That little blob is a KBO/OllyOllyO mashup, due February 2012. This ought to be interesting.

1. The garlicky smell of roasting pork in the oven.

2. A new sweater enveloping me from the persistent cold outside.

3. Seeing a seven-year-old’s eyes light up as she decorates a gingerbread house, making me, for the first time this year, happy for the holiday season.

4. T-shirt sheets. Holy shit, what have I been doing for the last ten winters? These are amazing. They’re stretchy like my favorite blend t-shirts and are perfect for creating a cozy cocoon. Every time I get into bed I get a twinge of delight.

5. Echostar, for inventing DVR technology which has enabled my addictions.

Chris and I went to Iowa for Thanksgiving. Despite the fact that our car had transmission problems that we’re going to have to rectify soon, we had a great time with my family. We drove up Thursday and had a chili and soup dinner, then did the whole turkey and fixin’ on Friday. We avoided the whole Black Friday nonsense and were able to run to the store and get last minute supplies if we needed them. We woke up late; my mom and grandma and I drank coffee in our robes and read the paper and gossiped. It was awesome. During the day, my mom, grandma, and sister-in-law and I played Scrabble and drank spiked cranberry slushies, which will probably end up being our new tradition. My sister-in-law is aces at Scrabble. My dad also got to go hunting; he got a deer, and we got part of the loin, which we ate last night. So good, by the way. The only bummer was that none of my friends were home for Thanksgiving, but I hope we’ll be able to meet up at Christmas. From now until the holidays, I’ll be crafting up a storm, trying to furiously finish my long-neglected classwork, working at Kitchen Conservatory, blogging, and reading in preparation for charter school programming.

How was your holiday? What are you looking forward to during the season?

South City Prep is coming along, but not without some stumbles along the way. I’ll not get into details, only say that we’ve had two pretty substantial catastrophes in the past month that have forced us to rethink our plans. Opening next year isn’t a question, actually, we’ve just had some timelines altered and plans rearranged largely due to circumstances beyond our control. Yes, that’s cryptic, it’s just that things are still up in the air in a few key areas and I want to keep the details under wraps until those areas are 100% done deals, otherwise it’s just a big jinx and my soul can’t handle any more “surprises”, thank you very much, unless said surprise is winning the lottery.

That being said, I think we’re close to signing paperwork on a building, a building I love in a neighborhood I love, a building that could be our permanent home. We should know in the next two weeks or so if all the pieces will fall into place, so please keep our team in your thoughts and prayers. Finding a facility is our biggest challenge next to student enrollment, and we’ve got two backup options if this deal falls through. So many things can’t happen until our facility is finalized, and the time frame for completing any renovation is tight, so we really need good karma pushing our project forward. Once that happens, we can begin the process of actually getting down to the nitty-gritty of programming and recruitment, which is what I can’t wait to dive into. We’ve been so caught up in finding a building, securing financing, working with developers and architects and realtors and loan officers, running numbers over and over again, and trying to get our charter from the state that the actual work we get to do with kids has been on the backburner. I can’t wait until we get to focus on efforts on programming that will provide kids with a high-quality education. I can’t articulate how much I’ve learned, and continue to learn, through this process, both about education in general, but also education in the context of Missouri and how politics and regionalism impacts kids. The political climate in Missouri is not good for urban schools, period. I’ll save that for another day when all our deals are already done and my mouth won’t get others in trouble.

Because the work on the school is taking a lot of my time, probably more than I thought it would, and that time will only increase, so I’ve been considering where I have to scale back my efforts. Unfortunately, many of the things I love are things that don’t earn me a ton of money, so it ends up being hard decisions. I’m on indefinite hiatus from Draft Day Suit, which Sarah and Laurie were oh-so-understanding about. I love those women fiercely, incidentally, so you should continue to support the site and read their writing.

I was also quite frazzled because I was co-chair of a trivia night fundraiser for the Safe Connections Young Professionals Board, of which I am a member. It’s a little harder to plan a “real” trivia night, and by “real”, I mean, not in your backyard with your friend’s karaoke machine and your friends’ band in the garage rocking a smoke machine. Fortunately, the evening was a pretty big success in that we hit our target in terms of profits, and there were few major issues save running out of diet soda and running over on our allotted time at the rental facility because everyone was having a damn good time. But I’m glad it’s over.

