Around Here

(Around here, it's always 10:25.)  :)

We're in that famous wind-down. I'm tripping along between believing summer is around the corner and trying not to rush it. Same song, different tune. The story of my life.

We're planting tomatoes and thinking about beans. I'm excited about the possibilities of our little wonky yard, but I feel like I need to start seeing tangible, quantifiable progress being made. And yes, I'm a super fun, easy-going wife. Why do you ask?? I just get weird, guys. That's all. I get all amped up about something and before I know it, I'm worried that it'll be over soon. Meanwhile, it hasn't even started yet. I have a gift-card for a massage that I got for Christmas but I'm afraid to use it because then it'll be, well, gone. I've started saving my Country Living mags for a month before reading them because I just like to know they're there. That's how I'm being about summer right now. It's annoying, even for me.

So yes, there's still time for the beans. There's time for the patio, even.

We've been yakking around about it for a few weeks, but inspiration finally struck this week in the likeliest of places.


 Just stop it, Meg. Stop your radness, already. Stop your chippiness and your container gardens and your bunting. You're making me covet. 

Long story short, I want to copy the whole nine yards.

Speaking of copying, we've got an outbreak of it around here. Cannot even tell you how many times a day I hear, "He's copying me!" "Stop copying me!"

WHY does every kid at some point find unparalleled glee from copying their brothers/sisters/bosses????

And now, some Howard.  This is a blurry pic of Howard sitting at his "office", set up for him by our resident tech geek, Silas.

Oh my word, I don't even really like pets. Don't hate. Don't hate.

I'm just not animaly. But I die for this right now. I showed it to Calvin and we both cackled like twin church ladies. It's too much cuteness, even for me. I hope my mom and Holly aren't reading this because they won't possibly be able to handle it.

The thing is, Howard escaped yesterday morning. It was a tricky scenario and there was some finger pointing, but it was an accident. Dude bolted. It happened right before the kids left for school and it was just so upsetting for everyone.

We prayed and I told them to keep praying, but I wasn't feeling confident that we'd ever see him again.

All morning Silas fretted and stewed. He asked if we could pray again.
You'll have to sit down for this, because I memorized it then real-quick copied it down.

Dear Lord help Howard come safely home and thank you for our wonderful cat and him to come back to us and thank you he is a bootiful cat and he's our best cat ever and that he can come home soon to be back in our family and thank you for our love to be good in Jesus' name Amen.

Then I very nicely prayed, "God, thank you that you always hear our prayers" but in my head I was gritting my teeth, all, "God, you have a big opportunity here to show these kids that you're real and you mean business. Don't you even think of not bringing Howard back to us, because this doesn't feel like the right kind of day for 'God always hears, but sometimes he does the opposite of what we ask'. Amen."

One hour later I was standing at the sink, getting ready to make tuna melts for a friend. I cracked the lid off the can of tuna and that very second, I kid you not, I heard Howard whining outside.

The prodigal had returned. Hallelujah. I almost teared up, and that's no joke.

I emailed Calvin's teacher and asked if she could let him know, because it was only lunch time and a soul like his can only take so many hours of worrying. (Can I say one more time how much I love my kids' teachers? They are the BEST.)

Speaking of teachers, we're doing this teacher gift. $3 each. And super cute. Hot dang. I think I'll keep you, Pinterest.

Last thing. Or as Silas says, "Last more."

My presentation on Monday night went so, so well. Thank you to all who sent some prayers along! I rode over with my friend Jessica and it's been a long time since we've had 90 uninterrupted minutes to talk. All the chattering kept my mind off my gig. It was perfect.

In the end, I went over my allotted time.

What? You're not shocked???

I also cried about eighteen times, several of which required me to focus intently on the clock hanging in the back of the room in an attempt to thwart the all-out ugly.

But it seemed like the people in the room were really listening. Maybe like they were even understanding. It was such a reminder to me that God is crazy-alive in each of our stories. And when we share them, His power reigns down. I'm so thankful for the opportunity to share the one I've been given.

