I hope Brigsby has his eyes.

…and maybe his smile, his lips, his nose, and his laugh, too.

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Brigsby’s nursery is being featured today on Offbeat Mama!

this is better than unicorns.

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In a past life, Alex and I were Russian Gypsies. We met by chance. I was running by, my hair trailing behind me and he caught me as a I started to fall. He was handsome and rugged and smoked a cigar. He never took his eyes off me and mine never left him. We never spent a day apart. We’d giggle as we’d drift through the markets, screaming wildly as shopkeepers chased us through the streets, our scarves and hats falling behind us for children to find, treasure in their little hands. We’d lay on our backs in the fields of unknowing farmers, blowing smoke rings and watching the clouds pass above our heads, picking the fruit from their trees. We shared jewelry and hats and outfits, throwing clothes at each other behind our caravan. It was a simple little caravan at first…built with Alex’s bare hands from scraps of wood discarded and forgotten. We painted it together as it struck our fancy, carved poems and words into the warped wood. We burned incense and sang to the heavens. We slept in late and stayed up all night dancing under stars until the sun broke through the clouds. We welded each other rings from metal pieces and stones pocketed amidst our adventures and were married by a gypsy friend who’d we only met once and would never see again. Eventually some wild dogs made their way into our arms and we loved them like little gypsy children. We chased deer through the forests and bathed in rivers. We plucked at instruments and made up songs that made us laugh. We ate our lunch sitting in the highest tree branches and wandered the country side with our little caravan and pack of dogs for years and years, constantly on the move to keep the bears at bay. As time passed, the caravan grew rickety and our hair turned gray. The wheels broke apart and for the first time in our long lives, we were no longer on the move. We stayed in the same spot that the caravan met its demise, scarfs and sheets and lanterns hanging from the trees, until death took us holding hands on a summer day, sleeping soundly to the sound of each other’s breathing.

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Alex harassed me to clean up my little desk area.

So I did.

And that is how I broke the drill(s).

Before

After

• Metal sheets from Lowes. Shiny and magnetic.  I caulked them to the wall…sucks for whoever buys this house from us.
• Door knobs. (that is specifically how I broke the drill.)
• It’s organized. For now.
• Vintage lace fire hazard curtain. It’s important.

Before

After

• Alex’s vows are up on the left and I read them every day.
• Chalkboard calendar
• Candle. Also important.
• And now I have an office. And now I have a book to write.

• wall of things I deem both necessary and important. fortune cookie fortunes, stickers…necessary and important.

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Thursday: I was Pocahontas. We cooked a lot. A lot of honor was defended. We looked at Beloved’s old baby clothes. Brigsby is going to be a vintage demi-god. No one stole Emmett’s turkey. Dinner was funny. It always is. The boys came over and brought the new puppy. Marley. She loves me.

Friday: Apple pie for breakfast, egg nog for lunch. We decorated for Christmas. I learned how to hang wallpaper. We went to Sheehan’s for dinner and caught up on all of the Weeds episodes he’s been saving for us. I wondered how many people got trampled to death for cheap toasters. My back spasms made me cranky.

Saturday: We went to the condo. We watched football and napped all day with the balcony doors opened up to the beach. I wore Husband’s sweatpants. Megan jinxed Alex and Sheehan interpreted his sign language. We went to the Red Lion Pub for bar food and man games. I didn’t wear Husband’s sweat pants. I drove the truck.

Sunday: Made a candy cane forest out front. Husband played football and didn’t come home limping. We went to a cookout. Jack Jack was there and she hugged me…twice. Everyone loves the pregnant girl. Battlestar Galactica and back massages sufficed for our Sunday night date. I realized I hadn’t touched my camera in 4 days. I fell asleep at 8:30 wondering when I’m going to break that habit.

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It’s famous because Padre likes it and looks forward to it all year.

Usually I buy the pre-made apple pie crap.

This year I got fancy and made it myself.

