with age comes wisdom. and i have lots.

Well, hello.  I'm coming to you live from vocal rest.

Of course, the vocal rest is completely self-imposed and not formally diagnosed by a medical professional, but on my way to work this morning I experienced sudden, severe pain in the vocal cord region during an overenthusiastic rendition of Uptown Girl.

I just can't hit those notes like Billy can.

Anyway, I've officially been 27 years old for one week now, so I thought I'd write a post about 27 things I've learned since I turned 27.

And then I realized that's a lot of things to learn in just seven days and I'm not that observant or ambitious.  So, since 7-2=5, please enjoy a more manageable list of 5 things I've learned since I turned 27.

1- In my younger years, I used to be able to stretch my birthday celebrations for several days on either side of my actual birthday.  Tonight, I got home from work and realized I'd not only forgotten to take something out for dinner, but also to run the dishwasher.  So my feeble attempt at dinner was to serve Matt a slice of leftover birthday cake that I'd cut with a steak knife.  On a paper plate.  With a soup spoon, our only clean utensil.  

I tried to sell it to Matt under the guise of "Isn't this so fun?! And festive?  Birthday cake on my one week birthday anniversary!  You can't possibly expect a girl to cook dinner on her one week birthday anniversary!" 

Fear not, after some creative thinking and a perusal of the freezer contents, we managed to scrape together meatball sandwiches.

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2- My memory is going.  On my actual birthday, I left the house without my wallet.  The really unfortunate part was that I didn't realize I'd forgotten it until I was at the drive through window picking up the birthday beverage I'd ordered.  And then after work I drove seven minutes out of the way to go to the bank and pulled right up to the ATM.  

Without my wallet.  

Because I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten it.

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3- I am suddenly using phrases that are popular among the more senior crowd.  I have three brand new colleagues, all of whom I believe are closer in age to my younger sister than to me.  During a conversation with two of them the other day I used the phrase "burr under the saddle," and one laughed and said, "That's my grandmother's favorite phrase!"

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4- In a conversation with the third colleague and some others the following day, we were discussing the high schools and colleges we attended and when, and trying to figure out if we knew any of the same people.  She said, "Wow, you graduated in 2010?  You don't look like you'd be so old!" 

I am choosing to focus on the part that she thinks I appear youthful, not the fact that she thinks a 2010  college graduate is old.

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5- I'm no longer into pop music.  When I'm not listening to Uptown Girl, I'm listening to Dan Fogelberg.  My current favorite is his 1981 hit, Leader of the Band.

Today I was thinking about how Michelle and I rented a place at the beach for Memorial Day weekend a few years ago because young! And carefree! And then we got down there and turned on the tunes and Michelle said, "Okay, here's a tough question.  In Leader of the Band, where did the singer's two brothers go?"

EASY, one went to Chicago, and the other to St. Paul.

So I think the final thing I've learned is that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

As long as I bring my wallet along.

because summer will be over soon and i will miss all this green and blue

treadmills should come with air bags

I had to travel for work last week and had reservations at my standard hotel.  I checked in around 4:00 on Monday afternoon and was given directions to room 357 that did not include stairs because even though the hotel is under new ownership, the ground floor is still the third floor and I am still confused.

I settled into my room, and Monday and Tuesday nights were problem free.  However, when I returned to the hotel after my meeting on Wednesday, I noticed that I had no towels or washcloths to speak of, which was unfortunate because I wash my hands obsessively when I'm in a hotel and I had to dry them with the hairdryer.

After my hands were dry, I walked to the phone to call the front desk to rectify the towel situation, the air conditioner made a very loud pop and shut off.

Well, that's convenient.

No AC.

In a hotel room.

In August.

So, I called the front desk and let them know about the towel shortage and air conditioner explosion and was told someone would be right up.  And 45 minutes and 100 degrees later I asked Matt how long he thought was reasonable to wait for a repairman to come.

He said five minutes.

I AM A PUSHOVER.