 This is the only shot I got of me speaking.

Okay, fine! You win! It's staged! We didn't know what to do, so we faked it up after. FINE!
(You can tell it's a fake because I'm smiling and not weeping...)

Also? My mom surprised me and drove almost 3 hours with a friend of hers to watch me. Best Mom EVER!

Cory is still at work right now, the kids are all in bed. I have a tub of salsa calling my name and I might go ahead and start a movie, because Sarah said The Odd Life of Timothy Green made her bawl so I'm curious to see if it works on me.

(Around here, we always stay up late.)

Hey-Hey! Tomorrow's Friday! Long-weekend Friday! Let's plan a party or something.

Ever Yours,
FPFG

It's Just Me, the Activist

Cory and I used to watch the local evening news regularly. We watched mostly for kicks, having already gotten the pertinent stories of the day online. But, you know, there's the ever-important weatherman in his dorky tie and once we were lucky enough to catch a reporter screaming and cursing at her videographer while she thought the camera wasn't rolling.

Then, there would be the activists, marching around because of inadequate parking or an unfair ruling. We'd roll our eyes and wonder if they knew how silly they looked and if they truly believed they were changing anything.

A few months ago there was a homicide/suicide just down our street. It happened at 8:30 on a Monday morning on the sidewalk, broad daylight, two houses down from Silas's pre-school. Concerned calls and texts came in, but we were fine. It was a whole half mile away.

Still, the news was shocking and I wore the shove and drag of darkness around like a veil.

We were unsettled. It wasn't that we were afraid for our own lives, but that the thick pulse of humanity and all its pain, all of its confusion rose up around us. The corners that we try to hide from crept out of the shadows and I could see the chain connecting death and life. I remembered (again) the reality of that tension, as real and unnoticed as the turning of the world we stand on.

A month or so later, just 2 blocks away this time, there was a drive-by shooting. We heard the shots from our couch and wondered why someone was lighting fireworks on a Sunday night.

4 teenagers were shot, no one killed. They said it was gang related, made sure we all knew that it wasn't random violence.

But I imagine the barrel of a gun hanging out the passenger side of a Chevy, I imagine bullet casings landing on the same grass Calvin and Ruby play on at recces, and it sounds pretty random to me. Random enough.

When we heard about the neighborhood parade, we didn't think twice. We knew we might be some of the only ones who showed. We knew it was strange, even for us.

But this is our community and these are our people. They are lovely and hurting. They feel forgotten and unnoticed. They've become something worth standing up for, and we don't even know many of their names.

Our beautiful church rallied around this effort, even though none of them live here. Our pastor reminded us that this is why we're here, and of course I cried. Robert teases me about being a cry baby and fine, it's true. God has pummeled my heart and it now it bleeds with every passing breeze.

So I cried because my children didn't think it was weird and because the dear man at my church told me on Sunday, "This isn't something we would normally do, but we're going to try it!". I cried because Haven and baby Avery came with us and it did all our hearts good. I cried because I'm so proud of my husband, who led us here with courage and conviction. I cried because there was a stinking band, and displaced bands almost always make me cry.

So many people showed up, moms and grandpas. We walked in the heat, passed flowers to the ladies on their stoops and candy to the kids. We carried our signs and pushed strollers and I took it all in.

This is community. It's what I never knew I needed. These are my brothers and sisters, my surrogate family. They are the ones who have welcomed us without question or explanation.

I always had a hunch that we would be changed by what we found here, but I couldn't have guessed how quickly or completely that change would fall.

It's amazing to me that in stepping out of our comfort zone, we landed where we've never been more at home.

Our kids know the concept of drive-by shootings now, and that's okay. It's okay for them to see from a low vantage point that darkness lurks, because every time those shadows shift, it's an opportunity to remind them that God is with us. He's in us.

So tie a daisy in my braids, I'm practically a legit hippie now. 

Did we change anything? Really change it?
I don't know that we did. I doubt any gang members changed their ways because we handed them a pack of Skittles.

