I thought I had officially grown up three years ago when I got a got a vacuum cleaner, for Christmas, from my parents.   Gone were the days of asking for make-up, perfume, jewelry, or stuffed animals (whaaa?)

I had arrived into adulthood by asking for a nice vacuum cleaner.    Or so I thought.

Today, in the mail, I received a neat little package from my Ma.  Inside was this great apron.  It’s got all kinds of spicy things on it.  I think she got it for me because she knows I’m hot stuff.  Or that I like salsa, chili, hot sauce, and tacos.   Either way, I’m thrilled to get my hands on an apron!  I wanted the one from William Sonoma.   Maybe I will have to become a quirky collector of aprons now?   Etsy has some really sweet ones, too, but I digress.

Aside:  I was tagged by Dad of Divas for this little self-portrait-photo-meme-thing.  If you know me, you know how I feel about self portriats.  So, what better than to model my hot little apron?

These were the rules:

1) Take a picture of yourself right NOW!
2) DON’T change your clothes, DON’T fix your hair… Just take a picture.
3) Post that picture with NO editing.
4) Post these instruction with your picture.
5) Tag 10 people to do this.

Because I’m wild and crazy I’m breaking the rules.  I am not tagging specific people.   But if someone reads this and wants to do it because of this post,  please let me know!

1. When I take pictures of things (usually still subjects, like flowers) I have a tendency to take them at different settings.  Playing with all the variables produces an interesting array of pictures.  The picture on the left has an exposure of 1/4000 of a second and has an aperture of f/1.6; the picture on the right has an exposure of 1/60 of a second and has an aperture of f/16.  It just goes to show that through experimentation you can learn some new things.  This has been one of the ways that I have really come to be comfortable with changing settings to be able to control the final product.
2. We’ve been having a bit of a gas crisis here in Georgia due to Hurricane Ike.  Gas stations have run out and when one DOES has some there are lines-upon-lines of cars, resulting in long waits.   Prices are fair enough, it’s just finding it that is the problem.  There’s also a limit on how much you can get.  Yesterday I got 7 gallons ($30.00) and lucked out and got 7 more gallons today; I definitely feel better having a full tank.  Regardless, we will be minimizing trips until this changes and things return to “normal”.
3. Michael was home last week and it was so nice to be able to stay home on soccer practice nights.  What did I do during that time?  I made COMPLETE dinners.  On Tuesday night we had Pork Stir Fry with Whole Wheat Buttered Noodles (mock Lo Mein, if you will), and on Thursday I made Deluxe Chicken Sandwiches with Peas and Broccoli, on the side. Oh yeah, we also had some Fritos for crunch factor.

Continue reading Best Shot Monday | Six+ Random Things »

This September marks 13 years of marriage for Michael and I. Sometimes I can hardly believe that it’s been that long, and then sometimes I think “That’s all?” Life is hard to imagine without Michael in it. The years before our finding each other are tremendously blurry even. I met him when I had just turned 20, and it’s hard to believe that I was so young. Last week I turned 34 and in a few days we will be marking 14 years of being together.

We started planning our wedding in May ‘95. Everyone was certain that we were getting married because I was pregnant. Well, we fooled them. Not only was that NOT the reason, but we didn’t have Mikey until March ‘98. My mom took on the task of Wedding Coordinator. I didn’t oppose much of what she wanted to do, because frankly I kinda liked it. There’s only one thing (maybe two), in retrospect, that I would do different, and that would be letting the girls in my wedding party get their hair done where they wanted. My mom wanted them to all go to her salon, and she also wanted them to wear these fake flowerdy things in their hair. The hair deal would be my own qualm, many years down the road. I’d also choose my cousin Pauline to be my maid-of-honor. Otherwise, everything else was done in great taste. The flowers, the centerpieces, the Lincoln Towne Cars, the adornments, the food, the desserts, the open bar. All of it was classy, tasteful, and very well liked. My parents didn’t hold anything back, and it was anything that I wanted…everything that I wanted!

My mom did my hair and make-up and then the photographer came to the house. We waited for all the girls to show up, and then pictures commenced. A couple of the girls were late, and I had a bit of a head-ache because of it, but in the end it worked out.

Once the pictures were done, at the house, my dad took off with my grandparents to go to our godparents (kumoj) house so that they could go “get” Michael. There’s a custom we have where the godparents (whom, by-the-way, are picked at the time of marriage and whom stand up with you at the altar as you take your vows) take a group of people with them to go to the groom, shave him, and then take him to the church. There was also a lot of Shljivovitza involved, too. Oh, how surprised I am that Michael did not end up like one of those groom’s that faints at the ceremony. There was a lot of alcohol floating around in that time.

After all that took place, the best man, my cousin Mike, was supposed to come over. My mom and I never gave him the chance to show up, though. We got nervous and decided to head to the church without him. We were certain that something happened that prevented Mike from coming. Rather than be late to my own wedding, we made a decision. While waiting at the back of the church Michael and our kumoj drove around. I threw myself down, as to not be seen, and to this day Michael says he didn’t see me, but I still think he did. This is when I began to throw the world’s biggest hissy fit. Our priest’s wife caught me in full tears and snot.

