-post it, so you'll have all the instructions, handily in one spot.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Amish Friendship Bread Starter</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">**Important: Do not use any type of metal bowl or spoon for mixing. Plastic or glass will have to do...a wooden spoon is okay too.**</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Ingredients:</span><br />1 pkg. active dry yeast<br />1/4 cup warm water (110°F)<br />1 cup all-purpose flour<br />1 cup white sugar<br />1 cup warm milk (110°F)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Directions:</span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />1. In a small bowl, dissolve the yeast in warm water for about 10 minutes. Stir well.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />2. In a 2 quart glass or plastic container, combine 1 cup sifted flour and 1 cup sugar. Mix thoroughly or the flour will get lumpy when you add the milk.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />3. Slowly stir in warm milk and dissolved yeast mixture. Loosely cover the mixture with a lid or plastic wrap. The mixture will get bubbly. Consider this Day 1 of the cycle, or the day you receive the starter.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />For the next 10 days handle the starter according to the instructions <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">below </span>for <strong>Amish Friendship Bread</strong>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Amish Friendship Bread</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Again, no metal bowls or spoons for mixing and do not refrigerate.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">It is normal for the batter to rise, bubble and ferment</span> </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Day 1: The day you make the "starter"</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day 2: Stir the batter</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day 3: Stir the batter</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day 4: Stir the batter</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day 5: Stir the batter</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Day 6: Add 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar, 1 cup milk to the bowl, stir the batter.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Day 7: Stir the batter</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day 8: Stir the batter</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day9: Stir the batter</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Day 10: Follow the instructions below.</span> </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />1. Add 1 1/2 cups flour, 1 1/2 cups sugar, and 1 1/2 cups milk to the batter, mix well.<br />2. Measure out four separate batters of 1 cup each into four one gallon Ziploc bags.<br />Keep a "starter" for yourself (if you want), and give the other three to friends, along with a copy of this recipe. If you don't pass the "starter" batter to friend on the first day, make sure to tell them which day the bag is on when they get it. Mark the bag with a start date, and make a note of the dates and the corresponding action.<br /><br />3. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.<br /><br />4. To the remaining batter add:<br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-size:85%;">3 eggs</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1 cup oil (or 1/2 cup oil, 1/2 cup applesauce)</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1/2 cup milk</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1 cup sugar</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">2 tsp cinnamon</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1/2 teaspoon baking soda</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1/2 teaspoon salt</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">2 cups flour</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1 large box vanilla pudding</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">1/2 teaspoon vanilla</span></li></ul><span style="font-size:85%;">5. Grease two large loaf pans, and in a separate bowl mix 1/2 cup sugar and 1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon. Dust the loaf pans with <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">half</span> this mixture.<br /><br />6. Pour the batter into the two pans and sprinkle the remaining sugar mixture over the top.<br /><br />7. Bake for one hour. Cool until the bread loosens evenly from the pan (about ten minutes).<br />Turn out onto a cooling rack. Serve warm or cold, and preferably with an icy glass of milk.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">If you keep a starter for yourself, you will be baking every ten days.<br />If not, just enjoy your bread, and hope that some sweet soul will gift you with the batter again someday.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><br /></span></span>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-16937492824921683852009-04-22T09:00:00.000-07:002009-04-22T10:26:02.806-07:00Excuse Me Ma'am, How Old Are You?<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4q-S2gv1Z2qAXQb-klO0I-MQCqB63X7ufPAWG_gkGmQacWoI65hNQHKmEgHfRmFPlGP288dPrF9koyEqOGXtk6XB3whRizWI5ZmXGIsdRiG_Pdd0Gc5PiG09_DQIz36Tx0uX0yBGJVU/s1600-h/sabrina.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4q-S2gv1Z2qAXQb-klO0I-MQCqB63X7ufPAWG_gkGmQacWoI65hNQHKmEgHfRmFPlGP288dPrF9koyEqOGXtk6XB3whRizWI5ZmXGIsdRiG_Pdd0Gc5PiG09_DQIz36Tx0uX0yBGJVU/s400/sabrina.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327566701497828114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Sabrina, the tween.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I have a birthday coming up in a couple of weeks.<br /><br />I used to really love my birthday. I'd look forward to it, relish it.<br /><br />I'm not sure when the warm and fuzzy feelings toward the day of my birth, turned cold and un-fuzzy, but I would imagine it was after I turned t-h-i-r-t-y.<br /><br />"Gimme a break," you may be thinking.<br />"Thirty is young, it's the new twenty."<br />Sadly though, I am inching closer to the big 4-0, rather than 3-0, which is slightly terrifying.<br /><br />Drama aside, I don't really feel too much different than I did in my twenties.<br />I still think of myself as <span style="font-style: italic;">young, youthful, hip, </span>even.<br /><br />A couple of nights ago, Oscar, Sabrina, Chloe and I were watching Dancing with the Stars, Sabrina's favorite show (she's almost ten, what you would call a <span style="font-style: italic;">tween</span>).<br /><br />I am particularly hooked on Gilles Marini, the super hot Frenchman that is paired with Cheryl Burke.<br /><br />I was watching him, uh, I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">them</span> intently, and when they were finished dancing said,<br /><br />"Wow, they rocked."<br /><br />To which Sabrina replied, with a somewhat pitying look,<br /><br />"Mom, no one says "rocked" anymore."<br /><br />"Really?" I said, "<span style="font-style: italic;">No one</span> says that anymore, since when?"<br /><br />"Um, since like, forever," she said, just a little too smugly for my taste.<br /><br />"Oh, well," I said "<span style="font-style: italic;">I </span>still say that."<br /><br />To which her response was an exaggerated eye roll.<br /><br />"Oh my goodness," I thought to myself. "Maybe I am old, or worse, un-hip."<br />A familiar feeling of dread came over me, you know the one.<br />It's the one you get when some well meaning young lad bagging your groceries, calls you "Ma'am."<br /><br />I guess I could just embrace my impending birthday, with grace and class.<br />Let my hair go gray, without a care in the world.