Ingredients:

• 8 cups apples
• 1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
• 1/2 cup white sugar
• 1/4 cup flour
• 2 teaspoons apple pie spice (it’s real.)
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 2 teaspoons vanilla
• 4 tablespoons heavy cream
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 2 pre made pie crusts

Topping stuff:

• 1/2 cup flour
• 3 tablespoons sugar
• 2 tablespoons melted butter
• 1/2 bag of the Heath bar pieces in the baking isle
• 1 dozen caramel chewy things left over from Halloween.

………………………………………………………………………………….

1. Preheat oven to 450

2. Peel apples and slice em up. 86 seeds and stems

3. feed the peels to patiently waiting dogs.

4. Put them in a big bowl and add the lemon juice. Shake it up.

5. In a smaller bowl mix up the brown sugar, white sugar, flour, apple pie spice, and salt.

6. Add it to the apples and keep on shaking until they’re all kind of covered.

7. Melt the butter in a real big pan.

8. Add apples and stir it all up. Cook for 10 minutes or so until it’s kind of mushy.

9. Put 1 pie crust in a pretty baking dish. It has to be a pretty dish. That’s crucial.

10. Put the apples in it

11. Mix up all the topping ingredients in a bowl.

12. Put it on top of the apples.

13. Put the second pie crust on top.

14. Seal it up and cut out some holes on the top. If you can carve out a unicorn, the pie will taste better. Promise.

15. Using your (clean) fingers, rub some beaten egg white on the top…or if you’re fancy you can actually use a brush thing.

16. Cover the top with sugar.

17. Bake for 15 minutes at 450

18. Remove and lower heat to 350

19. Cover with a piece of tin foil so the top doesn’t burn and cook for 45 more minutes.

“That’s magazine shit.”

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BFFL

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We won third place in the nursery wars.

Brigsby will be born into the winner’s circle.

Thank you for not letting my kid be a loser.

I think the gnome won everybody over.

Also, thank you sheehan and jeremy for unabashedly ensuring third place was mine. I admire your hard work and dedication. There are surprises in store for you.

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A comprehensive list of things I’m thankful for:

1. Brigsby coming out very very soon.

2. Alex making me laugh every day

3. Alex busting his ass at work to support our little family

4. Psycho Stella

5. Queen Corona

6. Alex eating the food I cook

7. True Love

8. Dysfunctional families

9. Back scratches

10. Twizzlers

11. Unicorns

12. Netflix

13. Alex playing along when I ask him to be the paparazzi

14. Thrift stores

15. Snuggle time

16. Pandora

17. Friends that put up with me never answering my phone. ever.

18. People that tolerate me.

19. Getting out of FSU alive

20. Conditioner

21. Pencils (for my hair, not for writing)

22. My brother

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I was 17. I woke up to a phone call from Aunt Julie and she kept saying that Marc had died. She had to repeat it over and over before I could finally make sense of what she meant. I stumbled out of my room, crying for my mom trying to tell her what happened. She was outside drinking her coffee. She thought I had a bad dream, a nightmare. She said it over and over again. I don’t know what made her realize it wasn’t a dream. I completely shut down, became nothing more than rage tangled with confusion. Jt picked me up to stay with them for the weekend. We were all together, except for Marc. We were all babies together. We grew up together, terrorized each other, protected each other, needed each other. Chris and I just sat in the dark crying and staring off into space and then he would start shouting about how unfair it was and walk out of the room. He’d come back a few minutes later and we would do it all over again…hours and hours lost in the fog. My dad watched us desperately trying to feel our way through the dark, incapacitated by the grief and the confusion and the fear that you can’t escape from when one of your best friends dies. He wrote a song about it and started a donation fund in Marc’s name. The video came later, when things weren’t as raw, when the tears had started to come less frequently and we’d grown used to the wounds, could live with the pain. My dad made damn sure everyone he could reach knew Marc’s name, knew his story. He couldn’t stand there and watch us all hurt the way we did without doing something. He helped us start to heal.

It’s been 5 years.

I’ve never stopped missing you.

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