Notes To Self.

1) Draft blog post regarding Alex's 15 month checkup. Should highlight: hatred of shots, love of pediatrician, denial of toddler status.

2) Inform readers that another CSN giveaway is on the horizon. You're welcome.

3) Post adorable pictures from picking Kelli up from the airport. Check.

4) Admit openly that I have an obsession with baby Crocs and madras shorts with polos, as exhibited above and below...and pretty much every other picture currently on file. Popped collar optional.

5) Take a brief blogging hiatus while sister is in town. Through next Friday, if you're wondering.

Bad Mom?

I don't think I can properly estimate the number of times people asked me on vacation if I missed Alex. Joey asked me at least twice a day, and it was the first question out of nearly everyone that I was introduced to.

"I love him, but I do not miss him," was my repeated response. Queue big, blank looks in response as if to say, "Really?? I don't believe you."

By about Thursday, Joey didn't believe me, either. He was having a bad case of the "Missing Alex Blues" and really didn't get why I didn't. And I really, really didn't. Like, at all. And here's why:

1. I got to sleep in every.single.day. Oh, and nap whenever I wanted.
2. I got to have many, many margaritas by le campfire and not have to worry about getting up the next morning (see #1).
3. I was able to be in and around open water without the constant, heart-stopping panic of "Where is my kid?!?"
4. I was able to slowly chew and properly digest ALL of my meals. Including dessert.
5. I only had to bathe myself.
6. I only had to wipe my own ass.
7. I spoke in a normal, adult voice for a week straight.
8. My literary selections for the week did not include sentences like, "Where's my belly button?" and "Baby loves puppies!"
9. No strollers. No highchairs. No carseats. No squeaky toys.
10. What was that? Oh...that was the sound of SILENCE. Bliss.

Don't misinterpret the above - I love my kid more than Jimmy Choos and MAC Lipglass, but it was SO lovely to just be MYSELF all week. And not that I'm not myself when I'm in Mommy Mode, but it's just different. Not better or worse, necessarily. Just different. And I will openly admit that the squeals of delight and sloppy kisses I received upon our arrival home were pretty much the best thing, ever.

So in summary, it was nice to be away and it was nice to come back...and you can bet the farm that I will be participating in at least 1 kid-free week of vacation a year. It's necessary for my survival.

Customer Service Lives On! ...and tales of my woes to find the perfect purse.

I've raved about the fabulousness that is 1154 Lill on more than one occasion 'round these parts. But for those who are new or suffer from some form of acute memory loss, allow me to refresh: it's an upscale custom handbag salon in Chicago (and other locations) where super awesome girls like me go to create fabulous, trendy, one-of-a-kind bags. Basically, its an amazing, creative space filled with a myriad of canvas purse designs and hundreds of chic fabric swatches just waiting to be and mixed-n-matched to handbag perfection.

I have the Andi, the Samantha and the Charlotte, and recently made the pilgrimage to design my latest beauty, the Lexie. Yes, it's an addiction.

I know - it might be my best one yet. I simply ah-dore it! And the functionality and versatility of the bag itself is sheer perfection. Because of the links on the straps, I can wear it long as a messenger bag, short as a shoulder bag and even double-hooked as a backpack.

The ooooooonly thing I've found wrong with this purse is that the zipper pull is teeny weeny. Like, sometimes when I'm fumbling a cell phone, keys AND an infant (who is terrifyingly close to toddler status) I get frustrated and can't even find the stoopid thing.

And so, I did what any good PR girl would do in my situation: I wrote them an email about it.

I wasn't rude at all - in fact, my note was quite the opposite. I praised LILL for their designs, but noted that a bag in the upscale price range of $150+ should really have a bigger and better zipper. Also in true PR girl form, I presented both the problem and the solution: a zipper pull! I simply suggested that if manufacturing a new zipper was not an option, they should consider adding a fabric zipper pull (matching the shoulder strap fabric selection, natch) to improve functionality and ease of use.

And guess what? I got a reply...and an awesome one at that:

RIGHT?!? I mean, who does that? Companies that care - that's who. So, as if it wasn't painfully obvious to begin, I'm a loyal LILL girl for life.

And on the likely chance that this post has you itching for a new purse, the Lexie is actually on sale through Sunday. Go to their website and use promo code: LEXIE to snag your own, one-of-a-kind Lexi-roo for $120. Or design something else. Who am I to dictate your handbag choices?

You're welcome.

French River Recap: 2010.

There's not much to say about our trip that can't be done via pictures - aka my lazy way of recapping the week. Really, we did a lot of eating, a lot of reading, a lot of sleeping and a lot of drinking. Disperse some campfires, fishing, boating, skiing/tubing and other water-related activities throughout the week and you pretty much have our summer vacation in a nutshell. No, this is me in a nutshell. Look at me! I'm in a nutshell!

To recap, this is our travel route.

Yes, it's a ridiculously long drive. Yes, it's worth it.

Mark (our friend and cabin owner) and his

LOVELY lady friend, Kelly.

Seriously. I pink puffy heart her.

Moosejaw. Love the Madness™.

A rose between two thorns, indeed.

Floating on the French.