<br />Say words like "Rock" and "Cool" and "Radical" with wild abandon, while my daughter cringes inwardly at her "old" mother.<br /><br />I have to admit, though, that I secretly enjoy watching Sabrina get riled up, when I sing too loud, or say something she thinks is kooky and old lady-ish.<br />I am also too vain to not cover up my gray hair, which thanks to genetics (and probably some stress ie:kids) happens to be way more than I deserve for my age.<br /><br />So for now, I will continue making appointments at the hair salon for my dye jobs, and try not to go ballistic when the perky cashier at Trader Joes, asks if I need help out with my groceries.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-62352637097363974792009-04-20T08:04:00.000-07:002009-04-20T13:10:14.009-07:00Chick FlicksI don't really know why I have them on the brain, but I've been watching alot of movies lately that I suppose, could be considered "Chick Flicks."<br /><br />Now, I've never been one for horror movies, and I usually don't find myself watching many action films, unless, I've dragged Oscar to something like, um let's say <span style="font-style: italic;">Twilight</span>, and I <span style="font-style: italic;">owe </span>him a turn.<br /><br />My favorites, have always been the ones that make me cry, make me swoon, make me laugh, and/or all of the above.<br /><br />At the risk of seeming like a complete sap, I do enjoy the occasional psychological thriller, but only if I am not watching it alone, as I have an overactive imagination, and will be looking over my shoulder for days afterward.<br /><br />So, I thought I would share my Top Five "girly" movie go-to's, guaranteed to chase away even the crabbiest of moods...you may even share my enthusiasm.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpmILPAcRQo"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRfFzmUyuddU14NBwnbEWSJqQ6vmukHgPjclWyopwUFQW3EAZ8gn17mXBAPI15BAesoSKI59yy5byuIX3QEsa3pMwGLW6s3D4I-G8eGTbMwvhTwNWHbyqyVfRD_QmGI-1bmVLVfhjdOY/s400/dirtydancing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326813412122321778" border="0" /></a>1. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpmILPAcRQo">Dirty Dancing (1987)</a>.</span><br />Okay, you may be thinking, how totally cheesy this one is (if you are, stop it, that's crazy talk.), but you gotta love it. I mean, dancing, shirtless dance teacher, all that bumping and grinding...good girl falls for bad boy....It's a classic, really.<br />I just saw it again recently, and it still does <span style="font-style: italic;">it</span> for me, just like it did back in 1987, when it was first released. Patrick Swayze, shirtless equals H.O.T.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkioTcKmxLtABRktYmHpa08M6tegHpnFmDzPmlxemHxhC728POtlmXJ_s37qVEFptU2IRugnHXiTMv0XD20X0Qz-vRWWjeucCfzAnmdrEFI29af9jztsE0wIw0HE5wKUbmuMgUXehKV0/s1600-h/prettywoman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkioTcKmxLtABRktYmHpa08M6tegHpnFmDzPmlxemHxhC728POtlmXJ_s37qVEFptU2IRugnHXiTMv0XD20X0Qz-vRWWjeucCfzAnmdrEFI29af9jztsE0wIw0HE5wKUbmuMgUXehKV0/s400/prettywoman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326813994713833810" border="0" /></a>2. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZKeAzAwSnU"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Pretty Woman</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">(1990)</span></a><br />I hadn't seen this one in years, and it was on Showtime last week.<br />So you can imagine my delight, when I discovered Oscar had TIVO-ed it for me.<br />I loved Julia Roberts in that movie, and Richard Gere, was of course, nice eye candy. I also got a huge kick out of seeing the giant cell phone he toted around during parts of the movie.<br />My favorite character has to be Vivian's friend Kit. One of my favorite movie moments occurs while Kit is waiting for Vivian in the "Reg-Bev-Wil" hotel lobby, and spots a conservative looking couple eyeing her curiously. "Fifty bucks Grandpa, for seventy-five, the wife can watch."<br />I laugh my ass off every time.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76gk9y4o4Wi6J69oAGcRHVbLENOYgnbslo3_wZg2-r2cAo8wmQI5DE6nyzJzbnrvxW48l_LH4WbSVhO4Q1P1qpD_VKlldLnhxY71I5Z0WMXZE-ogV9ktzBLlCPeZxAp4z1U8tRhOD6j4/s1600-h/youvegotmail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76gk9y4o4Wi6J69oAGcRHVbLENOYgnbslo3_wZg2-r2cAo8wmQI5DE6nyzJzbnrvxW48l_LH4WbSVhO4Q1P1qpD_VKlldLnhxY71I5Z0WMXZE-ogV9ktzBLlCPeZxAp4z1U8tRhOD6j4/s400/youvegotmail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326814201301654674" border="0" /></a>3. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCetfaS7GAo"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">You've Got Mail (1998)</span></a><br />I really loved Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle, but this one remains at the top of my list, mostly because I love the contrast between their internet relationship, and their real-life one. There's also something to be said about a man who is so devoted to his dog, though I guess that could be good and bad. Another plus is the chuckle it gives me, to watch it now, because of the whole internet dial-up thing. Crazy how fast things become yesterday's news.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-kOoGmZ6nJ1AAkn9qAPVXV0ovLyrbjtVkVUgnYtbyflOu1BXQj4LFCzGj-4eULo1iBz3nFYZf13UyqzkmPxK6JUaiPpGAa4H9Jq5fVOB6zOA3QYc9cqkNJXadxgXTv6i7vwLVZQYjNM/s1600-h/13goingon30.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-kOoGmZ6nJ1AAkn9qAPVXV0ovLyrbjtVkVUgnYtbyflOu1BXQj4LFCzGj-4eULo1iBz3nFYZf13UyqzkmPxK6JUaiPpGAa4H9Jq5fVOB6zOA3QYc9cqkNJXadxgXTv6i7vwLVZQYjNM/s400/13goingon30.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326814370286958338" border="0" /></a>4. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wO0810JIF4Q"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">13 Going on 30 (2004)</span></a><br />I know that this storyline is somewhat of a stretch (wishing dust), but come on, it's not a documentary, and who couldn't use a little wishing dust from time to time?<br />I was almost thirty when this movie was released, and I could totally relate to all of the eighties throwbacks, uh, since that was also when<span style="font-style: italic;"> my</span> formative years took place.<br />Mark Rufalo is a cutie-pie and has that sexy-smart vibe going on (which I like), and I thought Jennifer Garner was really endearing. My favorite scene is where they all do the Thriller dance, while at the big Poise magazine party. Thriller was the bomb, and I may have engaged in those very moves, a time or two.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1PF_5TITJLrItHVDVBzAIW4vBA1OQ7WNegKf0jtLVdLcFak6L5u7OEZgIITRTIaOUwMnJWV5IYkO0EWmLGeInJbAsrK94mykOAoa8htMx_Vhxre8rjOo2MtME8gcTPCSb69Xomz6Jxk/s1600-h/twilight-movie-poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1PF_5TITJLrItHVDVBzAIW4vBA1OQ7WNegKf0jtLVdLcFak6L5u7OEZgIITRTIaOUwMnJWV5IYkO0EWmLGeInJbAsrK94mykOAoa8htMx_Vhxre8rjOo2MtME8gcTPCSb69Xomz6Jxk/s400/twilight-movie-poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326814546247950690" border="0" /></a><br />5. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bI0EuQd3bAA"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Twilight (2008)</span></a><br />Okay, this one is a no brainer. I started reading this series right before the movie was released, and was instantly addicted. I'm not obsessed or anything though....<span style="font-style: italic;">really. I can stop anytime I want. </span>I know these books are geared toward teens, and all, but I really loved them. I can't explain, without sounding incredibly lame, but if you've read them, you know what I mean.<br />The movie, though not as good as the book, is still worth a look (maybe more than once).