Friday Flotsam

Ffffffrrrrrreeeeeee-deeeeeeeeeeee.

Happy almost Balemtime’s Bay! Yessssss, yes, I’m that jerk who uses a B instead of a V. It’s something in my DNA, I dunno. Just flick me, already.

What are your plans?! Will you fight the crowds and eat out? (ugh) Or will you stay home in your yoga pants with a bottle of rose and create your own heart-day extravaganza? (yeah!) Or will you do neither? Which is great! I respect that, man.

I think we’re doing both. (ugh and yeah!) I need to get the grems out for a crazy exciting project that I’m working on and can’t tell you about just yet but willlllsooooonnnn (!!!), but then once that’s done, we’re in. We’re so in, bias.

p.s. don’t ever ever ever craft with toddlers. not if your life depends on it. not if it means you will save mankind. don’t do it.

This is what I got for Aaron slash us. He opened it last night, because I was all, “Do you want to open our gift on Thursday or Friday? Because if you wait to open it on Friday night, you can’t look at my Flotsam post. You do read my blog, right? Aaron? Wait, where are you going? Those are my car keys. AARON?”

So he opened it last night. And I’m telling you, what a revelation. We’re finally going to do something to bring the romance back into our marriage! We’re putting the babies up for adoption. (Mom. Kidding.)

This book. I seriously hope you’ve already ordered it, or at least have it on your radar. It’s Ashley Rodriguez’s incredible new cookbook, and it not only has fabulous photography and beautifully scrumptious recipes, it goes way past food and encompasses what their relationship is all about. Being 10 years into marriage, with two littles, it really, really resonated with me. I almost cried while reading the introduction. Wimp! (that sauv blanc didn’t help) We don’t have family in town. We don’t have babysitters. No nannies. No help at all. It’s just us. It’s me ALL day every day with the babies, and while I cherish (almost) every single waking (and good heavens the sleeping) moments, I desperately need me time. And Aaron time, ya know? This is why when you see me out in public I start sobbing. Just kidding.

I just think this book is perfect for us. Since we can’t (like, ever) go out, we’ll have to bring our date nights in! Thank you, Ashley. Is it okay if we hug? No? How about a fist bump? Get out of your face? You got it.

(^^ coming to the blog next weeeeekkaaaaaaaa^^.)

Earlier this week I did something I’m not proud of. And I feel a public confession is the only way for me to move past it.

I tried on overalls.

Wait, listen! Please don’t barf. It was out of my control! H&M had some surprisingly good music playing, and this darling pair of fitted, dark wash overalls right there next to the dressing rooms, just taunting me like some primo rocky mountain catnip for a strung out kitten, bro.

I stood there, fully dressed in effing overalls, honestly starting to like them a little bit. And then I turned around, looked at my backside, and died laughing. No, Bev. NO. Snap out of it! RUN. RUUUUN!

There is no universe where I, a woman staring 40 up the nostrils, should ever, ever wear overalls.

I feel much better now. Cleansed of my sins.

I HAVE EXORCIIIIIZED THE DEMONS. This house . . . is cleayaaa. (name that movie)

While I’m thinking about it, I want to let you know that if you don’t have plans for May 29-31, you should absolutely go to Indulge conference in Portland, OR! We’ll eat. We’ll drink. We’ll even do yoga. And guess what, I’m speaking! Aaaand already sweating.

But I can tell you one thing. I will not be wearing overalls.