Frenching on the French.

Proof that at times, I am rather adventurous.

What you can't hear from the picture are my screams of

"SLOW DOWN! I AM GOING TO DIEEEEE!"

That is my husband.

That is the cliff he jumped off.

Again, what you can't hear from the picture are his

screams of "I AM GOING TO DIEEEEE!"

An island's version of a firetruck.

This bad boy flew RIGHT in front of Mark's

cabin about a dozen times - it skims the top of the

river to scoop up water in its base and then flies over

a fire to dump the water.

To be discussed in a later post: the top ten reasons I didn't miss my kid AT ALL while I was on vacation. Seriously. Not even for a minute.

Look, Something Shiny!

Whilst I dig myself out of the unavoidable mountain of emails and projects to catch up on at work, allow me to distract you with some photos of my ridiculously adorable spawn:

Sleeping in the car. No special effects...this
is just how the light was coming in the car. Cool, huh?

Being silly with Daddy's hat on the 4th of July.

Playing in the pool at Aunt Jane's Daycare. 

Playing Grammi and Poppi's piano.
He's not really a Mozart in the making,
if you get my drift.

Riding behind Daddy on the new bike-a-ma-thingy.

Mmmm, ribs!

He built this on his own - all I did
was hold the bottom steady.

"Uhh, Mom? I do not exist for your
own personal entertainment."

Sorry to break it to you, kid...
but yes, you do.

This Just In...

I. AM. OLD.

So yeah...I'm on this relaxing vacation, sunning my buns, sipping on margs and reading all sorts of trashy mags and chick lit. And every.single. magazine was preaching flat abs, sun protection and wrinkle reduction.

Ironic, no?

Because of my slightly obsessive compulsive personality and natural ability to blow most everything out of proportion, I took it as a sign from Hearst Publishing and some higher power that I need to A) Get my arse back on the treadmill; 2) Wear more sunscreen; and C) Pump up my Oil of Olay applications!

I officially bought eye cream last night, because Cosmo, all*you and Oprah told me that Crow's Feet are the first signs of aging. Oh, and eye cream was the one preventative ointment that's not in my current face-preservation repertoire. *gasp!*

I realize this is not the entry you were expecting post-vacation, but it's hot and heavy on my mind. Pics and vacay recap to come next, pinky swear.

Vacation.

It's time for my semi-annual pilgrimage into the wild. I'll be back in 10 days...unless the fish get to me first.

Vacation Bliss.

In roughly 48 hours I will be well on my way to this:

A dear friend of ours owns a cabin on the French River in Canada. It's about 300 miles north of Toronto and is on an island. Which roughly translated means that no form of technology is allowed while I'm there. No texting. No Facebooking. No blogging. No emailing. In short, no one can find me. It's bliss, really.

I've never really been much of a "nature" girl. In fact, you'd have to pay me to sleep in a tent. My idea of roughing it is a Holiday Inn Express with crappy bathroom freebies. But there's something about this place that is just magic. I hike. I canoe. I boat. I shoot rapids. I swim in open water. I've even been known to catch a fish or two. It's but once a year, but I am so, so, so looking forward to it.

And no, Alex will not be attending. This is a vacation for Mommy and Daddy, only. Word.

A Letter To My Son.

My dear, sweet baby boy Alex:

Time is passing so quickly. Mere months ago you were just a drooling, pooping lump on a log and today you are (hesitantly) walking, talking and exploring new things faster than your Daddy and I can keep up. And as you continue to grow and blossom into a playful toddler and eventually into an impressionable young teen, I would like to make one thing perfectly, vividly clear: You will not grow up to be an asshat. As your mother, I will simply not allow it.

That took a turn you weren't expecting, didn't it?

Over the holiday weekend, your father and I took you to some festivals and carnivals around Michigan. And while we had fun exposing you to new things (fireworks!) and feeding you fabulous carnie food (elephant ears!), we did not particularly approve of the example that the current youth of America was setting for you.

So here are some general rules as to what you WILL and WILL NOT do, based on our recent experiences: You will grow up and be kind to young ladies, and will not call them explicit, demeaning names in public (or private, for that matter). You will wear your pants above your rear end and will not expose your underwear to the world. You will say kind things like 'please' and 'thank you' and 'excuse me,' and will not shout obscene things in the silence of a break in the fireworks and think it's funny. You will have a nice girlfriend who wears appropriate clothing and you will hold her hand and open doors for her, and will not dry hump her on a blanket in the middle of a public park.

These are just a few of the rules I'm laying down right here and now. For obvious reasons, this list will continue to grow as you do - and will probably be 1,379 items long by the time you're twelve. But you know what? You will be a fantastic young man. A young man that your father and I are proud of, and a young man that we will someday send off into the world, knowing we did our best.

But until then, the "no becoming an asshat" rules are all in effect. Starting now.

Love forever and ever and ever +3,
Mommy

The Customer Is Always...Hot?

So, yeah. I may or may not have had 4 margs with dinner last night. It was just one of those days.

And as such, the java was in full force this morning. But I think my McCafe may have had a special message for me, what do you think?

Hellz yes, I am! This coffee knows what it's talking about!