<br />And Edward, well don't get me started, but let's just say, I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers....(although, technically he doesn't <span style="font-style: italic;">eat</span>, but oh well, you get the point).<br /><br />I know I said this was a Top Five list, but an Honorable Mention goes to another one of my favorites, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Music and Lyrics (2007)</span>. Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant, are adorable together, though he is a tad older than she, which seems a little creepy, but Hugh is boyishly charming, and a little charm goes a long way in my book. I really love the movie's premise too, and that <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5508164858503202340">POP!</a> </span>music video has me rolling, every time I see it.<br /><br />I have way more of these in my Chick Flick movie arsenal, but will quit while I'm ahead.<br />I suggest you grab some microwave popcorn, heavy on the butter, some Red Vines, and your remote, and enjoy several hours camped out in front of your television....exercise, schmexercise.<br /><br />If anyone gives you any lip, just crank up the volume, and threaten to start reciting lines from one of the above mentioned flicks. Guaranteed to clear the room, fast.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-88490863145054234102009-04-14T09:10:00.000-07:002009-04-14T10:03:22.107-07:00Where the Heart is<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=cottage1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/cottage1.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A sweet vignette.</span></span><br /><br /></div>I've always loved houses, homes. I thoroughly enjoy visiting peoples homes, because there is usually so much of <span style="font-style: italic;">them</span> in there.<br />The decor, the things that people surround themselves with, it all speaks volumes about who they are.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovcookbooks.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovcookbooks.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lots of cookboks.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovgnome.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovgnome.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The front porch...a sleepy gnome.</span></span><br /><br /></div>I live in a small suburb in Southern California. My neighborhood and I have a unique relationship. I wasn't too keen on living here at first. When we moved here a few years ago, it was a move inspired more by necessity than choice.<br /><br />Our home has undergone quite a transformation over the years, and still could use <span style="font-style: italic;">more</span>, you know, always room for improvement, and all.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovcottage.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovcottage.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Home sweet home.</span></span><br /><br /></div>However, I have come to the realization that I really love my home.<br />There are many reasons why.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovbougainvillea1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovbougainvillea1.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Our bougainvillea tree</span></span><br /></div><br />The house is small.<br />It doesn't have any architectural details, or anything grand about it to speak of.<br />The neighborhood is not fancy, and the neighbors are not high-falutin' types.<br />The lawns are not perfectly manicured, and you don't see high end strollers, being pushed by moms in matchy tracksuits.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovback401.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovback401.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The backyard<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />What is it then?</span><br /><br />The best way to describe my feelings about the house is simply a feeling of being <span style="font-style: italic;">Home</span>, of knowing that this is where we were meant to be.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovsabrina3.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovsabrina3.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sabrina</span></span><br /></div><br />I hear the roosters crowing, and I think of Grandpa.<br />All the quirks of this place are what I have come to love about it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovmilkbottles.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovmilkbottles.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Grandpa's milkbottles.<br /></span></div><br />Sometimes, when I'm outside, and looking at the large expanse of our backyard,<br />I can't help but hope that if Grandpa and Grandma were still with us, they'd be proud.<br /><br /><a href="http://s40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/?action=view&current=ovparkyard.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e244/millemonica/Cottage%20Vignettes/ovparkyard.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A little piece of paradise.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">All of these beautiful pictures were taken by the lovely <a href="http://www.sundaemoonday.blogspot.com/">Monica</a></span></span>.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> Thanks sis.</span></span><br /></div>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-16610539661866775042009-04-13T09:34:00.000-07:002009-04-13T10:24:54.238-07:00What's in a Name?<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwuInPmh4eijIDMiBmOHgSkmjri3EmKKi2-mJZkFMj6ZjVMwo-UbBYKy_WCwlqu3uTog56TbBvscUi9RNK3TiEi6oZOJA-Y_mTEkk3ZDD_pOplroICQx9Yl1-dICCZCGcQQawvglhuniM/s1600-h/vandohotpic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 353px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwuInPmh4eijIDMiBmOHgSkmjri3EmKKi2-mJZkFMj6ZjVMwo-UbBYKy_WCwlqu3uTog56TbBvscUi9RNK3TiEi6oZOJA-Y_mTEkk3ZDD_pOplroICQx9Yl1-dICCZCGcQQawvglhuniM/s400/vandohotpic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324227779031014642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me and Osc</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />If you know me, in real life, or even online, you probably know, I am a fairly modest person.<br /><br />In all aspects (mostly).<br /><br />I came across this website today, maybe you've seen it, maybe you even check it out on a regular basis. I guess I'm behind the times or something, because it's a first for me.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/">Urban Dictionary. </a><br />H.I.L.A.R.I.O.U.S.<br /><br />I have to say though <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Vanessa">this</a> is my favorite definition.<br />For obvious reasons, because well, you know, my modesty and all.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-18398726198677518742009-03-31T18:38:00.000-07:002009-04-01T08:32:19.764-07:00Here Comes the Bride...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-X2tnwlDAjiBFhsj0iKq-gBYhGlZWgEaTmaMlmOY1r6C4xrnM6t7K0EqmIEM9MTl_uGFVYQZNQ-qy_76RmaJx7Cy9nXMlIbIzSF6XFSof0ORWrn3S-4SFzZKTueX78boN1MDFzVhttk/s1600-h/araceli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-X2tnwlDAjiBFhsj0iKq-gBYhGlZWgEaTmaMlmOY1r6C4xrnM6t7K0EqmIEM9MTl_uGFVYQZNQ-qy_76RmaJx7Cy9nXMlIbIzSF6XFSof0ORWrn3S-4SFzZKTueX78boN1MDFzVhttk/s400/araceli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319737266084392530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Pretty Bride-to Be</span></span><br /></div><br />I must have been a party planner or even a party girl in one of my previous lives.<br /><br />I love to plan parties.<br /><br />Birthday Parties, Holiday Parties, Baby Showers, Bridal Showers...