Because we need money and I love food, I picked up a new gig at The Stir, writing for their food and party section thrice weekly. My first post is up, and it’s on how to cook perfect bacon because I am a whore for endearing myself to new audiences and pork usually does the trick. This all came about from a random business card exchange at a breakfast table at BlogHer in New York, which means I have actually successfully networked, although I can’t say it was intentional or skillful by any means. ANYWAY, yes, another blog I’m contributing to, but it’s well-paid and will help me stretch my writing  and learn not to curse in every post I write. Huzzah!

Finally, my brother and sister-in-law came and visited for the very first time this weekend, and it was so awesome. It was the first time we’d done something just the four of us, and, outside of Iowa’s loss in football, we had so much fun that Andrew and Chris couldn’t take it and fell asleep at 11 PM Saturday night while Liz and I watched The Office and ate snickerdoodles. Most of my friends have moved away from Des Moines, so I feel like my brothers are my last little tether to my hometown, and whenever they give me a glimpse into adult life there, I get to feel home for a little bit. Sometimes, my life there feels like a dream. My sister-in-law and brother were at some social media networking event (Liz works in social media) and ran into my high school boyfriend. She didn’t know who he was, and when they met and that fact became known, I guess it was a little weird. He’s married now to another girl from our high school and has two kids and that just kinda blows my mind. Liz running into him just made me curious as to who he is now. I know I’m a radically different person than I was twelve years ago–is he? I just wonder if you change as much if you stay in town. Maybe you change more? I don’t know. I just wonder where everyone else from this different life of mine ended up on their meandering (or not-so-meandering) paths and if there’s anything left to say to some of these people who shared this common formative experience with me once a drunken buzz wears off. I guess it’s just interesting, and melancholy, to think about people with whom you share so much being strangers. Maybe I’d rather not know.

Tomorrow: this week’s Grace in Small Things, plus links to my interwebs writings this week.



1. New sheet pans, the first nice ones I’ve had, that are big and clean and flat and will last a long time. Thank you, work discount.

2. Seeing my breath for the first time this fall when walking the dogs.

3. Coming home from work yesterday to all the laundry done.

4.  Asher sharing an almost-empty peanut butter jar with Neko.

5. The morning ritual of making coffee. I make one french-pressed pot every morning; I’ll never give up grinding my own beans.

It’s Monday. What’s keeping you sane today?

Please to excuse shitty phone picture. I'm lazy.

Neko got spayed on Tuesday because years of Bob Barker’s brainwashing has me fully committed to both Plinko and controlling the pet population. For all the pet Nazis who are all “What took you so long? You should have done that right after you got her, you puppy mill supporter”, she was on antibiotics for mites so she couldn’t be put under until those were over. I was really, really hoping this would calm her down a bit. When I picked her up after her surgery, she was woozy and drugged up and hobbled to the truck. She immediately curled up next to me and spent the rest of the night dozing on a bed we made for her in the living room. At bedtime, I put her in her bed in our room and pet her while she rested her head on my lap. I just kept thinking how she must feel betrayed that I took her to a place where they made her hurt and my soul ached.

Then she woke up the next day back to her normal ADHD-meets-speed-addiction-meets-cheerleader-meets-maniac self. Hey you! You’ve got stitched-up ladypup parts that could cut loose at any time! Please get down from on top of the refrigerator. TAKE OFF THE LAMPSHADE. I asked about giving her Benadryl to knock her out as I can see myself as the type of parent who would do that very thing and they were like, oh, yeah, go ‘head AMATEUR and all the vet techs laughed at me when I left, I’m sure, because Benadryl, the same dose I would give myself who weighs more than twice what Neko weighs, is nothing more than a recreational drug to her. I came home from work and she had a pacifier in her mouth and was waving glowsticks around to Paul Oakenfold and all my new books were in tatters on the floor next to a puddle of pee.

Today, I gave her Benadryl with her breakfast, hoping that would buy me an hour’s worth of sleep or so, but no, it was all WALK TIME WALK TIME WALK TIME GET UP GET UP LET ME SIT ON YOUR FACE BECAUSE I’M UNAWARE OF HOW INAPPROPRIATE THAT IS.  She was fully ready to resume Dog Thunderdome in full force. It was all jumping and sprinting and horseplay and every other thing on the “Do not do for 5-7 days” list. I tried to make coffee and I came into the bedroom to find a shirt from the laundry basket, an actual not-a-t-shirt shirt, of which I have few, shredded. My only solution unless I just want to stand around holding her (which, if I wanted to do that I would have an actual human baby) is to put her outside and keep Asher inside (this works because she knows if she’s outside alone she is probably in trouble and there are less things of mine she can destroy on the porch) until she calms herself down.

