You thought I forgot, didn't you???

Happy Birthday to the best son ever! Yay SeanPiva*!!! 25 years old!!**


*Yes, that is supposed to be one word. I think it's funny, even if no one else does.

** I think. Math is hard.

I've been a bad blogger.

This, I know. And it makes me have the sad. But I have been thinking about you all, so that's something, right?

Here's the thing: I've been SO BUSY having fun doing fun things and also having fun writing more fun books for you that I left you high-and-dry.Some fun things I did:

• Not make any resolutions (except to be a better blogger, which I am doing right now!!).
• Hung out with my son who visited from a far-away land (Missouri).
• Crocheted a massive blanket that was almost too heavy to lift and a bunch of scarves. (If you didn't get one yet, that doesn't mean you're not going to, although it may be too warm for scarves at that point. Hmmm.)
• Aaaand...The Chef and I had super fun when we saw these guys on New Year's Eve at a fancy-pants (not really) event. I may have danced a little bit, but not on the dance floor because that would be NUTS!!

This is Brass Attack. I knew all the songs!!! Shocking! Loved them!!

Happy New Year!

The Arch. She sways.

 The Gateway Arch is known as the "Gateway to the West". It was designed by Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen and structural engineer Hannskarl Bandel in 1947 and built between 1963 and October 1965.

During my time away from you, I visited St. Louis and while there, The Chef and I went up in the Arch--and by the way, that's just a nickname for the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial--because we thought we should. It's actually quite lovely, but before I go any further, I have to tell you a few things:

• I don't like to be closed in.
• I am not one of those people who sees a little kid and gets all mushy; in fact, I'm the opposite. I run away from them.*
• I don't love heights.
• I have wicked vertigo.
• Not a fan of crowds.

 It stands 630 feet (192 m) tall and 630 feet (192 m) wide at its base. The legs are 54 feet (16.5 m) wide at the base, narrowing to 17 feet (5.2 m) at the arch.

Knowing we had to return the car by whatever o'clock or we owned it (or some other penalty), we sprinted from the parking lot to the Arch.**

 There is a unique tram system to carry passengers to the observation room at the top of the arch.

We beat the line by offering to go up in separate pods--like the single rider feature at any amusement park. A good idea, right? No, because:

1. You do not want to ever get into anything called a "pod," especially with strangers.
2. Children may be some of the strangers in your pod.

Lets take a tiny little look into some pod facts:

• Eight small capsules, used in each of the two Arch trains.
• Each train capsule has a 5-foot diameter barrel that is open on the front and closed on the back.
• There are five seats in each barrel, so the weight of the passengers helps keep the capsule in an upright position.
• Each capsule rotates approximately 155 degrees during the trip to the top of the Arch.
• Each of the Arch trains carries 40 passengers and is capable of making a round trip with passengers in 9 minutes including loading and unloading passengers in both directions.

There is nothing in that list that gives the impression of, "Hmmm, that sure sounds like fun!" Nothing.

So we got to the top and as I rolled out of the capsule, I expected to see something glorious inside the Arch. I don't KNOW what, specifically, I expected to find. Maybe something in the tone of Disney. Instead, we got something in the key of crowded old doctor's office. And more kids. Gah!

Look beyond the handsome and blurry Chef for a minute.
See those tiny little windows?
Yeah, that's what you get on both sides.
And you have to lean over an angled, carpeted area to see out them.
Okay, now you can look at the handsome Chef
and please note that he's not that blurry in real life.

But, of course, I guess you could say that the glory of it all is the view.

Hello, vertigo, my old friend

Nothing personal, St. Louis, but your buildings aren't very big, especially for the largest metropolitan area in Missouri..

And then the Arch moved. Or swayed.  "Can you feel the movement?" The Chef asked his delicate flower of a girlfriend, who felt more woozy than after three-quarters of a margarita.

We took a few more pictures and vamoosed because we had to hurry to get to the airport to...do nothing because our flight had been cancelled. Apparently someone coughed in Georgia or something and we were trapped until the next day. Trapped and tired and uncaffeinated and cranky. And that was just me! Poor Chef. He puts up with so much crazy.

I get just as dizzy looking at these pictures as I did when I took them.

But you've got to give me an A for effort, right?
Unless these are the ones The Chef took,
which would explain why they're clear and well-composed.

Apparently, there is more to St. Louis than the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, I wouldn't mind checking it out, which will probably happen in the near future because if you want to get to Columbia, MO, where my son lives, and not pay one gajillion dollars for a plane ticket, you visit "Rome of the West" / "Gateway to the West" / "Mound City." Heh heh. I said "mound."

*Except little kids who have proven themselves to be cool and worthy of being in the vicinity of my awesomeness. You parents who have children who have passed the test know who you are.

**Yes, by sprint I mean The Chef walked quickly and I went slower and slower as I looked around and then came to a full stop. The Arch is a VERY big, VERY shiny thing. Shiny sense overload.

PSSST! Unless otherwise noted, I swiped the info from Wikipedia, because I'm cool like that. Yay me!

So I went to Pittsburgh...

And I ate this whole sandwich all by myself. We were at Primanti's, which you may have seen on various Food Network shows throughout the years.