<br />I could seriously plan a party for almost any reason.<br /><br />After Chloe was born, I found myself lacking a key element in party planning, <span style="font-weight: bold;"> t.i.m.e.</span><br />The party gene was wiped out completely for awhile, but has slowly come out of hibernation over the last couple of years.<br /><br />Lucky for me, my cousin Araceli is getting hitched in a mere five weeks.<br /><br />Since she is sweet as can be, and really more like a sister, I (<span style="font-style: italic;">actually my mom and I</span>) graciously (<span style="font-style: italic;">since I'm such a great hostess and all) </span>volunteered to host her bridal shower.<br /><br />I started my planning fairly early (which is rare for me), and ordered some totally awesome invitations from the super nice and really talented<span style="text-decoration: underline; color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span><a style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" href="http://www.vanessacavacodesigns.etsy.com/">Vanessa</a>. Her shop is chock full of some really cool paper goodies. Super reasonable prices and the best customer service.<br /><br />Since I am so, umm, shall I say "<span style="font-style: italic;">particular</span>," I kindly asked if she would make some labels, inserts, and even Thank You tags to match. This is the invite I chose for Araceli's soiree.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ubqri4UDSqkOKJBlO6ryH6N4V6OCAobk3Y7yMI9Nsy7kpeBSrUrejcAk1765OrvmFAeXeZu-PC8QemdQYKHPoyKo4uTZX0G2tZa6d-e6bHjkabcWvyHXzeDbAs_AMF4ZdDKs1wjWDMU/s1600-h/bridalshoowerinvite.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ubqri4UDSqkOKJBlO6ryH6N4V6OCAobk3Y7yMI9Nsy7kpeBSrUrejcAk1765OrvmFAeXeZu-PC8QemdQYKHPoyKo4uTZX0G2tZa6d-e6bHjkabcWvyHXzeDbAs_AMF4ZdDKs1wjWDMU/s400/bridalshoowerinvite.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319735094174679314" border="0" /></a><br />Pretty, huh?<br /><br />My mom was kind enough to host the party at her casa so, my job was mainly to decorate and bake like a whirling dervish.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1mlvwv4k4gMVnaFaTINj-c5i4fM3CE2N9UwiaBzGhD4sE7_wAbWTXYhp2hTApU10M_MN51H29h6jiEc3MKQVjSgNFzV5MUveP7pBMfwpO06wKBIyNSOHWlNbUzDIRTKIBWdUQcZgYi0/s1600-h/partytable.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1mlvwv4k4gMVnaFaTINj-c5i4fM3CE2N9UwiaBzGhD4sE7_wAbWTXYhp2hTApU10M_MN51H29h6jiEc3MKQVjSgNFzV5MUveP7pBMfwpO06wKBIyNSOHWlNbUzDIRTKIBWdUQcZgYi0/s400/partytable.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319735466308871794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Here's the Party Table. Lots of cookies and sweets.</span><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35bCigKwQzbv9eOTHFRl5geUbsv133hdMkxh3W5s5movRb8m2zeG5ffh1SOq_JFmF7bbj9iJ3iGOrC1-9x_i4s-KA-pGi4QPmDFWnkekkemKj3OUWD5qIpnhbJKBV9cakTVrPkHIre34/s1600-h/halfpartytable.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35bCigKwQzbv9eOTHFRl5geUbsv133hdMkxh3W5s5movRb8m2zeG5ffh1SOq_JFmF7bbj9iJ3iGOrC1-9x_i4s-KA-pGi4QPmDFWnkekkemKj3OUWD5qIpnhbJKBV9cakTVrPkHIre34/s400/halfpartytable.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319735693718163650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">My favorite half of the table. I fashioned a tablecloth out of Heather Bailey's Pop Garden.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgy68RicDYoK4M4vqCoZTU2bhFR9jbCbyFtQqpi9mgegndiNetTrXQ6CsTemPcxxUOQrTqZueLPU2mZ49dCQwaOCVpLeOSIC9pkIpGbtrI9Ebt9huwmVc_8FRsUuqWvd-9Uf5JYNr7mYU/s1600-h/cuppycakes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgy68RicDYoK4M4vqCoZTU2bhFR9jbCbyFtQqpi9mgegndiNetTrXQ6CsTemPcxxUOQrTqZueLPU2mZ49dCQwaOCVpLeOSIC9pkIpGbtrI9Ebt9huwmVc_8FRsUuqWvd-9Uf5JYNr7mYU/s400/cuppycakes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319740241773608818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Araceli's favorite cupcakes. Red Velvet.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I found those vintage bride and groom picks on <a href="http://www.etsy.com/">Etsy</a>.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnIU_hyphenhyphenryT6YBH0BRuS2LRh0phyFJ7rCgEpIcin26W2e25wYhiyEr9YlNvrIpLAbiebj-5Bm2D-NJwc26CnuC4yQOhvmenxFGWXk0FzdQwPb4dCW7coBOiP0G26Bw14ruyeBo-xczhcg/s1600-h/yellowroses.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnIU_hyphenhyphenryT6YBH0BRuS2LRh0phyFJ7rCgEpIcin26W2e25wYhiyEr9YlNvrIpLAbiebj-5Bm2D-NJwc26CnuC4yQOhvmenxFGWXk0FzdQwPb4dCW7coBOiP0G26Bw14ruyeBo-xczhcg/s400/yellowroses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319735946346879042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Aren't these roses gorgeous? Wow, gotta love Costco.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFcQgeKgLRBlpipSjIizHNkx5LNwVC9UbfVw2FFyYvXoyC9zPdT4vvJTM9oOpweyxH3VnwwP1tLIWAJ_36P472szkgQflWV2B5XA1PJ0n81jHZ11vIYKqDNsdRLIj4G8wqyGOGacszm0U/s1600-h/rosesred.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFcQgeKgLRBlpipSjIizHNkx5LNwVC9UbfVw2FFyYvXoyC9zPdT4vvJTM9oOpweyxH3VnwwP1tLIWAJ_36P472szkgQflWV2B5XA1PJ0n81jHZ11vIYKqDNsdRLIj4G8wqyGOGacszm0U/s400/rosesred.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319736099188890434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">And look at these babies...they'll put any fancy flower shop's flowers, to shame.</span><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHi-epWzy-4lSR9yVQlC05zZUjBeuFAZ5gUMdb7MY9YwmgD4rlgJdEDfBSndl7-Bh11FB687zdFFUUZS2Vkf69P8tNEXtPS9qWa_DB-S5Dt9ODkCVIjzyl8wOQK3zoc_lI8kImIQQQAs/s1600-h/favors.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHi-epWzy-4lSR9yVQlC05zZUjBeuFAZ5gUMdb7MY9YwmgD4rlgJdEDfBSndl7-Bh11FB687zdFFUUZS2Vkf69P8tNEXtPS9qWa_DB-S5Dt9ODkCVIjzyl8wOQK3zoc_lI8kImIQQQAs/s400/favors.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319736469500571730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Party Favors.<br />You can kind of see the matchy Thank You tags.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbvpb9vXSAGSBlaId8VOhDWy-SCj6gTgpIwAeBhlkLZrAdQq9-UeBMxrxS37agg1vKu40gHui1maIq-reIEnQr4PEDmYewT5GhBrv2PcUxOlNuxMGnckBKm0bL_KSXShzXrZF7FjNgiU/s1600-h/araandtias.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbvpb9vXSAGSBlaId8VOhDWy-SCj6gTgpIwAeBhlkLZrAdQq9-UeBMxrxS37agg1vKu40gHui1maIq-reIEnQr4PEDmYewT5GhBrv2PcUxOlNuxMGnckBKm0bL_KSXShzXrZF7FjNgiU/s400/araandtias.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319736644478581218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Araceli and her mama.</span><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrfUAzf-LyFNZMpNBZgHXeOHunmrA1PCC67CkUWe_3wYUB1C8ZdPvMYjuluttUcbzbuplpdR4Q1hMr4l9VcOOtYMhSY6ue554wg-4eXda-yUuND9sF_egvPKVQYZUMu6JGLTJVvqGZWo/s1600-h/showerpeepes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrfUAzf-LyFNZMpNBZgHXeOHunmrA1PCC67CkUWe_3wYUB1C8ZdPvMYjuluttUcbzbuplpdR4Q1hMr4l9VcOOtYMhSY6ue554wg-4eXda-yUuND9sF_egvPKVQYZUMu6JGLTJVvqGZWo/s400/showerpeepes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319736807398333218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The ladies enjoying the gift opening.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There's my mama in the glasses.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOl0TIaC5G_KHb7E5NBf3y4Gt_c0GXG_jYsv7YwMSIK2OLEanyXPwooH8hddOCsBPM6HkHdRMrJPBsy81JztX62kvxH0EsttL5fMSDACFOKCDWj90rhKt_SP2QhuE_d1CoH6yoK1btvI/s1600-h/cookbookpic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOl0TIaC5G_KHb7E5NBf3y4Gt_c0GXG_jYsv7YwMSIK2OLEanyXPwooH8hddOCsBPM6HkHdRMrJPBsy81JztX62kvxH0EsttL5fMSDACFOKCDWj90rhKt_SP2QhuE_d1CoH6yoK1btvI/s400/cookbookpic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319736953597450226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ina Garten. Love her</span></span>.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Time to break out those new pots and pans, girl.