But maybe this spinning globe filled with people craving hope can be distilled down to one little neighborhood on a hill. Maybe a human race filled with empty hearts is the same as that young family standing wary at their door, emanating pain in our wake.

I keep wondering what made them open that door. I keep wondering if I'll ever see the other side of it.
Maybe they were reason enough.

I have hope for Chamberlain neighborhood. I know His name and that His heart throbs for all of us. I know that Love lives here, recognize it or not.

God Bless the Salad and Other Updates

I present to you our favorite Saturday dinner. It's some kind of Cobb salad, since it has avocado and bacon. At least that's what I tell myself. It's also part-Nicoise on account of the potatoes (boil, smash, drizzle with olive oil, salt, pepper, rosemary, roast until crispy).

I'll shout it from my high horse: I love a good salad!

But the salad was really just the beginning, because Calvin did get his yellow belt. My tiny little baby kicked a board in half with his foot and we were all so stinking proud.

We got our garden planted with help from our new friends Brad and Deb. They totally deserve a pair of shiny crowns or at least a couple of sashes. Their kindness made me cry a little. They are our people now, a new and beautiful part of the community God gifted us with when He sent us here on what seemed like a lark. We shouldn't be so surprised by His goodness. Thank you guys!

And then...I found a bike at Chain Reaction! A vintage American Eagle. Oh boy, did I ever waffle. Because there was a turquoise bike and a green bike and then the AE, in a drab bronzey olive. The two men running the shop probably wanted to smack me with a spoke half-way through my deliberations. I finally confessed that I sort of hoped for one in a prettier color. They smirked and pretended to understand. In the end, I did what I never ever do and erred on the side of practicality. I know. In her defense, she had shiny fenders and will pair nicely with a hot pink or coral basket. And yes, she's a she, even though she's drab. I have vowed to love her forever, just the way she is.

Then today? Prison run. With the two cutest baby boys on the planet.
Robert is growing dreds dreads, people. And I love them. He's so handsome with his little baby dreds! (Do not tell him I called them little baby dreds. Even though that's what they are...now.) 

I can't stop thanking God that Robert took us as his parents. Such a gift. The usually sober guard came to our table to see the babies and I know a window when I see one, so I asked if he gives her trouble and watched in amazement as she grinned and, dare I say - giggled. Our boy, he's a charmer. I'm so proud of him. He passed his big test this past week and I shrieked like a maniac when he called to give us the news. Dude is smart and amazing.

Life is good, you know? I'm a lucky lady.

Now here's where you come in - I need your help. Friends and countrymen, I have a speaking gig tomorrow night (Monday, 6:30 pm). Like, with a podium and a microphone. I'm sharing a big part of our story at Fairview Missionary in Angola, IN.  I enjoy public speaking and did quite a bit of it in my former life, but it has been a while. And I always get clammy right before I start. If you think about it, would you shoot a prayer my way? And if you're in the area, come out and join us!

We just got off the phone with Robert and he offered some advice:

Robert: Let me tell you a trick I learned because you know, I've done a lot of public speaking (giggle). Don't try to think about it, but just keep telling yourself that they're not gonna call your name. Then when they do, just go up there and start talking.

Me: But I know they're going to call my name because I'm the only speaker.

Robert: No you're not.

:)

Robert: Just make sure you don't forget your speech.

Me: I'm showing them a picture of you, is that okay?

Robert: Yeah. As long as I look good in it.

Me: Have you ever looked bad in a picture?

Robert: Good point.


I'll let you know how it goes!

Until then...Happy Mondaying, friends!

You Thought I Was Done?

Every now and then, I have a smart idea. Sometimes it's gingham and ikat, sometimes it's bed coverings as curtains. On this night? Our lone group shot.

(ps - Those are the new favorite shorts.)

So. We went mini golfing one evening after Early Bird dinner. Because we're wild like that.
It was super fun and not just because I came in second (out of 4 - haha) but because Cory was pulling out some really messed up moves. He was a hot mess. Emphasis on hot.