I know this isn’t her fault and she’s a puppy, she’s just doin’ what she does, but my nerves are seriously frayed. And now she’s just peacefully gnawing on a bone, snuggled up next to me, while I’m terrified that I’m turning into a pet blogger, which doesn’t bode well for me if I have a kid, because then I’ll be that woman who claims she’ll never become a woman who only blogs about her kids and then totally does that because she smugly “can’t remember what life was like before kids” even though she has a whole blog to remind her. This has gone completely existential.

ANYWAY, apparently the class at this particular parish is led by a nice married couple who asked the class what were the three ways a couple could avoid conception. According to the people teaching the class on the sexin’, those methods are:

1. Abstinence (no surprise here)
2. Hysterectomy
3. Vasectomy

Whaaaaa?  What about our good friends Oral and Anal? Or Mutual Masturbation? Are those tools of the Devil Gays? I mean, I get that the church is against contraception because they want to keep their legion strong or whatever, but two of the three options are INVASIVE SURGERIES. It’s like they’re trying to scare you into procreating.

My friend claimed the whole time she just wanted to yell “BUTT SEX” but she thought that maybe that might draw attention to the fact that her fiance was slumped over in boredom during the whole class and then they might not be able to get married in the church.

This got me thinking about Catholicism. I am not Catholic. My husband is a “recovering” Catholic. Pretty much almost all my friends, for the most part, were raised Catholic and are in varying stages of current practice, whether that be deeply spiritual or culturally obligated. Because at least half of the weddings we go to are Catholic, I’m fairly familiar with the requirements to get married in the Church as so many of our friends have fulfilled them. And pretty much all of them have either:

1. Agreed that the natural family planning sessions spread misinformation about sexual health.
2. Lied copiously on the questionnaires they must complete, usually regarding premarital sex or cohabitation.
3. Admitted that they were only doing it “for our parents”.

So my question is this: why would rational, non-practicing, sexually-active adults choose to go through all the bullshit? I mean, most of my friends going through these classes never go to church. Ever. And they’re probably admitted secular humanists, truth be told. Then again, people’s spirituality is quite private, and I would never assume that a friend thought one thing or another unless they specifically told me, so maybe I’m completely reading the situation wrong, but I don’t think I’m that far off in regards to many people I know.

I don’t mean this as an affront to anyone’s faith, and I’m truly not judging those who go through this process or any other sacrament. I am genuinely interested in this aspect of Catholicism. I can’t imagine that the priests or lay leaders who conduct these sessions think that no participants engage in premarital sex. If there’s a mutual acknowledgment of lying, but that lying is about rigid church dogma, isn’t the lying just as reprehensible as the act of, say premarital sex, or “butt sex”, or (GASP) PREMARITAL BUTT SEX (traffic, please!)? Are the priests and the participants are participating in a rouse in the name of church tradition, or are priests just that naive about young people today? (hold your jokes, I’m getting to that)

Of course, then I start thinking about the sex scandal surrounding Catholic priests, and how molestation of children by priests was not only an epidemic, but the church itself made a concerted effort to coverup the abuse allegations, allowing priests to continue to remain working in parishes and abusing children. If you haven’t seen Deliver Us From Evil, the documentary about a particular priest’s case, it’s on Netflix Watch Instantly, and I encourage you to watch it.  What struck me about this documentary was the idea of disillusionment. There was an interview with the parents of a child who suffered years of abuse at the hands of a priest who, once the allegations came to light, was simply shuttled from parish to parish, leaving many children in his wake. I had never considered how this type of abuse can emotionally damage all involved, not because the abuse itself is horrific for the families involved (it obviously is) but it damages the fundamental core of these families.

Imagine: you’re a devout Catholic, and your spiritual leader commits a horrific crime against your child. The church, to whom your faith is absolute, to whom you’ve entrusted your entire spiritual destiny, your immortal soul, not only refuses to make things right, but allows the same thing to happen to countless other families without any type of resolution, or explanation, or reparation. This has to completely shatter a person to the very core of what they believe alongside the damage done to a family when a child is abused.

