Stainless Steel Is Turning My Kid into a Narcissist

It's been awhile, and I'm eating my lunch, so I'll be brief. I was just wondering if anyone else has noticed their young ones staring at their reflection in the stainless steel? Last night while I was preparing the already prepared dinner (my brother still mocks me for burning no-bake cookies back in the day), I turned to see Q moving between the oven and fridge, turning her head to the side, giggle, move to the other appliance, repeat.

Of course I did what any good parent would do - laughed and totally reinforced the behavior.

Anyway, we went on a run this morning. Had to share a cool photo. We continue to be happy with our decision to move out of the big city. We've missed the conveniences (particularly the 10 different Vietnamese and Thai restaurants outside our door compared to the two in the whole Cincity), but we're dealing. :)

Famouflage

This, my friends, is a wonderpus octopus--a complete studette in the sea world. Not only does she have a rockstar name, she can deftly evade any pursuers by simply changing colors and blending in with her surroundings. You can find her anywhere from Bali to the Philippines.

Like the wonderpus octopus, the Curry family is assuming the position of blending in - or camouflaging ourselves - into the current surroundings. Don't worry, the huz will still be whipping up mad dishes and the babe will still be wreaking havoc on our bathtub; this is change is only superficial.

We started with the babe. They had these baby Toms in my recent purchasing spree and I just couldn't resist.

I found the next addition to our camo family at the checkout line at the WalMart. The huz had snuck a pair of {shorts} into the cart, unbeknownst to me.

So basically, I'm the only one left before our famouflage is complete and we're fully immersed in our surroundings. I've been investigating some options and thought I'd open them up to you to decide.

1) Camo Dress. Check this out - A WHOLE WEBSITE dedicated to formal camo wear - GOLD.

2) Heels. I don't even know what to say about this.

Ya'll Ain't from 'Round Here - Are Ya?

It was like not wearing green on March 17th in Dublin. A sea of blue flowed through the Wal-Mart in Florence, KY, and I was one of three people in several long lines queueing at the express checkout not donned in Wildcat gear. In less than six hours, UK will battle Louisville in the Final Four - and yes, the other two people in line are wearing red.

I should have known what was up when the lady giving me a pedicure scoffed at me when I told her, no, I didn't want a "UK" on my big toe.

"Ya sure?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Ya want a flower at least?"
LORD LADY. She would have been 10x better at selling CUTCO than I ever was.

"Nope."

"You mean you just want a plain color and that's it?" she asked in a voice of 3/4 cup of shock, 1/4 cup of disappointment.

"Yeah, that watermelon color would be great, thank you."

We spent the next 15 minutes in complete silence. She clearly had nothing in common with me and didn't want to waste any time with small talk. If my feet had lips, they'd totally be smiling. They always wanted to bite the bitches who talked too much.

That was today. Rewind to yesterday, I had encouraged the huz to a 2 mile hike to an awesome market in downtown Cincinnati. We set out just before lunch, hoping to grab veggies and meat for dinner, along with some tasty lunch treats. The babe leaned back in the jogging stroller and admired the sights, we were all excited and fueled by adrenaline as we made our way across the bridge for the first time. We made our way up the hill, cutting through the guys in suits.

Trudging on, we admired Zaha Hadid's design at the Museum of Contemporary Art. We were stoked to see a gastro pub, theaters and boutiques all populating a busy downtown. Q squeaked intermittently, but nothing that caused a pause in the step. As the foot traffic began to thin, she started throwing things. We probably let her toss the bottle of sunscreen four times before finally taking it away.

We stopped for coffee. She wailed.

I gave her the cap. We toiled on.

The sun popped out of the clouds and started blazing down on us.

I got out my phone, trying to map our directions.

We had .5 miles left to go.

"Let's go down this street," I suggested, trying to vary the route to keep it interesting. We walked more quickly as the boutiques turned into cash exchanges. Anyone who has seen The Wire would be able to recognize the almost immediate proliferation of corner boys who occupied the streets.

Coming from the worst neighborhood on the north side of Chicago, we were FINE, I reconciled. And at the end of it, we were fine. We made it to the market. We ate. Q saved her meltdown. People just looked at us, shaking their heads as they shouted drug orders across the street or to drivers stopped at a red light - knowing full well that we were just trying to get through there as quickly as possible - clearly not from around those parts.