“Mishelle. Stop crying.”

“But…but…but…he saw me!”

“It doesn’t matter, honey. Stop crying, you are going to make yourself sick.”

“But…he….oh…my…God….he saw me!”

“Listen, Popche and I left the SAME house on our wedding day. That superstition is stupid. Now stop your crying.”

I listened, stopped crying, and waited for my dad to come get me, to walk me down the aisle.

The ceremony was a traditional Macedonian ceremony. Complete with crying during the vows and laughter during the priest’s closing words. It was amazing and despite being long and hot, I would love to go back and relive it. Afterwards we took pictures and then headed to Green Lake to take more [outdoor] pictures.

Shortly, thereafter, we headed back to the church hall and had a reception. It was HUGE. It was FUN. It was MEMORABLE. It was AMAZING. There was traditional Macedonian dancing along with various customs like the Pig Dance (a dance where a roasted pig is brought out for the godfather to buy for the newly wed couple), the Bread Dance (a dance where the bride dances with a big bread called a Pogacha, and everyone takes the bread and dances with her), and the Wine Dance (a dance where the godfather dances with a pitcher of wine with the couple). Then we had all the other traditional dances like the Father-Daughter Dance, Mother-Son Dance, as well as the fun ones like The Macarena, The Electric Slide, etc…

Our wedding was spectacular, a time of youth, love, and happiness, and a day that I will never-ever forget!

One day, I was in ‘the meadow’ of NAILS (a mush, or mud, I can’t recall) and I ran into another character called ‘DocDeath’. Seriously, the name should have told me to just keep walking west but I didn’t. I started chatting with him. Five minutes, turned into an hour, an hour turned into two hours and before I knew it, “DocDeath” was asking me for my phone number. But, this wasn’t before we learned of all the similarities in life. He was a biology major, I was a biology major. He drove a little truck, I drove a little truck. He liked Grunge, I like Grunge. He smoked pot, I smoked pot. He lived at home with his parents, I lived at home with my parents. When I found out what his real-life name was (he was Michael, I was Mishelle), the deal was sealed, and I spouted off my phone number without hesitation. But, it would take me a good 1/2 an hour to get home.I rushed home, encountering construction traffic, practicing how I would answer the phone. Would I do it in a sultry tone? Would I be peppy? Would I be dark and mysterious? How would I do it? I ran into the house only to hear the phone ring and cease. I was certain that he wouldn’t call back. Defeated, I dropped my bag and started to look for something to eat, when the phone rang again. I picked it up, “Hello!”

Michael and I would talk for endless hours. We’d both max out phone cards and I would even talk using my parents long-distance; I just didn’t care. I had to talk to him. We would learn all the ins-and-outs of each other. We’d talk into the wee hours of the morning, even falling asleep a few times. We fell in love. In mad, passionate, long-distance love. Soon, Michael made arrangements to come to me. And, he did. Once he stepped off the plane, and took hold of me, I knew he’d never let go. I knew that we were destined for each other, and I felt complete.

My dad would have a hard time accepting that I was in a relationship. I think he thought that Michael would come and go, but-soon after Michael returned home-he came back. He loaded his little truck up with all his stuff and moved from the south to the north. We’d have a little struggle with my parents feeling as though they lost me, but we’d overcome it and in a year-and-a-half we’d be married.

Excerpt taken from: Sunday Scribbling: “Hi, My Name is….”
for “How I Met My Honey”, brainchild of Ramblings by Reba.

Faithful, Creative, Funny, Honest, Loving, Open

Of of my most favorite and best bloggy pals, Maggie, tagged me for this.

Now, I tag: Siani, Amy, AnnD, Nissa, and ZoeyJane

1) Write your own six word memoir
2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links; and
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play

I have this Polish Diva Photographer Blogger Friend (OhMommy! of Classy Chaos). She presented this post about what we carry with us in our [bags, purses, satchels, messenger bags, what-have-you] and what it all shows about us.

Just recently, I switched from my big, huge Jeep diaper bag, back to my cute and springy diaper bag. I hate it. It’s “cute” and “springy”, but it’s not “me”. I have a million bags that are me. However none of them are big enough for all my baby stuff, personal stuff, and now camera stuff. So, much to my husband’s dismay, I am in the market for a new bag. I prefer a messenger style bag and can’t wait to have the perfect one on me!

Here’s my bag. I got it at Target:

Inside, the lining, is a pink paisley design.
I do dig that aspect. Nothing’s cooler than pink paisley, yo!
There’s even a matching changing pad.

The contents:

It would appear that I need to add some diapers!
Oh and there’s that change that I was looking for at Starbucks. Dammit!

Here are the contents of that see-through utility bag.
Otherwise that little bag is known as the-bag-that-keeps-
me-sane-because-then-all-the-crap-is-not-free-floating!

Oh, and I almost forgot! What’s crucial to having a happy toddler?

Snacks, of course:

There you have it! My bag. I wish it was that organized all the time. Fortunately this “meme” came at a time of freshness. I would have never shown you what was in that big, huge Jeep diaper bag. Never!