Not all priests are like this. Not by a long shot. And I can’t imagine that parishioners weren’t outraged. So I wonder what kind of dialogue happened between archdioceses, priests, nuns, lay leaders, and parishioners surrounding the sex scandals. Were accountability measures taken? True accountability measures, not just ones to quell dissent? Is there even room in the Catholic church for dissent and subsequent change? And if the answer is no, how and why do devout Catholics continue on as parishioners?

There are still people my age who feel they have to go through the sacraments either because their families insist on it or because they want to save their immortal soul, even if they aren’t really sure they have immortal souls or that Catholicism is the way to save one. When we were planning our wedding, it was never a question whether or not we would be married in the church. I’m not Catholic, and I’m not going to pretend to be one or go through rituals that are meaningless to me for my spouse’s family, and Chris would never ask me to. This was a bone of contention with a (very) few members of Chris’s family. One went so far as to say that she did not view our marriage as valid. But this is just our experience, and I can’t judge others who make different decisions. I just want to know what about Catholicism, with all it’s obvious flaws and faults and hypocrisies, still has a pull on people my age who see through the dogma. As an outsider immersed in a city entrenched in Catholic culture, I can’t help but ask questions about these things.

Is anyone willing to talk about this? I ask that the discussion stay civil in the name of discourse. Of course, kid-touching priests are fair game, but other than those fuckers, let’s keep it respectful.

The house had three bedrooms: one for my parents, one for us, and one for my brother and sister-in-law. My other brother, Jake, got a pullout. I guess when you turn 30, it’s full on Real World rules, because Andrew and Liz snagged the better bedroom since they got there first. When I say “better”, I mean that their bedroom had both a double bed and a door, neither of which Chris and I had. We got child-sized bunk beds in a room with no door. It was like I was in high school and my parents reluctantly said my boyfriend could come on vacation with us but they wanted to make sure there would be no privates touching, ever. Not, you know, like we’ve been married for almost five years, even if Rev Em was the officiant. Fine, if you guys don’t want grandkids, that’s your decision, KIM AND ED.

Also, Kim said that my grandma told her that she read on Twitter that I got fake boobs for my birthday. Grandma, I was being sarcastic. That, or you thought that when I tweeted that I got a part-time job, you thought that the only job I would be able to get on my own was a boob job. I still have the same little boobs, Grandma. Don’t worry.  Also, turn off caps lock. I miss you!

ANYWAY, Clear Lake is long-established as a popular vacation spot, the Dirty Dancing of Iowa, if you will, which means there is a hell of a lot less watermelon carrying but some rich people. I mean, there’s totally a town and gown vibe. It feels like every inch of property is a) developed and b) covered in nautical or patriotic decor. We cruised around the lake and gaped at people’s second homes, favorite activity of middle-class people everywhere.  Jealousy, we has it. Listen, though, Clear Lake is this totally idyllic, picturesque hamlet. I mean, there’s a town square with a bandshell and on Sunday morning there were legions of people just out and about, NO JOKE having picnics and racing sailboats and riding pegasuses and stuff.  The weather was 80° the whole time we were there, maybe even a little cooler at night, and it was heaven compared to the 100°+ humidity of St Louis.

Us? We don’t really do the whole regatta thing. We just drank booze and pontooned around and ate chips and dip. Those of you who were born and raised outside of Iowa are really missing out on the sour cream dip varieties available thanks to Anderson Erickson Dairy. I mean, there’s a whole world out there beyond french onion, and your chips are really missing out. Every now and again we docked at the Marina and went to the Tiki Bar, which, coincidentally, has the best fried cheese curds I’ve ever had outside the Iowa State Fair. They were worth listening to only Jimmy Buffett and country the entire time we were at the bar. This guy just swam up in his jeans, I think.

We also borrowed a friend’s jetski. My mom bought me these boss water shoes that may come in handy should I ever decide to float the River Des Peres.

Have you guys seen those frozen drink pouches? They are called *snort* Dailys, and they are giant juice-pouches with booze in them. They’re totally sugary and headache inducing and full of win. It’s like someone just knew about my struggle to tart up my Capri Suns with a syringe and wanted to grant me a wish. My mom bought me and my sister in-law some while we went shopping at stores that sell things with rhinestones and feathers and animal prints. Kim hooked it up the whole trip. This lady knows how to keep her kids stocked in chips and dip and peach cobbler. Ed, too. The man pretty much took us on a tour of fried cheese curds of the lakeshore and played stellar boat captain.