There was another foursome right ahead of us. In my mind they were a full generation older than us, but that's because I often still think I'm in my early twenties instead of my late thirties (true story). They were having the most miserable time. No laughing. No inappropriate humor. Men on one side, women on the other. Drab footwear. It was depressing.

Can we all vow right now to never turn into that? Scout's honor.

I miss my friend. 5 days together and then BOOM. She was gone.
I ran into her last night unexpectedly at the grocery (score!). She was looking all cute in her rad pixie and the cutest skirt. I told her, "I always LOVE that skirt." She looked at me strangely..."I bought it from you. At your garage sale."

hahaha. I honestly don't remember ever owning it. I just remember loving it when she wears it. The more we talked, I vaguely remembered it. But I don't remember liking it when I owned it. (Hence the garage sale?) In a million years I could not have told you that she bought it from my sale. Did I even have a garage sale?? I'm not convinced.

This is just how life is for me and my everyday people. It's not as funny in person. It's more, "You need to get more sleep, Shannan."

This was my last night of vacay, when I had given up. 3 evenings of looking cute had taken their toll. I was spent. So I wore a weird outfit and didn't do my hair.

It turns out, I should never have packed the Blue Dress for No Dang Reason. After wearing it with knit tights, a cardigan, and tall boots, I felt downright scandalous for the 3 minutes I donned it solo.

So I tried on a new dress I'd bought at Target a month ago. It's short in the front a long in the back. You know, a mullet dress. When I first spotted it, I thought it seemed like the quirkiest find ever. So I nabbed it. Then I saw youngsters everywhere sporting the look and it lost some of its sheen. On second glance, it was a giant arrow pointing straight to my chicken legs which were now partially sunburned (left knee cap, left side of right calf, lower right ankle. Don't ask.)

In the end: my gray knit skirt and a t-shirt that keeps narrowly escaping the Goodwill pile.

But at least we had the sunset.

Say it with me, "Awwwww!"

Let's speed this up a bit. One line captions!

"No comment."

"The tree stands alone."

"Dude looks sketchy."

"Sidewalk to Heaven."

"I hate tourists."

"I hope the lady doesn't remember that this is my third night in a row of mocha almond fudge."

Cholesterol free! Lactose free!
Or Gourmet.
DUH.

And last but not least...

Some traditions beg to be kept.

So there. I'm done.

I'm getting ready now to hunker down with the season finale of Scandal. Tomorrow is a crazy-hectic day, but I'm banking on it being the good kind of busy. Garden planting, garage saleing, and Calvin tests for his yellow belt!

What's on your agenda?

What I Wore and... A BIG Announcement!

 Friends, I'm here to share the good, the bad, and the ugly about what I wore on vacation.

Let's start with the ugly, shall we? Then it's all down hill from here. I mean up hill.

Down hill.

Down hill?

I bought a proper cover-up. Old Navy. Full price! 30 fat smackers. I know. I get a little twitchy when I pay full price for anything, anymore. I have to really love it.

Guess what? I don't really love this. I thought I did.

But then I wore it for 4 days in blazing, sweltering Florida and I realized something that had previously eluded me: It has sleeves. 3/4 sleeves. (I cuffed them up by day 2. See above.)

All I really know is, it's pinstriped and gauzy and it has pockets.

Fun fact: the waist in these types of items never hits me at the right place. They're always creeping up, veering dangerously on empire. (If you're Stacy London, you pronounce this "ompeer". You're welcome.)

Fun fact 2: I am awkward in photos. For the life of me, I never know what to do with my arms. This shot cracks me up because I thought I had moved past the classic "hand on hip". Apparently not. Don't I look natural? Like I'm not even posing???

You know what else is awkward? When you brag about finally buying a proper swim suit cover up then you go to link up to it and find that it's a dress.

Is this weird? Because it feels like it is, or like it could get there quickly. In my defense, it's made of gauze. But it does explain the sleeves.