</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8mYHwEWoIZVvfrBHqmIFP61BcuDH_LL5RSBZhWkTrpxHaOZaSv4V7iu0DFaZ981Upf6EkIebUSqJLDBjduOcV7OBMK7OcmGCb5GKsZyhzyLvpkpscm0mbOzW_DbW6MFS3FokYbTfpzQ/s1600-h/araandv.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8mYHwEWoIZVvfrBHqmIFP61BcuDH_LL5RSBZhWkTrpxHaOZaSv4V7iu0DFaZ981Upf6EkIebUSqJLDBjduOcV7OBMK7OcmGCb5GKsZyhzyLvpkpscm0mbOzW_DbW6MFS3FokYbTfpzQ/s400/araandv.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319737122758833522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me and Ara.</span></span><br /></div><br />I have to say, it was a lovely shower.<br />Appropriate, for a truly lovely person.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-11511168718286184162009-03-25T15:21:00.000-07:002009-03-25T15:49:14.212-07:00Inhale, Exhale, Breathe<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1He3f6nubhfWVPUKYqc845b9RIaC6rOPb2T52JpxvSDsT6hQxE4ccqwDB0O2QiNiUAIrQNGwJsgsusbpnJDvW6HSF7DvSy478m97taa5DpNVAjzVzTgqYOl7YnYjN14TvKxqgU5wdI0M/s1600-h/Park+pictures+and+room+pics+046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1He3f6nubhfWVPUKYqc845b9RIaC6rOPb2T52JpxvSDsT6hQxE4ccqwDB0O2QiNiUAIrQNGwJsgsusbpnJDvW6HSF7DvSy478m97taa5DpNVAjzVzTgqYOl7YnYjN14TvKxqgU5wdI0M/s400/Park+pictures+and+room+pics+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317260381770274738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >I feel as bad as this room looks.<br />This is an old picture though, <span style="font-weight: bold;">really</span>. My bedroom is no longer this color, and I swear it's clean-ish.<br /></span></div><br />I'm sick.<br />Ugh.<br />I.hate.being.sick.<br />I.rarely.get sick.<br /><br />I spent last week camping out with Chloe at CHOC, and caught who knows what.<br /><br />I am congested.<br />My nose is runny.<br />I am coughing up a lung.<br /><br />I have no motivation to do any type of housework<br />(Ha,ha,ha! I never do, but now I actually have an excuse).<br /><br />I would love a nap, but alas, the duties of motherhood, await me.<br /><br />I really miss being able to smell stuff.<br /><br />Colds suck.<br /><br />I could really use some homemade chicken soup right about now.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-30797442684243014972009-03-17T17:05:00.000-07:002009-03-17T17:58:07.085-07:00Boo-tay Call<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7cOPUtQ-chYrYT1396gytEFMgADbJfh41iTqxFyUnXN4KhrOl6jrutWwDcgQux6SVBdPINVM57fGxeInxqqKNvZlizFZBpN4KrPKMvi7ab3F_OFCgYt4q-hoLL2JsAqwHGGGuMeucnw/s1600-h/fridatowels+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7cOPUtQ-chYrYT1396gytEFMgADbJfh41iTqxFyUnXN4KhrOl6jrutWwDcgQux6SVBdPINVM57fGxeInxqqKNvZlizFZBpN4KrPKMvi7ab3F_OFCgYt4q-hoLL2JsAqwHGGGuMeucnw/s400/fridatowels+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314324835786520578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Frida Kahlo and Minnie Mouse last Halloween.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No correlation between this photo and this post. It's just a spunky pic, ya know?</span></span><br /></div><br />Sabrina caught a cold last week, and stayed home from school on Friday.<br />She wasn't totally "out of commission" sick, but had all the standard cold-like symptoms. Congestion, sore throat, cough.<br /><br />Since Chloe catches pretty much everything, I quarantined Sabrina to the far side of the living room, where she could hack to her hearts content, and I wouldn't nag her too much about staying away from her sister.<br /><br />Sabrina, agreed to the quarantine, on one condition.<br />"You know I don't do deals, Sabrina," I told her.<br />"It's not a deal mama," she said<br />"I just want to bring my bean bag chair into the living room."<br /><br />Pay no mind, that there is a perfectly good chair, expressly for the purpose of sitting, curled up with your blankey, when you don't feel good.<br /><br />We went back and forth for a few minutes, until finally the bean bag won out.<br /><br />She dragged it, along with the book she was reading for school, to her little "corner" of the room, and happily ensconced herself in it's comfy embrace.<br /><br />About an hour went by, maybe more, and things were quiet.<br />The television was on, but Sabrina, Chloe and I were each doing our own thing.<br /><br />"I'm sorry Boo-tay," I heard Sabrina say.<br /><br />At first, I thought I heard her wrong.<br /><br />"Sabrina," I said, "Did you just apologize to your butt?"<br /><br />"Yes, mama," she said nonchalantly.<br /><br />"Why, in the world, would you need to say sorry to your booty," I ask.<br /><br />"Well," she said matter of factly "I took a break from sitting on my bean bag, and was sitting on the floor, but after a while my booty started to hurt, so...," her voice trailed off. "I just thought I should say I was sorry."<br /><br />"What?" she said, as I looked at her, my eyebrow raised,<br />"Why are you looking at me like that?"<br /><br />She promptly got up from the floor, and plopped herself back onto the bean bag chair.<br /><br />"Ahh," she said, "that's better."<br /><br />Hooray for beanbags.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-19717226047176817772009-03-16T16:52:00.000-07:002009-03-16T17:23:36.964-07:00Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolly, lolly, lolly....I love that old song by the Chordettes...you know the one....it's been around awhile.<br /><br />I always feel it necessary to stick the 'ole thumb in my mouth and pop it out, to make the "Pop" sound. Weird, I know.<br /><br />That song may be old but there's another set of Lollipopz that are new, brand spankin' new.<br />These.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYJN8uwNd4GmBN_5-G22bpj-a5Hny-Kq9Cs2bIOIzitdn3iUMvf3aqSPVCcC2bEDiiE7xM1Mari4nqreJ2qGveMa57Ariw_I8vpyftYuCoclFO-rZniYWkUOGbFuKju1BG-aTNLXBt3g/s1600-h/lollipopzlogo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYJN8uwNd4GmBN_5-G22bpj-a5Hny-Kq9Cs2bIOIzitdn3iUMvf3aqSPVCcC2bEDiiE7xM1Mari4nqreJ2qGveMa57Ariw_I8vpyftYuCoclFO-rZniYWkUOGbFuKju1BG-aTNLXBt3g/s400/lollipopzlogo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313942645154591938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's a new design group on Ebay that I am a member of. Yup. New, new, new.<br />The debut launch is today, and will run until March 26.<br />All the lollipoppy listings can be found <a href="http://shop.ebay.com/?_from=R40&_trksid=p0.m38.l1313&_nkw=lollipopz+boutique&_sacat=See-All-Categories">here.</a><br /><br />If you are interested in a ton of FREE stuff, as in GRATIS, skidaddle on over the the groups <a href="http://www.lollipopzboutique.blogspot.com/">BLOG</a>. Someone is going to make out like a bandit. Actually a few someone's will, maybe you'll be one of them.<br /><br />And well, since this is a shameless pluggy type of post, I've got these <a href="http://shop.ebay.com/merchant/vanessa*and*company">auctions </a>running NOW, as I type this, as you read this post.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEGMuwBASEezBrUvW9I5njUhBUNq9oJRlZVW8FCE4vVpAN8ANU3vX4QLnT24PGhHS1N-G-xHb9Q8dhd3Djqe-wWMvlVmIHNbNkAZU3hVRuaXF_ykeVdkGBvIjGS1Pykw2tNYzO49uvjM/s1600-h/goldie1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEGMuwBASEezBrUvW9I5njUhBUNq9oJRlZVW8FCE4vVpAN8ANU3vX4QLnT24PGhHS1N-G-xHb9Q8dhd3Djqe-wWMvlVmIHNbNkAZU3hVRuaXF_ykeVdkGBvIjGS1Pykw2tNYzO49uvjM/s400/goldie1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313945299821608578" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWkvAmbLgnqN9PVGO6JjsoBJAKydypt4hE0N7KmRdF-FoRRuicFwg9s7RJNtVrt8p0ceig_XmSz0zIQirXHVGwhCuFcVhyphenhyphenpmGCXZsPebXLAUscgQjsvM0Gkxxo8jKi9BKD3KJrgbJDFQ/s1600-h/mrtoads6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWkvAmbLgnqN9PVGO6JjsoBJAKydypt4hE0N7KmRdF-FoRRuicFwg9s7RJNtVrt8p0ceig_XmSz0zIQirXHVGwhCuFcVhyphenhyphenpmGCXZsPebXLAUscgQjsvM0Gkxxo8jKi9BKD3KJrgbJDFQ/s400/mrtoads6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313945484713556226" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqDc-CYVvyqp3Yh1hNXguGHmiSQXwcMUp53zjJ57iLv_STLaZbIp5894aQ7RkU1U7lDBjEZ1wRqyM1g52vov_hGacL2cSs2kMBjkzun7tAUfUEJUSuuJulsRT5JuDTebS6yFvCK_tQ9Y/s1600-h/twodress3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqDc-CYVvyqp3Yh1hNXguGHmiSQXwcMUp53zjJ57iLv_STLaZbIp5894aQ7RkU1U7lDBjEZ1wRqyM1g52vov_hGacL2cSs2kMBjkzun7tAUfUEJUSuuJulsRT5JuDTebS6yFvCK_tQ9Y/s400/twodress3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313945654694388338" /></a><br />Feliz Lunes!