There are few better feelings than skimming along a lake, the cool wind washing over you, and the sun gleaming on the water. It is pure joy. I felt so lucky that I got to spend a few days doing so with my family.

See the whole Flickr set here.

While I wasn’t one of the final three in my category, I was one of the 20 finalists out of 400 submissions in this category for my post I wrote for my grandma after she died this past winter. That post,  Her Story, will be displayed at the Voices of the Year Gala and Art Auction this year at BlogHer ’10 in New York City. While my grandma wouldn’t have even known what a blog was (although my other grandma is an avid reader–hi Grandma!), I hope she would feel proud of me and honored by the post.

Happily, several amazing women I’ve met through blogging are also represented on this list, including my two roommates in New York, Kansas City bloggers Celeste Lindell and Kelli Oliver George (yes, I know it’s weird how similar our names are), two amazing women I admire whom I’m also fortunate enough to know, Kelly Wickham at Mocha Momma, and Tracey Gaughran of Sweetney, also my overlord at MamaPop. In addition (because we’re rollin’ that way) two other MamaPoppers, Amy Storch at Amalah and Amy Windsor of The Bitchin’ Wives were finalists, and Amy Windsor will be reading at the Community Keynote. AND Bill Colgrove, who designed the MamaPop site, was a finalist in Design. GAH! THE AWESOME, I CANNOT STAND IT! So many of these women are people I’ve admired for so long and to see my writing next to theirs is both gratifying and humbling.

Please do yourself a favor and go check out some of the fantastic posts represented here.

Chris threw me a super-fun party for my birthday at Saratoga Lanes in Maplewood. It’s the oldest bowling alley west of the Mississippi, a second-floor joint with eight lanes (hand scoring) and lots of room for food, boozing, pool, and watching the World Cup final, which was less-than-exciting. And, of course, bowling. Many of my friends came and I thought we had a blast. Thanks to all who came out and rolled.

In addition:

• Our charter school had our review with the Mayor’s Advisory Panel Wednesday, and it went really, really well. I didn’t even make any wiener jokes. One member of the panel (who is the superintendent of one of the largest and most lauded districts in the state–where Chris works) said our curriculum and instruction plan was the best he’s seen from a charter. Things are starting to move, and hopefully we’ll have a facility finalized by the end of September, if things go as planned.
• You probably think I forgot about hardwood floors part 2, but oh, ho, ho, no sir. We just haven’t even stained yet. Maybe tonight. Things have been crazy around here, and if we wait any longer, the floors are going to be stained with two solid coats of dog pee and then where will we be?
• If you are in St Louis and you blog and have a vagina (or wish you did), come to our Pre-BlogHer meetup. I can’t say for sure, but a little bird told me there may be swag from Metamucil. Iron Stef says that digestive health is important at any age. Anyway, details are at that link, and please do RSVP. I highly recommend you come if only to try Schlafly’s AIPA if you haven’t already. It is so choice.
• So! Remember when I was flying Southwest and the flight attendant said not nice things about liberals and Spanish-speakers? And I got some canned replies from Southwest with a “we’re sorry if you were offended, but we’re just having fun!” non-apology? This week, I got a real, not-canned, e-mail apologizing in a pretty sincere way and acknowledging that maybe I was right to be offended. Plus a $150 travel voucher. So we’re all squared up, and I salute Southwest for how they handled it in the end. Honestly, I wasn’t out to get anything free. I just wanted them to know that that type of noise isn’t okay, and I think they got the message and I’ll continue to fly them.
• It’s so, so, so hot in St Louis. There’s no point in showering. Once you step outside, you’re damp from head to toe. Obviously, this means my friends and I should go camping this weekend. We went in this kind of weather last year and it was actually pretty fun. We even had a fire and didn’t melt into the backwoods of Iron County. The key is that we’ll spend the entire day Saturday at the lake in the state park where we camp watching mothers in jorts yell at their Dakotas and MacKynzies and Mercedeseseseses to put down the cigarette butts that wash up on shore. It’s like People of WalMart, but at the beach. Floating cooler for the win. Thank you to everyone today on Twitter who suggested syringes for getting vodka into Capri Suns. I’m sure someone at the beach  will have a few we can borrow.

While you are at it, check out my piece on that piece of shit Mel Gibson over at MamaPop, as well as my piece about the upcoming film adaptation of The Help. And, come back Monday, because I HAVE SECRETS.

Upcoming: Part Two