Okay, nevermind the me-ness of this picture. Nevermind the wadded up dress and the cup of undetermined contents hiding out in the shade of my lounger. Check out the suit. That SUIT! Gads, I love that flipping suit. It's the one I found on our Fancy Spring Vacation for $30 with the original $156 tags intact.

It's infinitely easier to pay $30 when you know you're getting a deal.

This suit is the perfect floral, the perfect cut. It's a tankini that somehow covers my free-range torso. I have to say, it feels a mite fancy. It's practically couture. I wish the bottoms were one size larger, but what the biz. It works well enough.

Note: I read this book. I had never read it before! Go ahead and gasp. Everyone I tell gasps. "You didn't have to read this in honors Lit in High School?" Well, no. For one thing, there was no honors Lit at my High School. There was also no Lit. There was English class. We graduated 43 in my class and my science teacher had also been my mom's science teacher. (That is neither her nor there, but it seems somehow relevant.) There were no options. Like zero. And see how well I turned out??

Note 2: I'm not trying to be cool in my purple fedora (Target clearance), so you don't have to feel embarrassed for me. It's just that I feared for the well-being of my forehead. Andy told me I looked like Michael Jackson. I took it as a compliment.

The Skirt. Millions upon tens of you asked about it in the last post, and I'm afraid I won't be much help. I bought it a year or two ago at Dear Old Navy. I'm sure it was on sale, although I do truly love it, so perhaps not? We'll never know.

My favorite skill is mixing gingham with, well, anything. This combo especially pleases me. I'm here to tell you: Navy and white gingham is a neutral. Try to disprove me!

The necklace was found years ago at Target, I think.

It's important to note that this was the first full night of vacay, when I was still making an effort to be cute. (i.e. I styled my hair.)

I also fell deeply in love with a few products on this trip and I wouldn't think of keeping them from you.

1.  Maybelline Color Whisper lipstick in Pin Up Peach Shiny and sheer and light and perfectly peach
2. Essence roll-on perfume oil by Maddie and Sophie This fragrance? Is the bomb. I had the opportunity to try a few of the new "gluten-free vegetarian glam" products by Maddie and Sophie and I died for this on roll ONE. I'll wear this forever. It's compact and long-lasting and it smells SO dreamy. Timi helped me test it and she loved it, too. We also glitzed around in their Gloss/Glow duo. It also smelled unbelievable and shined and softened us right up. Perfect for the beach or, you know, the neighborhood. Whatevs.

Maddie and Sophie are offering FPFG readers 20% off all orders using the code FPFG. (put code in comments section and the discount will be refunded to your account)

Hey - when all else fails? Grab an indigenous bloom.

You can't see it here, but I'm wearing my favorite new shorts. They're long and perfectly slouchy with a button fly. It makes me happy, this button fly.

(cuff via Farmgirl Paints)

(green bracelet via 31 Bits - part of the swag from Craft Weekend!)

Whew.
We made it.

Now. Back in September at the Influence conference I had the privilege of meeting two super cool cats, Barrett and Marisa. In a sea of unfamiliar faces both of theirs made a huge impression on me in one of those ways that you notice. Through them I became aware of their amazing work in Ethiopia with Mocha Club and fashionABLE. I signed up to be a fashionABLE affiliate (this means I get a small percentage of sales in exchange for advertising and selling their wares) because their video made me bawl my eyes out the first time I watched it. The work they are doing is redemptive and life-giving. I wanted to be a part of it. I told you about their amazing scarves around Christmas time, having no inkling that 5 months later, they would ask me to join them in Ethiopia, along with 9 others, on their "blogABLE" trip. To serve in this capacity has been a bloglong dream of mine, and the one dream that I always felt might eventually come to pass.

It will be my high honor to bring the stories of these women back to you, come August. I am thrilled and excited and slightly nerve-wracked about the responsibility of sharing these lives with sensitivity and clarity. I'm thrilled to be a part of the team and even more excited to "take" you with me.