I know what you're thinking: Holy moly. Are those french fries in that delicious looking sandwich? As I recall that ginormous meal also had pastrami, lettuce, tomato and an egg. Don't ask--the Pittsburgh people seem to like eggs on lots of things that normal people don't usually put eggs on. I've learned it's best just to accept that.

But I CAN explain the fries thing. Stolen directly from the Primanti's website

Back in the 1930's, Joe Primanti opened a cart in the Strip District selling sandwiches to truckers on the go. It was decided that he should expand to a small restaurant on 18th Street. The hours were 3am to 3pm to accommodate truckers and the like. His brothers, Dick and Stanley, joined him along with nephew John DePriter who was the cook.

According to John, "One winter, a fella drove in with a load of potatoes. He brought a few of 'em over to the restaurant to see if they were frozen. I fried the potatoes on our grill and they looked pretty good. A few of our customers asked for them, so I put the potatoes on their sandwiches." And the rest is history. The Primanti Sandwich: a true taste of Pittsburgh.

That's not all the deliciousness, though.

As you may know, or may not know because you live on the moon, my birthday is on Christmas. I spent the holiday and Christmas (heh heh. See what I did there?) with my family, in the traditional holiday/Christmas celebration: Helping my son pack a UHaul trailer so he could move to Missouri the next day.  Then there was food and presents with the whole clan. Delicious and fun.

The next morning I went to Logan Airport and got on a plane ALL BY MYSELF* with NO LUGGAGE** and a ONE-WAY*** ticket, which meant a first-class pass to a full body scan. Good times, people. Yeah, like I would risk blowing up my new Vera Wang purse or missing out on that sandwich above.

Anyway, back to food.

After apparently some serious shenanigans including The Great Search for a Round Pan and Is Your Lemon Curd Lemony Enough? on Christmas night, in anticipation of my arrival the next day, The Chef and his family stayed up all night while he created the best birthday cake ever, complete with homemade aforementioned lemon curd and delicious coconut, my all-time favorite cake flavors.

I will end this post by allowing you to bask in the glow of the lemon curd...and no, I will not stop saying lemon curd.****


I am a delicious cake and you should be jealous because you cannot eat me!



"Nom nom nom," said the little butterfly...

* I was only a little bit afraid.

** Because I had sent it along with The Chef when he drove out to see his family.

*** Because I would be driving back with The Chef and my luggage.

****Lemon curd, lemon curd, lemon curd...

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Son-o-Mine. Happy birthday to you. (Now where am I supposed to send the royalty check for getting you to sing that song in your head?)

XOXO

Five months later...

I swear, I've been thinking about you a lot. I really have. And I have lots and lots to tell you, except I'm feeling shy and awkward because its been so long. You know how that goes, right?

In bullets, because that seems like the easiest way to get through a bunch of it--the blogging equivilent of pages flying off a daily calendar in a movie.

Oh, and keep in mind that this is nowherenear a complete list.  In fact, it's just this past week...

• My son decided he is going to move to Missouri for his job.  I don't know if you know this, but Missouri is far away from Massachusetts, so far it is actually a place that I couldn't find on a map if hard-pressed. (Shut. Up.) This also involves much parental angst and staring off into space, not to mention map-Googling.
•  The Chef (with whom I now live--in sin!) is off shooting things in the woods for a week, after many shopping trips and errands and lists. I think much drinking will also be going on at Man Camp, although probably not at the same time as the shooting. (Not to be all girly, but I miss him.)
• I cooked my very first Thanksgiving dinner for eight people. No one died (that I know of). Pies were made! Bread baked! Turkey watched obsessively!
• I plotted out my next writing project (adult!), complete with character sketches and location descriptions and chapter outlines.  Can't wait to get to it! [This burst of genius brought to you by the mad brainstorming skillz of the best BFF ever.]  I've always been a pantser-type writer (as in flying by the seat of your pants) but this thinking about it beforehand might actually have some merit. I reserve my right to go back to winging it at any time.
• But first I must finish the current project, an adult chick-litty novel., which has not been plotted out except with some shady bullet points in my head.  This weekend I managed to pound out about 25 pages (with about that much more to go before much-needed revision--my romantic lead turned Irish about 40 pages ago; a little warning would have been nice).  I would have done more this weekend but there were too many snacks and leftovers that needed to be eaten and that takes TIME, people!

 Okay, I have to go. It's an hour past my bedtime; blogger is being stupid and I'm getting frustrated; I can't leave my main character literally standing in the middle of the street while I head off to bed. (That's just mean, especially since she's smack dab between a bakery and a cafe.) Oh, and I may need one more snack to cap off this Thanksgiving weekend.  The rest of it goes in the trash tomorrow. Swear!

XOXO

P.

Happy Birthday, Sean!!!

Look over there! It's Big Bird!

No, I am not eating your cake. I'm helping you cut it, for you are my tiny baby boy.

Who cares that you happen to be 6"3" and 23 years old? Okay, maybe I was just having a TINY bite.

Holy smokes. 23??? Where DID the time go?  Wait a minute. That means I'm...

::headdesk::

(Please send cake.)