At that very moment a knock came at the door, and in came Barry the maintenance man with a giant cup of coffee and a can of spackle.  I don't know much about AC repair, but I was immediately skeptical of his tool repertoire.

After Barry gave the AC unit the once over, he said he was going to go downstairs to check the breaker.  Two minutes later, the air conditioner came sputtering back to life in a cloud of smoke and a blaze of sparks, accompanied by the smell of something burning.

It was like my own personal fireworks show.

Barry came back up and said, "Okay! It's all fixed!"

"There were lots of sparks," I said, "and do you smell that terrible smell?"

"Oh yeah," Barry said, "the smell is totally normal.  Since the unit has been shut off for a while, it's just the dust and chemicals moving around again."

Lovely.

Barry told me the room would be back in tip top shape in half an hour, so I decided to go to the hotel gym while I waited for my sauna to cool down and the smell to go away. Please note for the record that I travel for work about once a month and never have I ever used a hotel gym.  This was my first foray into the hotel gym arena.

And my last.

I found my way to the gym and hopped on a treadmill.  I set the speed at my standard 3.9 because, as I always say, why run when you can just walk?

And walk I did, until I was a mile in and humming along to Blake Shelton and the treadmill suddenly shut off.  I almost catapulted over the front because INERTIA.  And I was an object in motion.

I hopped right off that thing and sped back to my room only to discover that I still had no towels and the room had "cooled" to a brisk three hundred and twelve degrees.

After a few calls back and forth to the front desk, I packed my bags and waited for Barry to return with keys to a new room a few doors down.  I unpacked my bags in my new room and and put my slippers on and then went over to the AC to adjust the temperature, and this happened.

Where's the spackle when you need it?

vote for me

It seems like everywhere I turn these days, someone is talking about the presidential election that's happening in the not-quite-near-enough-future.

Since there's already upwards of twenty candidates, I figured I'd toss my name in the ring too because what's one more?  In fact, I've had my platform established since I was in third grade, a whopping nineteen (ohmygosh I'm old) years ago.

If I were president I would make everyone live in a manchine.

I meant mansion, obviously.  My spelling has improved since 1996.  And my nine year old self was evidently VERY IMPRESSED with the idea of a mansion because I initially wrote "castle" and crossed it out.

I would make there be seat belts on the bus.

I would make all Catholic schools, but half day.

I think it's as good a platform as any, really.  See you on the campaign trail.

i can't pass along any math info but i do have other advice

Well, my brain was fried this morning.  I had a few big meetings yesterday and then a terrible thunderstorm kept me up last night and by this morning, I felt like I was in a fog.

I gave work the old college try, but I had to complete a report for my boss to justify how many staff I need next year, and it involved math and I just could not make it happen.  So I sent Matt a text that said, "S.O.S.  If it takes five paralegals 40 hours each to work on 350 cases, how long would it take six paralegals to work on the same number of cases?"

I know.

That's sad.

But on my best day I'm no mathematician, so after a bad night of sleep and an early morning, a math equation with a tricky variable was a mountain I could not climb.

Matt responded that it would take six paralegals 33.14285714 hours to complete the work and so I wrote, "Using the same math, it would take six paralegals 33 hours...." and just crossed my fingers that when I clicked send my boss wouldn't reply and ask what math I was referring to exactly.

Because then I'd have to admit that I'd outsourced that particular task.

Anyway, tonight I decided to open my notes app to get some post ideas, because I knew I had a bunch of old notes in there where I'd jotted down things down I wanted to remember to write about.

And here is what I found.

So basically, I've got nothing, except a lot of confusion and a questionable situation involving the first lady, a jury, and a guillotine.

However, I do know what "wedding wardrobe forget stuff" means.

A friend of mine is getting married later this month, and she asked if I had any advice for the big day.

And of course, I did.

When Matt and I got married, our reception was at a beautiful old inn and restaurant.  We stayed there overnight after the reception, and had reservations there for brunch the next morning.

And the brunch there is FANCY.