<br />Now go spend your hard earned money on some cute clothes for your kids!Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-15848462507561550372009-03-11T08:07:00.000-07:002009-03-11T09:20:03.996-07:00To Hamster or not to Hamster...that is the Question<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.hsus.org/web-files/Hamsters_and_Guinea_pigs/184x265_hamster_standing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 265px;" src="http://www.hsus.org/web-files/Hamsters_and_Guinea_pigs/184x265_hamster_standing.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photo courtesy of Istock.com</span></span><br /></span></div><br />I have mentioned before that the only pets we currently own, are fish.<br /><br />Sabrina, begs for a dog almost on a daily basis. She's been doing it for months now.<br />A couple of weeks ago, she announced that she wanted a hamster.<br />Hmmm...<br /><br />"Sabrina," I say, "I thought you wanted a dog? Why all of a sudden do you want a hamster?"<br /><br />"I just do," she says matter of factly.<br />"Can we maybe go to Petco...umm, not today, but maybe tomorrow and get one?"<br /><br />"No way, " I say. "A hamster is not a toy, we have to talk to Daddy, and see what he says about the whole thing."<br /><br />She half-heartedly agrees, and begins asking me if I need her to <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> anything. You know, like <span style="font-style: italic;">chores</span>.<br /><br />"I can clean my room," she says brightly.<br />"How about I wash the dishes for you?"<br />"Can I make your bed?"<br /><br />Ordinarily I'm all about the kid picking up my slack around here.<br />However, I know her sudden interest in "helping" me out, is hamster-related.<br /><br /> *********************************<br /><br />Fast forward to Saturday.<br />Oscar agrees to take Sabrina to Petco. Hamster research.<br />I make him promise not to bring any furry creatures home.<br />He agrees, and instead comes home with lots of Hamster literature.<br /><br />Sabrina is pretty jazzed at the prospect of learning more about her potential future pet.<br />She eagerly shows me the pamphlets.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Hamster Care"</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />"Hamsters sleep during the day. They are awake at night"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Hamsters have high metabolisms, and should have constant access to food and water"<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />"Hamsters can be cranky if disturbed during their daytime sleeping hours. So try to schedule <span style="font-weight: bold;">daily </span>cage cleanings in the late afternoon or evening."</span><br /><br />The list goes on and on and on....<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. I love animals. I had pets growing up, although not until I was about twelve, but that's neither her nor there.<br />The point being, that pets, in general, are alot of work, and once the novelty wears off (which it will), who will be stuck on Hamster duty?<br />One guess,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">moi.</span><br /><br />I can barely handle the "duties" I already have.....cleaning, "cooking" taking care of kids and husbands and laundry...need I say more?<br />Adding a hamster to the list may prove disastrous, for both of us.<br /><br />Oscar tells Sabrina, after patiently listening to her read the pamphlet,<br /><br />"So, let me get this straight. The hamster sleeps during the day, will be awake at night, making all kinds of racket, while you are trying to sleep,"<br /><br />"You won't be able to take him out of his cage and play with him during the day, as he will be sleeping (<span style="font-style: italic;">and cranky, no less</span>),"<br /><br />Oscar continues rattling off the 101 things the brochure advises, is necessary, to be a responsible hamster owner.<br /><br />Sabrina is unfazed.<br />"I will daddy, uh-huh, I know daddy, I understand daddy, okay....uh-huh, okay...okay...."<br /><br />Needless to say, the hamster negotiations are still going on.<br />We have all agreed to wait until, Sabrina's next report card, for the final decision.<br />Fingers crossed.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-26426135272435653862009-03-09T11:23:00.000-07:002009-03-09T11:37:21.433-07:00Tie One OnI know I already posted today, but this deserves a shout out.<br /><br />My poor sister Monica (she is actually my sister-in-law but after sixteen years, the in-law part, kind of gets blurry), has been sick, yet the trooper that she is, has bestowed upon me the most delicious pictures.<br /><br />I made these little girl aprons, in a somewhat futile effort to use up some of my enormous fabric stash. I took my own pictures, and they were, let's just say, craptastic, and that is being generous.<br />I begged Monica to re-photograph the aprons for me, as well, I wanted to actually <span style="font-style: italic;">sell</span> them.<br /><br />And look...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEics1rsAa1aVcbrQgYBhmFLg3WMtBDR5Pd_SwqmS9y6WJx4exJggmmlG2WZXFQDfAvw2G7pvAmzBc9wHjnAaiwLiu-WeWh0W5-xCxJ3TkJWDES3zshT7lH-PZbsaMePD_pJ9sd70Ntok5o/s1600-h/newbunny1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEics1rsAa1aVcbrQgYBhmFLg3WMtBDR5Pd_SwqmS9y6WJx4exJggmmlG2WZXFQDfAvw2G7pvAmzBc9wHjnAaiwLiu-WeWh0W5-xCxJ3TkJWDES3zshT7lH-PZbsaMePD_pJ9sd70Ntok5o/s400/newbunny1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311256717240385922" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bunny Tea<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMa64wNORC3vMkWSuvQ2oNG-IaPH1hueEH2UeXCVrFRexMzXFatmQkE419aQSTMkk9mvPcd0Slrgv9w8_thogxR0zg5Qg8YT-npTwowCNgrlgN9b5wBA1CMUGplMkPD9J8a9LslF8f3k/s1600-h/newmonkey5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMa64wNORC3vMkWSuvQ2oNG-IaPH1hueEH2UeXCVrFRexMzXFatmQkE419aQSTMkk9mvPcd0Slrgv9w8_thogxR0zg5Qg8YT-npTwowCNgrlgN9b5wBA1CMUGplMkPD9J8a9LslF8f3k/s400/newmonkey5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311256882345291282" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hello Monkey</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2MXefn7nRyzb2J0RgImhGbqn7Y4aBYgufphfNL5vNoOV8GGAp-V86faTkpl_fwa_D1T201b2sxQP9acP-Bvl4Vi9w0po6ksm9SWl9pwyrhXzoPbb6yNPknBUtBEmEJhDdnTyVuJjOb0/s1600-h/sparklespring3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2MXefn7nRyzb2J0RgImhGbqn7Y4aBYgufphfNL5vNoOV8GGAp-V86faTkpl_fwa_D1T201b2sxQP9acP-Bvl4Vi9w0po6ksm9SWl9pwyrhXzoPbb6yNPknBUtBEmEJhDdnTyVuJjOb0/s400/sparklespring3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311257053883658242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sparkle Spring</span></span><br /></div><br />Man, she is a miracle worker. Not to mention her kids are pretty easy on the eyes...!<br />So, on the off chance you need an apron for a diminutive person in your life they are <a href="http://www.vanessaandcompany.etsy.com/">here</a>.<br />You rock Monica.