About a Girl

I'm thrilled to share this space today with my friend Emily Wierenga who, along with Dr. Dena Cabrera, recently published  Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, a poignant and important look at restoring healthy body image in women. Though I haven't experienced pregnancy, I am a woman hauling around the complicated baggage of learning to love and accept exactly who I was created to be. I'm also a woman with a precious daughter of my own. I want to do justice to the honor of mothering her. I want her to understand her beauty much sooner than I understood my own.

Soak up Emily's poetry-words and leave a comment below to enter the giveaway for a free copy.

Maybe it’s one of the reasons I whisper hallelujah each time I find a boy in my womb growing long and limber, although I know eating disorders are just as real for them, 25 per cent real in fact, and we just don’t realize it… 

That men sometimes hide in toilet bowls and candy wrappers and weigh scales, but 75 % of women struggle with disordered eating and I never really wanted to have a girl. I never really liked the color pink, and I still struggle with OCD and I joke that it’s like ADD only different acronyms but when the stress becomes high it’s truly debilitating. 

Prayer is the only antidote and if I did have a girl, I fear I’d always be adjusting her pink ribbons. Or purple or whatever I would insist on her wearing, and I’m still thin. Too thin, my husband says, the one who saw me through my anorexic relapse. The one who prayed me through nights of insomnia, and days of only eating supper, the one who gave me the ultimatum on the side of the highway after I tried to drive us into traffic. It was him, or food, he said. He couldn’t do it anymore, and I chose him, and every day now, I choose him. 

I have two boys of my own now, and I’m trying not to mess them up. I’m trying not to let my OCD or my dislike of cooking or my struggle with portion size affect them or their understanding of value. I’m trying to sit with them at mealtimes, and eat with them and place my hand lovingly on theirs and to remember that food is much simpler than it seems. 

I’m 32, and I like a piece or two of dark chocolate just as much as the next person along with a glass of red wine (or two). But I catch myself looking in the mirror too long after I’ve had a shower, or sub-consciously feeling the bony parts of my arms. 

I remind myself of my mum, in many ways, who’s re-teaching herself things like balance and moderation after eight years of brain cancer. I have to re-learn things too. I know I’m recovered in the same way that I’m being healed, in the same way that I’m saved even as I’m being perfected. And it’s all grace, they say, but I say it’s all God. 

Because that’s what is growing inside of me now. God. All warm and dark and mysterious.

And I’m beginning to wear pink, because I’ve realized it brings out the blush in my cheeks. And I dream about her sometimes. A girl. With her chubby cheeks (yes, I said chubby, even though I still struggle with eating even though I just wrote a book on eating disorders) and her soft voice singing, as she toddles down the hall and her brothers laugh when they see her, laugh and dance with her to the music on the radio.

She’s wearing lots of ribbons. All kinds of colors. And they look like freedom.

***

I’m giving away a copy of my new book today, Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, co-authored by Dr. Dena Cabrera, and foreword by supermodel Emme.

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

Giving birth produces life in more than one sense. It’s the baby powder, milky-breathed spirit found in the softest limbs you’ve ever felt, and it’s the respect a man feels for his wife as he watches her give up her body for another.

And it’s the deep-rooted soul satisfying feeling of knowing you were born for more than the mirror. That you were born to see the face of God in your child, and to know, you yourself are a miracle.

I want you to have this book! Tell me ONE thing that you love about yourself, and you’ll be entered into the draw!

Otherwise, you can order it through the book’s website, here: www.mominthemirrorbook.com.

Emily Wierenga is a mom to two beautiful boys, wife to a handsome math teacher, and author of Chasing Silhouettes: How to Help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder (www.chasingsilhouettes.com) and Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy (www.mominthemirrorbook.com). To learn more, please visit www.emilywierenga.com.

What We Did - Episode I

Sleep - Eat - Sun - Eat - Sun - Eat - Sleep.

Repeat.

That's pretty much what we did for four straight days.

Thanks for reading!

Goodnight!

Nevermind. I'm not done yammering.
If you know one thing about me, it's that I'm highly gifted and exceptionally talented at dragging out the simple and mundane and exhausting all of you with my incessant jaw-flapping. Just be glad it's not the 60's and you're here at my house where I've already set up the slide show. You know I would be that girl.