So, the morning after our wedding, as I proceed to get dressed for my first fancy brunch as someone's wife, I discovered that I had really fallen short in the packing department.

Because here is what I had in my bag: a pair of brown knockoff Ugg boots, a royal blue turtleneck cable knit sweater, and a pair of old, thin, black leggings that I typically reserve for cold, snowy days to wear UNDER MY PANTS because I am firmly in the camp of "leggings on their own are not pants."

Since skipping brunch was obviously not an option, it was either wear my wedding dress or wear my unfortunate getup.  I felt that the wedding dress would draw more attention, so I decided to wear the leggings and turtleneck sweater.  I figured that I would be fine as soon as we were seated.  From the neck up I looked totally appropriate.

So, we entered the restaurant, led to a table, and then the hostess said, "Brunch is served buffet style."
And the buffet table was set up right in the middle of the formal dining room.

I have never perused a brunch buffet so quickly.  I think I grabbed about eight pieces of french toast and some of bacon and rushed back to my seat before any other diners had the chance to notice my questionable outfit and absence of substantial pants.

I felt like Jo in Little Women, when she stands too close to the fireplace at the party and burns the back of her dress and has to shimmy along the wall so no one sees.

So my advice to my friend, the bride, was to make sure to pack an appropriate, complete outfit in your overnight bag.

And marry somebody who is good at math.

my favorite niece

I mentioned a few months ago that my brother and his wife were expecting a baby.  The baby was due August 3rd, although I was selfishly "predicting" that the baby would be born on July 30th so that I could take the day off and "miss" a training at work.

Well, my brother called me while I was in a meeting on July 9th.  He didn't leave a voicemail, so I quickly texted him to see what was up.

SOUND. THE. ALARMS.

My brother kept me posted throughout the afternoon and by the time I got home I had so much nervous energy that I changed the sheets on our bed, rearranged the kitchen cabinets, went for a long walk, and ironed three pairs of shorts.

I've never ironed shorts before in my life and I haven't since.

I didn't know what to do with myself.

Finally, when there was no baby by 10:00, I sat down to paint my nails.  I painted my toes blue and my fingers pink because we didn't know if the baby was boy or girl and I am an equal opportunity aunt.

And then at 11:00, when there was still no baby, I repainted my fingers blue because even though I thought girl all along I was having an eleventh hour change of heart.

And THEN I got into bed where I laid wide awake the entire night except for maybe twenty minutes when I fell asleep and had a dream that it was TWIN BOYS.

I woke up at the crack of dawn and picked my sister up and we walked laps at the mall because there was nothing left in my tiny apartment to clean or organize and did I mention the nervous energy?

Then we went to Panera where we got iced caramel lattes, and just as we sat down my brother texted "Not much longer now."

I looked at Emily and said, "DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD LEAVE? I FEEL LIKE WE SHOULD LEAVE."

She wasn't about to argue, so we left.

We went to my parents' house and Emily made me a grilled cheese sandwich and I ate exactly one bite.  And then I made the executive decision that we needed to go to Target and pick out a boy outfit and a girl outfit.  We picked out the cutest outfits in the store and then we walked around.

And around.

And around again.

And then we discreetly hid our outfits on the very back of a rack and walked next door to TJ Maxx because I promise you we had looked at every piece of merchandise in Target.

Twice.

And when we looked at every piece of merchandise in TJ Maxx, we went back to Target, re-secured our outfits, and began walking through the purse department for the fourteenth time when my brother called and said, "You have a niece!"

We left for the hospital as soon as my dad got home from work and even though baby A had to spend her first night in the NICU, we got to go up and see her.

Sidenote: we had to scrub in to the NICU and I really felt like I was on Grey's Anatomy.  As I was sudsing up at the sink and saw a doctor pass by I really had to resist the urge to yell, "Push one of epi! We're going to need a CT, and page cardio!"

Anyway, to the surprise of no one, she was the most adorable little peanut in the world.