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-37979302175838710902009-03-09T08:06:00.000-07:002009-03-09T08:35:27.059-07:00Feliz Cumpleanos<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQB5rrbKx4Qr0ZJOKP6O04lQyPZpTdCQjqGXlbyeIK87f8FzwcHZEvtAKEPgH8Lanb_LbpKwYZViW1PP2SnyJTJh4ERYlJLaJRQ-iuoMhMycmWale03Z0RcKNVM1hF0QEOwlp-vIVkTg/s1600-h/momsb-day+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQB5rrbKx4Qr0ZJOKP6O04lQyPZpTdCQjqGXlbyeIK87f8FzwcHZEvtAKEPgH8Lanb_LbpKwYZViW1PP2SnyJTJh4ERYlJLaJRQ-iuoMhMycmWale03Z0RcKNVM1hF0QEOwlp-vIVkTg/s400/momsb-day+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311208381949389954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The birthday girl and Sabrina<br /></span></div><br />Yesterday was my mama's birthday.<br />In her honor, I threw her a pretty rad shindig.....<br /><br />I'm not exactly a "social butterfly," so in my book a rad shindig is usually a small(ish) one.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ywO2UERr__cSvRU2jAQ6sZrvhzrGn__aj5Z7Hu-1fGCmXG6WWsa3bYYZJRHp36mp4hOZHFHRhU5ENZWh4D11uvFx9PrsULg7QODfzFIFM9zd_QwCOWsAUTTr-3XfAcfCTG5qq4PSu3U/s1600-h/momsb-day+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ywO2UERr__cSvRU2jAQ6sZrvhzrGn__aj5Z7Hu-1fGCmXG6WWsa3bYYZJRHp36mp4hOZHFHRhU5ENZWh4D11uvFx9PrsULg7QODfzFIFM9zd_QwCOWsAUTTr-3XfAcfCTG5qq4PSu3U/s400/momsb-day+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311208859444615986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Tia Sylvia and the party table</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5X3ZqmHjUKVSJ-3v1A7pwOQuqTOoK-NHOEg-TanU9DLJC4ILJwYVmOmXq9YLyE9O1EpSezEK-k86K67HpGoGaY71wADhAcjIMsLQNzsiJEih00qH2pPlFRZII0ZKD6t2VQRaUUBbwgyA/s1600-h/momsb-day+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5X3ZqmHjUKVSJ-3v1A7pwOQuqTOoK-NHOEg-TanU9DLJC4ILJwYVmOmXq9YLyE9O1EpSezEK-k86K67HpGoGaY71wADhAcjIMsLQNzsiJEih00qH2pPlFRZII0ZKD6t2VQRaUUBbwgyA/s400/momsb-day+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311209893467189618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">My mama and pretty Araceli</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMOVu3QeRv1GYTMgFtUkN9MXUIwm52vK5wV3qaZYREvJhN9RZef8ZG3q9hGqe_Cw8FfPdzpMXYra_lkkVoegoPB3DdLyxFiQgkex3nsvyuQgtMMFzBuT0aQt-sr2C-fjmx4fKgEszg38/s1600-h/momsb-day+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMOVu3QeRv1GYTMgFtUkN9MXUIwm52vK5wV3qaZYREvJhN9RZef8ZG3q9hGqe_Cw8FfPdzpMXYra_lkkVoegoPB3DdLyxFiQgkex3nsvyuQgtMMFzBuT0aQt-sr2C-fjmx4fKgEszg38/s400/momsb-day+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311210677162630274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Chloe and the Jokester</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYH0tIoCVwytrnbpwy0IkwTT7swV-mEe0S9FlKDIoS284G0L3PQ12tBnhUl5v9VYUfJjUQbziLkEALT3vpvXdSyMicruisDzhBvABPLHB77HcF-oLC3ctCScjsBo5UjBFq8kQfA-xVK4/s1600-h/momsb-day+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYH0tIoCVwytrnbpwy0IkwTT7swV-mEe0S9FlKDIoS284G0L3PQ12tBnhUl5v9VYUfJjUQbziLkEALT3vpvXdSyMicruisDzhBvABPLHB77HcF-oLC3ctCScjsBo5UjBFq8kQfA-xVK4/s400/momsb-day+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311211542957364818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Two of my favorite ladies</span></span><br /><br /></div>Good food (green chile enchiladas, rice, chorizo beans and green salad),<br />Birthday cake (lemon cooler cake=store bought),<br />Sweet treats (sparkle sugar and chocolate chip cookies=homemade),<br />Presents,<br />My favorite people,<br />and<br />Kooky jokes, as told by my dad,<br />equal a totally awesome time.<br />Fur sure.Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-33735018040713968702009-03-06T15:50:00.000-08:002009-03-06T16:25:27.783-08:00The Curse<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXAOupB71RJ3Y-TtqFb7aDtxqz799MJQ_kKxB8sKPsFJFZuACp0BSzuz4nN5vPJlG5QI79hCJWOkNEiKsVZIQ7zVwFRBVJ6UsH5PGeRlpfhmyV8Dz7IPanvpT-6TVexY2wTJIAk4FR6A/s1600-h/OscarsCamera-Photos+058.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXAOupB71RJ3Y-TtqFb7aDtxqz799MJQ_kKxB8sKPsFJFZuACp0BSzuz4nN5vPJlG5QI79hCJWOkNEiKsVZIQ7zVwFRBVJ6UsH5PGeRlpfhmyV8Dz7IPanvpT-6TVexY2wTJIAk4FR6A/s400/OscarsCamera-Photos+058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310232934067104178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mom and Papa in all their glory.<br /><br /></span></span></div>We all have our own version of what a "curse" is, and it's not too often I throw that word around. I mean how often do you use the word "curse" in everyday conversation?<br /><br />A few months ago, right after Sabrina started the fourth grade, she was busily doing her spelling or vocabulary homework. I don't remember which one.<br /><br />She spent about half an hour writing sentences using the words that were on her list that week.<br /><br />Sabrina is a very meticulous and detail oriented person.<br />So, it came as no surprise, when she asked me to double check her sentences, to make sure everything was on the up and up.<br /><br />They were all very good sentences.<br />Witty, clever even, and well they all made sense, which is ultimately the goal, when you are in the fourth grade.<br /><br />I made my way down the page, and stopped at one of the last sentences she had written.<br />I read it once, then twice.<br /><br />"My Grandpa says when I grow up, I will get the curse."<br /><br />I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle my laughter.<br /><br />"Sabrina," I asked, "Do you know what the curse is?"<br /><br />"No," she said, "but Papa says I will get it when I'm older."<br /><br />"Do, you <span style="font-style: italic;">want </span>to know what it is?"<br /><br />"Sure," she said, "What is it?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You</span> probably know what "curse" my Dad was referring to.<br />You know the one..."Aunt Flow" or the "Monthly Visitor," or <span style="font-style:italic;">(insert your favorite term for "the curse" here).</span><br /><br />As I started to explain "the curse" that would someday befall her, she held up her hand,<br /><br />"Ewww Mom, that's gross."<br /><br />Thanks Dad.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></insert>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-78782630891475742452009-03-03T17:04:00.000-08:002009-03-03T18:11:29.829-08:00One Fish, Two Fish, Third Time's A Charm Fish<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLu7JTMBzpwsat8HDpWlcGlzJ0V07_wA0D4elRvH7RawmSs97Zk5vtte-zr_j7MVvsSEexj18izHG3cXgrTxQMhIPHMuh21DiBdFbhfIUCaTSWxfpoHTm0IbX6OfR2UDUeyUWZJ9GUTg/s1600-h/goldfish+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLu7JTMBzpwsat8HDpWlcGlzJ0V07_wA0D4elRvH7RawmSs97Zk5vtte-zr_j7MVvsSEexj18izHG3cXgrTxQMhIPHMuh21DiBdFbhfIUCaTSWxfpoHTm0IbX6OfR2UDUeyUWZJ9GUTg/s400/goldfish+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309147745850222898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Goldie and Pearl, our gargantuan pets.</span><br /></div><br />The only pets we currently own are fish.<br />Two humongous, Little Shop of Horrors-like, goldfish.<br />One is aptly named Goldie, and the other one, not actually gold, is named Pearl (see photo).<br /><br />Sabrina won Goldie at her school carnival, almost <span style="font-style: italic;">two years</span> ago.<br />Yes. You read that correctly. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Two years.</span><br /><br />These are the tiny "feeder" fish they give away at carnivals for winning the ring toss game.<br />The ones you are usually attending a toilet bowl funeral for, after a couple of days.<br />A week, tops.<br /><br />"Don't get your hopes up, Sabrina," I said.<br />"These fish, don't usually live that long."<br /><br />Way to crush the kid, you may be thinking, but she had experienced a couple of prior fish deaths, so our expectations were low.<br /><br />Oscar bought a small fish tank. He filled it with clean-ish water, a small filter and pretty blue rocks.