Here's where I'd like to start: What is it about vacation? What is it about sitting around reading books in the sun? I kept thinking - couldn't I just do this at home? For free?

The answer is - Nope.

Day after day I lounged in my chair and marveled at the vast completeness of the white space in my mind. No errands. No doctor's appointments. No grim hour of doom (aka homework). No meals to cook, laundry to fold. No alarms. Heck, no emails! All I had to do was roll myself out of bed, yank on my swimming suit, and walk a few paces to the pool, where I parked my rear and stuck my nose in a book.

Sometimes I multi-tasked and ate an apple while I read.
It was altogether freeing.

Just go on a kidless vacation. I dare you.

And I highly recommend going with another couple. I don't know, it just works. But it's imperative - imperative! - that you have similar ideas about vacationing.

In our case: lazy/lazy. Boom.

(Although Timi did dare to run one morning and they both took a couple of real, bonafide "walks", so they're on probation. We had no choice. Just following the rules.)

The other benefit of going with friends is you don't have to ask the waitress to take a blurry photo of you and your honey. You can just ask Andy! This is Andy's trade-mark. Somehow he always ends up focusing on the gigantic bottle of rum instead of our faces.

Try #2 was better. I can't remember the precise configuration, but I like this shot. I look dainty and shorter than my husband, like normal wives.

Okay, this next montage is important for a few reasons.
#1: It highlights the exact moment that I fell dangerously in love with mocha almond fudge ice cream. (Timi got coffee instead, which is a double-dipped infraction if ever there was one.)
#2: The most hilarious conversation was happening just across the sidewalk from us.

It looks like we're talking about something really...interesting...and funny. In reality I kept saying, "I'm eavesdropping right now. Look natural." "I can't focus on what you're saying because that guy is talking about METH! Out loud! Keep talking. Look natural."

Right about now the guy-in-question was screaming into his phone, "She tries to act like she's so tough and like she can do so many push-ups and pull-ups. I said to her, 'You think you can do more push-ups than me????! Well, that's not fair because I weigh more than you. So duh! You wanna make it a real contest, you lay on my back while I do 20 push-ups then I'll lay on your back while YOU do 20 push-ups.' He he he!"

Then, within a fraction of a second, the conversation took a dangerous turn for the creepy and gross and we spent the rest of the trip mentally scrubbing our brains with Clorox.

The whole scene took place just outside Cuban Paradise, fyi. Apparently hand-rolled cigars are noteworthy. Who knew?

BREAKING NEWS: That is the man! See his knees and his dog leash? Doesn't he look harmless enough with his nondescript middle-aged calves and suspicious USPS-knock-off button-down? He's not! Not harmless! Also, he has no sensitivity for the public air waves. He bellowed his dirty laundry into his phone for all the world to hear. He gives flip-phoners a bad name, that one.

PS - I don't know why I'm making that look, except that Cory said I looked like I was throwing a gang sign with my cone and instinctively his comment threw me into this face, favored for facebook profile pics by many of the youngish urban girls we know and love. And yes, I know that gangs aren't funny.

But sometimes they are. Like when an almost 40-year-old mom thinks she has even the slightest clue about them in her maxi skirt with her mocha almond fudge.

But mostly - not funny. You're right.

To Do:
Research the relationship between cigar shops and large statues of Native American chiefs.

I only know this is a "thing" because of that one episode of Seinfeld where they Indian-give the Indian statue.

Okay, I still have 10 photos left to painstakingly detail and I'm only on day 1. I can't even handle the stress of my job right now! This always happens. I tell myself no one really cares about my vacation and that I should just choose my favorite 3-5 shots and be on my way. (Of course you're more astute than I and you know I'm immune to reason so you probably saw this coming.)

Stay tuned for parts II-VIII.

Until then, I'll leave you with one parting shot:

I'm sorry.
They begged to be commemorated. They terrified me.

Claw feet, my friends.

Claw.

Feet.