My sister and I went back to the hospital for a few hours the next day and got to hold our new favorite family member to our heart's content.

When baby A is older, I'll apologize for my blue nails in these pictures.

But I hope she will appreciate that even though my nails were the wrong color when I met her for the first time, my shorts were crisply ironed.

the best and easiest homemade iced coffee

I've never done a "how to" post before, but I have to share this.

Iced coffee is one of my favorite treats, and Dunkin' Donuts is my favorite place to get it.  In fact, I've written about my love of Dunkin' Donuts a time or ten on this blog.

I'm not exaggerating.

There was the time they falsely advertised pumpkin flavored beverages.

And the time Emily had to low brow it at DD instead of her usual Starbucks.

And of course, the time I incorrectly counted my change and didn't have enough to pay my bill and so I pretended I did not speak English.

Unfortunately, a large iced coffee at my beloved DD runs upwards of three American dollars, and since I haven't won the lottery yet I decided I should figure out how to make my own version at home.  After many trial runs, I think I've finally perfected my recipe.

Most recipes I found online involved cold brewing coffee for days, but I didn't think that would work for me because I already have an economy sized box of K-cups and also, I do not own the cheesecloth required to strain the coffee grounds, nor do I know where to buy it.

First, brew hot coffee, add a tiny bit of sugar, and freeze in ice cube trays.  I make a bunch at once and keep it in a bag in my freezer.  I like to make some cubes big and some tiny so that I can fit as many as possible in my cup.

A little caffeine maximization, if you will.

When I wake up each morning, I fill a glass with the coffee cubes and pour milk over them.  I add a spoonful of sweetened condensed milk if I'm in the mood to take a walk on the wild side.

Or really, a walk of any kind.  Because S.C.M. isn't exactly low calorie.

I stir it all up and let the ice cubes melt while I dry my hair and do my makeup, and it's perfect by the time I'm ready to walk out the door.

Since I've been making my own iced coffee, I haven't even had the urge to visit Dunkin' Donuts.

But obviously, I will have to go back sometime.  I'm going to need new blog material eventually.

i guess i should go back inside my glass house and stop throwing stones

About 12 hours after we returned from our honeymoon, Matt ran to the grocery store to get a few things we needed.  And when he returned with this haul, I discovered something that I didn't know about him.

 He was running an underground food pantry.

Just kidding.  I learned that Matt's philosophy as it relates to items at the grocery store is "if you like it, buy a bunch of it."  

Matt's not like this in any other area, so I've always wondered why he buys in bulk at the food store.  

I think I got my answer on Friday night.

We went to the Phillies game Friday evening and we met Matt's dad at the ballpark.  Matt and I had taken the train into the city but Matt's dad had driven in from his office, so he was going to drive us home.  As we walked to his car he said, "Oh, don't let me forget, I have some stuff for you guys in the trunk."

Do you know what was in his trunk?

Eight liters of olive oil and 96 cans of tomatoes.

Evidently Matt comes from a long line of men who cannot resist a ShopRite can can sale.

Tonight I decided to clean out my purse since it felt like it weighed about ten pounds.  And as I was cleaning it, I realized that I may have a problem with multiples myself.

If I'm ever in a situation where I need three packs of gum, two pairs of sunglasses, four pens, seven lip glosses, five bracelets (silver AND gold), a pair of earrings, three hair clips of assorted sizes, two bottles of hand lotion, and three protein packed snacks, I will be prepared. 

i should've brought my dentures and aarp card for this walk down memory lane

My sister has a twitter account and she has recently starting posting hilarious tweets pairing song titles with her current situations and they CRACK. ME. UP.

                          

The other night Emily and I went to Chipotle for dinner.  After we paid we realized that we'd completely forgot to order drinks, so we decided to take our burrito bowls to my parents' house to eat.  When we got to the house I told Emily that her tweets had been so clever and funny and she asked me why I don't use twitter more often.

"I don't really like to write tweets," I said, "I like to re-post funny things that other people write.  Like the one I posted today about how 'don't want no scrubs' is a double negative."