<br />He followed all of the instructions dutifully given to him by the Petco clerk.<br />Goldie was deposited into her new home, and we all sat around on pins and needles....waiting....<br /><br />Would there be a third fish funeral in our future?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.domingaluna.com/images/vandco/blog/goldie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 466px;" src="http://www.domingaluna.com/images/vandco/blog/goldie.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Goldie, about a week old, the new fish on the block</span><br /></div><br />Every morning I would wake up and inquire about Goldie's status.<br />And every morning, would be the same.<br />A -L-I-V-E.<br /><br />A few months passed. Oscar decided it was time to get a friend for Goldie.<br />Another trip to Petco, and $150 bucks later, we had a fancy new aquarium and two new fish.<br />Aquarium and accompanying bits.....$149.50.<br />Fish.....$.50.<br />No kidding.<br /><br />Unfortunately, the Petco clerk forgot to mention that new fish usually need to be quarantined because they carry around a fish virus called ICK.<br />So, the new fish infected our robust Goldie with the ICK virus.<br />After some internet research, Oscar discovered that ICK had a cure.<br />Fish antibiotics.<br />Seriously.<br />So, off to Petco I went. To purchase fish medicine.<br />Sadly, one of the newbie fish didn't make it...fish funeral number three.<br />The other one, Pearl, did.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Two years.</span><br /><br />Goldie and Pearl happily co-exist.<br />Both of them Huge, and eagerly anticipating their next meal.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWSIgoP8Pb8qPE-Qzbce0arStuEL-NBmz7RW2OS6IP4el3ZyKo1YK_hOfi_N3kkkgOBJFXRoe2n-mZWIDQUC1r4LADDK74GxOl3tmm3MpIb7I1FbHKNDUrLz1xaqgFVOP1ABzJo_mt5A/s1600-h/goldfish+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWSIgoP8Pb8qPE-Qzbce0arStuEL-NBmz7RW2OS6IP4el3ZyKo1YK_hOfi_N3kkkgOBJFXRoe2n-mZWIDQUC1r4LADDK74GxOl3tmm3MpIb7I1FbHKNDUrLz1xaqgFVOP1ABzJo_mt5A/s400/goldfish+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309146805900550946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Goldie and Pearl hiding from my camera.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUcqN4OgpQVg7W_k4JTl3v6gqjfEdEDo8zLoaX1x-mRxyx4z3TosCzEtUk1kOkuv31Sk83ABE2SLnVE8Ej3RHIG3-sVSnE1fgT6jARZZuWElug4vYWrxfbg3q7jWGxewcQKbQn7dtQiI/s1600-h/goldfish+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUcqN4OgpQVg7W_k4JTl3v6gqjfEdEDo8zLoaX1x-mRxyx4z3TosCzEtUk1kOkuv31Sk83ABE2SLnVE8Ej3RHIG3-sVSnE1fgT6jARZZuWElug4vYWrxfbg3q7jWGxewcQKbQn7dtQiI/s400/goldfish+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309147296705842514" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Goldie, age two.</span></span><br /></div>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7897476559988595073.post-21689505909681094662009-02-26T17:25:00.000-08:002009-02-27T08:29:11.603-08:00No Hablo Espanol<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_F-fWQ80Zlh45690Vwphc2wNAIHXRdcGJzm_en7IjuDN731jZuuGre6i5wUtDMhvMz4_GODDIAP3DEp1CWUltti5eZWJ9UcS3UJgDniY-NGbYYItkM-zJx7rKICu0pAH3iezTN-_mU7U/s1600-h/OscarsCamera-Photos+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_F-fWQ80Zlh45690Vwphc2wNAIHXRdcGJzm_en7IjuDN731jZuuGre6i5wUtDMhvMz4_GODDIAP3DEp1CWUltti5eZWJ9UcS3UJgDniY-NGbYYItkM-zJx7rKICu0pAH3iezTN-_mU7U/s400/OscarsCamera-Photos+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307295731272811714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">My familia last Thanksgiving (please excuse my lovehandles).</span><br /></div><br />I'm an American, and proud of it.<br />I am also of Mexican descent.<br />Both of my parents were born in Mexico, and came to these great United States in their youth.<br /><br />I learned how to speak Spanish, only because my (Grandma) Abuelita Clemen who took care of me when I was little, did not speak English. She spoke to me only in Spanish, thus I learned to speak the language.<br /><br />My parents spoke only English at home. No espanol.<br /><br />I am a child of the eighties.<br />Teased hair, Z. Cavarrici pants, blue eyeliner and frosted pink lipstick.<br />I went to a Catholic High School, and was a typical American teenager.<br /><br />In my youth I got a job working for Pacific Bell, in the Hispanic Center.<br />The Hispanic Center was a call center, that took customer service calls from all of PacBell's Spanish-speaking customers.<br /><br />I spoke Spanish all day, every day, and really began to master the language.<br />Even my Abuelito Adal was impressed. We had many conversations about telephone service. My Grandpa and I would talk about long distance carriers and about why his bill was so high. I would relate some humorous story or another about this customer and that customer.<br />Those were some good times, good memories...and all because I was a Spanish-speaking machine.<br /><br />After I left that job, my awesome Spanish skills began to wane. I tried to "practice" by speaking in only Spanish to Oscar (who does not speak Spanish), but that didn't last long.<br /><br />He would look at me blankly until I would just give up, and revert back to good old ingles (english...see, I still got it).<br /><br />After Sabrina was born, I would constantly get the riot act from my Grandma.<br /><br />Her: "Mija, porque no le hablas en espanol a la nina?"<br />(Why don't you speak Spanish to Sabrina)<br /><br />Me: (Sheepishly) "Pues, si le hablo en espanol...."<br />(I do speak Spanish to her)<span style="font-style: italic;"> Liar, Liar pants on fire.....</span><br /><br />Her: "Pues no creo que le estas hablando en espanol...por que no me entiende!"<br />(I don't think you are speaking to her in Spanish because she doesn't understand me)<br /><br />Me: "Ummmm.....no se por que....."<br />(Ummm, I don't know why..)<br /><br />But of course I knew <span style="font-style:italic;">why</span> the girl didn't understand my Abuelita, because I really <span style="font-style:italic;">wasn't</span> speaking to her in Spanish. Aye, ya yay!<br />So everytime I would see my Grandma, she would tell me what a dis-service I was doing my daughter. Dios mio, the guilt, but she was right.<br /><br />So now, Sabrina is almost ten, and asks me constantly why she doesn't know how to speak Spanish, except what she learned by watching Dora the Explorer as a toddler.<br />You know the words, probably the same ones you or your own toddler know...<br /><br />"Vamonos" <br />"Bate, bate chocolate" <br />"Amigo" and <br />"Si se puede" (this one, sadly ironic, since it means "Yes you can").<br /><br />Lucky for me, my Abuelita is still around. She's 86 years old, and as sharp as a tack. I adore that lady more than I can put into words.<br />When her and Sabrina get together, it is quite an interesting scene as the communication dance starts between them, but somehow they manage.<br />I still say a few Hail Mary's every night to lessen my guilt though.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAT5zuV406lBPigzDAKHH_DbIZT-V3Zgw2EXjNQtyATHxm9R6FgZ4-JNzlGuIOcMkQD4Qx41lRbo0b4Uq00h6WGviMVGJ51KjGAOd2HJqDHjianwKfXyz03WvR2TNnVfL0Mi3INtELhQ/s1600-h/OscarsCamera-Photos+050.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAT5zuV406lBPigzDAKHH_DbIZT-V3Zgw2EXjNQtyATHxm9R6FgZ4-JNzlGuIOcMkQD4Qx41lRbo0b4Uq00h6WGviMVGJ51KjGAOd2HJqDHjianwKfXyz03WvR2TNnVfL0Mi3INtELhQ/s400/OscarsCamera-Photos+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307296425595104626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sabrina and Abuelita Clemen last Christmas. </span><br /></div>Vanessa and Companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10078476666699819485noreply@blogger.com4