The best anecdote comes from earlier in the week. The huz goes out to get a plunger at the hardware store about five blocks away. He wants to get there quickly, so he hops on his bike. Again, as a well experienced rider on the streets of Chicago, the huz feels confident riding on the streets. Any Chicago biker can tell you that if you can ride Clark Street downtown, you can ride anywhere.

Approaching an intersection, he sees a big F-350 stopped at the light itching to turn right. The huz takes his green light, acknowledging the man with a head nod for not turning in front of him.

The guy is in awe of his blatant disrespect for his diesel-powered black beauty. He turns behind the huz and slows, turning down his latest Blake Shelton jam before shouting out the window,

"You ain't from Kentucky, are ya?"

We moved here to be closer to family. And we'll get there, but we feel like we jumped countries moving here. But I'm not ready to turn in our Toms for socks with sandals yet.

Over the River and Through the Woods: The Kentucky Files

Operator: "Hi, I am here to help you transfer your water service."

Me: "Thanks."

Operator: "I understand you're moving to XX Main Street in Covington."

Me: "That's correct."

Operator: "It says here Antoinne Curry lives there, I know Antoinne, are you his wife?"

Me: "No, I'm not."

Operator: "Oh, I was wondering, I didn't think Antoinne had a wife."

One Week, One Month, One Year and a Cake

In one week, we will be leaving Chicago. In one month, we will be celebrating one year with Q.

Today we said goodbye to all of her friends at music class, including Jake - her first kiss; Shelley, her awesome instructor; Violet, Aysla, Addy, Maya and a bunch of other cute babes. Music class rocked.

In one week, we'll move from the great state of Illinois to the even greater state of Kentucky. Or maybe the more infamous state of Kentucky? Regardless, we'll trade in our title of "Chicagoans" for "Kentuckians" or something like that. We'll be exchanging Lake Michigan for the Ohio River; 312 for moonshine. It should be blogworthy, to say the least. The pros of all of it is that we'll be closer to the fam, so nanna, pappy, gaga and gp3 will all be able to watch q grow up. That part is pretty rad.

But on to important things - one month after the move, we'll be celebrating Q's first year on this planet. It's gone SO quickly!! I couldn't resist to share some of the cute stuff I've seen while planning the festivities.

I'm thinking a strawberry theme for our little strawberry lover.

We'll start with the cake - doesn't this look incredible?

You can find the full recipe here.

For the obligatory one-year cake eating fiasco, I found the CUTEST pair of diaper covers on Etsy - just insane.

Now to build around the rest... while moving, can't forget the moving. Happy St. Patty's Day!

I Filed for Divorce

I just couldn't take it anymore. It was a really bad relationship. You disappointed me daily and brought me down. You overwhelmed me and disrupted my work. You made me think awful things about people I really didn't even care to know about. You isolated me from my friends in your weird, manipulative way. You made me compulsive, obsessive and stalkerish. I'm divorcing you, Facebook.

I think the final straw was a nice long email from a great friend, not on Facebook. It was a comprehensive recap of some of the things his young son was doing, recent trips, work highlights and family updates. It made me think about how I'd been cheating on those communications with you. I'd previously relished in developing correspondence with old friends - coming up with funny memories or anecdotes as we caught up in a quick email exchange. Personalizing my news. Customizing it for each individual rather than delivering factual updates or random thoughts en masse. It made me realize how you'd cheapened my life - and my insight into my friends' lives. So with that, I am finally over you.

It's almost been 24-hours since I said my last goodbye, but you didn't make it easy. You buried your "deactivate" button deep in your countless and confusing security options, taking me nearly 15 minutes to figure out how to finally let you go. Twice throughout the day yesterday, my left index finger instinctively went to the "F" key with the cursor pointed in the URL bar, but that blank ugly sign in form provided the perfect reminder for all I was not missing. You are bland, baseless and boring, Facebook. I refuse to be held captive by your whims any longer. All the cool people stopped posting shit a long time ago. Now all I have to read about is either 1) people with lives exactly like mine or 2) people who are out partying and living the life I used to lead, and both are pretty damn boring. Watching my baby swallow every piece of her dinner is 10x more intriguing to me than the update from the chick who used to sit beside me on the bus in third grade and had a rough trip home that evening.

So with that, Facebook, I'm curbing my voyeuristic inclinations and redirecting my focus. From now on, my family, my work and my FRIENDS will get my focus. See ya.

This Chick Rulz

This chick RULES. Parents are rock stars.

That's all. Happy Friday.