She stared at me with a blank look on her face.

"You know, like the TLC song No Scrubs?"

"No.  I have no idea what you're talking about,"  she said.

I almost fell off the couch.

And so I navigated us on a two hour long journey down memory lane and introduced her to not only No Scrubs but also Waterfalls, some Will Smith classics, Country Grammar, and and then we took a turn down the super pop road of BB Mak, 98 Degrees, N Sync, Aaliyah, and finally Mandy Moore.

When my girl Mandy came on the computer screen singing Candy and wearing a crew neck long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of Levi's, I said to Emily, "See? This is how pop stars dressed back in the day.  Not like today when we have Miley Cyrus prancing around wearing hardly more than a few pieces of strategically placed dental floss." 

And that's when Emily, who is seven years younger than I am, said, "Whoa, Laur.  You sound OLD."

I took that opportunity to tell Emily about the outfit that I wore to my very first school dance in seventh grade.  Boot cut blue jeans, a white t-shirt, a blue and white checkered blouse unbuttoned over the white t-shirt, and my gym sneakers.

AND I LOOKED GREAT.

I may have even crimped my hair.

I also told her about parachute pants and pretty much blew her mind with the concept.

When I got home that night I was thoroughly impressed with the late 90s/early 2000s knowledge that I'd imparted unto Emily.  She tweeted accordingly:

The next night Emily and I went to the Idina Menzel concert which was AMAZING.  I loved every single second of the whole experience.  In fact, I've been inspired to make a late-in-life break into showbiz.

We'd gone to the Ingrid Michaelson concert at the same venue a few weeks ago, and our fellow concert goers stood up the whole time which was unfortunate because I like to sit at a concert.

In Emily's eyes that makes me TOTALLY LAME.

But Idina took the stage and after about fifteen seconds of standing and clapping everyone returned to their seated positions and I whispered to Emily, "Whew.  Looks like this is going to be a sitting type of concert," and she said very dryly, "If there's a string section on stage, it means it's a sitting concert."

And then on the drive home I told her that I wished I'd brought binoculars AND THEN not thirty seconds later I used the phrase "hitch in my giddy up."

She officially think I'm ancient.

But I think she should be happy that I have such great taste in music.

And that I've retired my parachute pants.

at least i know pat sajak's name

Yesterday morning I had a meeting at Panera and I ordered an iced coffee.  I haven't been drinking coffee recently and the reason is twofold.

First, thanks to Dunkin' Donuts' irresistible summer promotion, every single morning from April 20th through June 20th I treated myself to a large iced coffee with a double shot of caramel, cream, and sugar.  I thought it might be a good idea to take a little break from beginning my day with a giant cup of sugar.

Second, I had a bottle of Chips Ahoy flavored creamer in the fridge that I planned to reserve for weekends only.  I decided Sunday morning that I'd love nothing more than a nice hot mug of coffee and I pulled the creamer out of the fridge only to discover there was about a tablespoon left.

Evidently someone had been drinking the creamer and also drizzling it on the occasional bowl of ice cream.

I won't name names, but there's only two people who live here and it was not me.

So, I got a big cup of iced coffee yesterday and I don't know if it was the fact that I hadn't had coffee in a few weeks, or that Panera includes some sort of illegal substance in their beverages, but by the time I arrived at the office at 1:30, I was KEYED UP.

I share an office with one of the attorneys I work with because my life is very glamorous.

Speaking of glamorous offices, Matt's company moved to a new office downtown and this is his view.

 His company occupies ten stories in the building and on the first level they have their VERY OWN BISTRO.

Do you know what's on the first floor of my building?

The coroner.

Anyway, by about 3:30 my energy and I had shredded seven boxes of paper, jammed the copy machine, sent about forty six emails, re-recorded my voicemail greeting, and checked the mailbox four times.

I also responded to my emails out loud by talking to my computer, which is fine when I work from home but I guess it wasn't pleasant for my office mate because when we were packing up our laptops I said to him, "I just wish that for one day, ONE DAY, I could say what I really think."

And he said, "Let me know what day that is, I might want to take off."

I thought I'd calmed down by last evening, but when we were making dinner I heard Matt say something about Alex and the last names of the feuding families in Romeo and Juliet and I said, "ALEX?  WHAT DOES ALEX HAVE TO DO WITH ROMEO AND JULIET?  WHAT WAS ROMEO'S LAST NAME ANYWAY?  I CAN'T REMEMBER.  AND WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ALEX AND WHAT DOES SHE HAVE TO DO WITH SHAKESPEARE?" 

Because I thought he was talking about my brother's wife, Alex.

And then I saw Jeopardy was on TV.

And I proceeded to laugh because the host's name isn't Alex it's ALEC.

Matt and I like to have World News Tonight on while we get dinner ready, partly because we like to be caught up on all current events and partly because Matt loves to call David Muir "David MEEEE-UIR."

After David Meeeeeuir was over tonight, I heard, "...and now, here is the host of Jeopardy, Alex Trebek."

Alex.

With an X.

I glanced at Matt but didn't say anything in case he hadn't heard, but he smiled with satisfaction and said, "You know, I was pretty sure last night that it was Alex, not Alec.  But I didn't think it was a good night to debate it."

He was right about both things.

Tomorrow, I'll be drinking herbal tea.

in lieu of a post with actual paragraphs

I went to the mall this afternoon with my mom and sister.  While Emily and I hunted for shorts for my mom she said, "Oh, I am STARVING" and pulled a bag full of Oreos out of her purse.

"Do you want one?" she asked.

"No thanks, I brought a snack too," I said.

We are so healthy.

And prepared.

all's well that ends well

I planned to write a post last night, but after dinner I got wound up in an organizational frenzy.  Things went downhill when I reached the linen closet and discovered a sample of Aveeno Positively Radiant Daily Moisturizer.  Even though I have used Clinique Dramatically Different Moisturizing Gel on my face every single morning and night for twelve years, I foolishly decided to switch things up and take the free sample for a test drive.

I washed and moisturized my face immediately because how is a girl supposed to go one more second knowing she's not as positively radiant as she could be?

Seconds later, my eyes and face were burning with the heat of a thousand suns and no matter what I tried, the pain would not subside.  I took out my contacts and washed my face repeatedly with the gentlest cleanser I could find and even switched out my washcloth and towel.  Nothing worked.

I finally ventured out to the living room with my eyes open a teeny tiny bit to tell Matt his optically compromised wife was going to bed, and this was on the TV.

AND THEN I FAINTED.

Just kidding.

Fear not, Matt's not toying with the idea of entering the dental field.  He had an appointment for a dental implant scheduled for this morning and wanted to prepare himself for what was to come.

I am a girl who once fainted at the dentist office after getting a cavity filled.

And the morning after I got my wisdom teeth removed, I went into the bathroom to rinse with salt water and when I saw my very swollen cheeks in the mirror, I hit the floor.

So, since I don't do well with gruesome dental details, I got in bed.  Matt came in when the implant video was over and when he asked if I needed anything, I requested that he hold the small fan I keep on my nightstand up to my eyes because that was the only way I could feel some relief.

Luckily I woke up today and my eyeballs had cooled way down to normal temperature.  But Aveeno Positively Radiant Daily Moisturizer is forever dead to me.

Matt and I both had the day off today, and he was hurting big time after his dental implant appointment.  He was describing the intensity of the pain to me and I stopped just short of saying "BUCK UP COWBOY, I HAD A BAD EXPERIENCE WITH A POSITIVELY RADIANT MOISTURIZER LAST NIGHT, SO I KNOW PAIN," because something tells me having a giant piece of metal screwed into your jawbone is probably a little bit more painful and also, not done purely in the name of vanity.

So I made sure he had a steady supply of ice packs and jello and that he took his medicine and then I made a trip to Sonic to get him a milkshake because HE HELD A FAN UP TO MY EYES last night as I fell asleep and I thought that was a debt I should attempt to repay.

I'm happy to report that I just so happened to have an eye doctor appointment scheduled for this morning and everything checked out in tip top shape.

But it's safe to say I won't be betraying my beloved Clinique anytime soon.

Or organizing the linen closet.

laura and michelle take care of a baby

On Saturday, Matt volunteered at a carnival sponsored by our local hospital.  He volunteers every year and it's one of his favorite events of the summer.  I pretty much do all I can to avoid carnivals, but Matt works in that pretzel and soda tent like a boss and loves every minute.

This year there was a new addition to his tent's menu- half a lemon with a candy lemon stick in it.  The point is to suck the lemon juice through the candy stick like a straw, because what's more refreshing than a tablespoon of sour lemon juice on a hot day?

Matt's only complaint about the carnival this year was that dissatisfied customers who purchased the refreshing lemony treat kept returning to the tent to ask for refunds because they couldn't get their lemon juice to suck through the stick.

And that right there is why I don't volunteer at carnivals.

While Matt was busy volunteering, I went with Michelle to babysit her five month old niece.  Things went well for the first hour, and by that I mean we watched her play on her activity mat and blow raspberries while we ate chips and salsa.

And then it was time for the Belmont Stakes, so we stuck the baby in her jumper seat so we could focus on American Pharoah's pursuit of the Triple Crown while discussing whether a good horse or a good jockey is the more important key to success.  

This might lead you to believe that we are major horse racing fans but I can assure you that we are not, but you can count on us to jump on a bandwagon.  

Excitement grew when Michelle's dad, who was at the race, texted her to report that he was sitting next to American Pharoah's owner.   We kept an eagle eye on the owner and his purple tinted glasses every time he was on the screen in hopes of catching a glimpse of Mr. C.  

And then after we yelled and cheered and screamed during the race, the camera panned to the white haired man we'd been paying such close attention to, and the caption on the screen said, "Bob Baffert, American Pharoah's trainer."

Well shoot.  We were looking at the wrong guy the whole time.

After the race, Michelle said, "Want to take the baby for a walk?"

"Sure," I said, and we plopped her in the stroller and off we went.  After about twenty minutes, when the poor thing was squinting because the sun was in her eyes, Michelle said, "Do you think we should have put sunscreen on her?"

"Maybe," I said.  "And do you think we should have brought...something?"

Because do you know what we left the house with?

The baby.

And nothing else.

No blanket or pacifier or burp cloth or rattle because clearly we are two girls who are not accustomed to thinking of the potential needs of a small child.

We strolled back to the house and put the baby in her pajamas, which turned out to be a two man job.  She went to sleep without a peep and we came downstairs, turned on My Best Friend's Wedding, and cheersed our wine glasses to a job well done.

Michelle might have even said, "We are like EXPERT parents," and I think I called us baby whisperers.

And then at 10:00 the baby woke up and was NOT HAPPY so we changed her and fed her and explained to her that sleep was really the best thing for her.  When that didn't work we laid her down on the activity mat to try to tire her out.  Unfortunately that made her more active, so we quickly nixed that plan and instead brought the stroller inside, pulled up all the hoods so she couldn't see anything, and pushed her round the living room.

SHE DID NOT FALL FOR THAT TRICK EITHER.

We'd been beaten by a five month old.

Eventually she did drift back to sleep, and we determined that she must have woken up earlier because she'd had a bad dream.  She was in a clean outfit, had just eaten, and was snuggled up in her crib with the fan blowing lightly in her direction and the sound machine turned on.  

I could sleep for a solid twelve, thirteen hours under those conditions.

So, naturally, a bad dream was the only thing that could've caused the disruption.  I bet she was dreaming about being taken out into the world by two inexperienced caregivers who didn't even give a second thought to bringing any sort of baby supply.  

Or, she could've been dreaming about carnivals.