my name is spring

I've always hated my name. It sounds like a calendar girl name.

"And here's Miss April wearing only cherry bloosom pasties and a fig leaf!" Ug.

My parents were planning on naming me Heather until my Grandpa showed up at the hospital and decreed that being born on the first day of April, my name should be such. My grandpa was a sailor. Maybe he had fond memories of a certain Miss April who had covered the wall over his cot.

Whatever the case, I have never liked my name. But I do like what it means.

The girl's name April \a-pril, ap-ril\ is pronounced AY-prill. It is
of Latin origin, and its meaning is "to open". The month as a given name; often used to symbolize spring, the time when buds open and flowers appear. Abril (ah-BREEL) is the Spanish form.

Rosa calls me Abril, which makes me happy.

This is my time of year. My birthday is coming, spring colors look the very best with my compexion and the birds are back.

I do love birds. I've said it before, if I were a rich woman, I'd have a sunroom filled with various types of finches. And I'd have someone to care for them. In the afternoon, I'd take my iced drink and a good book and lounge amoungst my finches and read. To me, that would be heaven.

Aren't these photos amazing? They were taken by a brother/sister team in Japan. Maybe when I'm old, I'll take up bird watching. Do you think I could take my little dog along with me?

The best thing about Spring is promise. Promise of new adventures, gorgeous gardens, fun holidays and babies. As the Miss April, I would like to request all of these this year. But I'd be thrilled with just a baby.

In other news, I found my Easter dress. It is a Baraschi sheath embroidered with, of all things, birds. It's sooooo me. I just need to find a little green shrug and a pair of fabulous pink heels to go with it. And it's high time I made myself a pair of earrings. I'm thinking light blue topaz dangles.

If only I could embroider like this. The things I could make!

Hello Spring. I'm glad you came. Stick around for a while.

the candy man can

In honor of my "no desserts during the week" rule, I thought today we could discuss sweets.

I'm a little like my mother-in-law. Every time she goes on a diet, she has a reoccurring dream about finding one green M&M in the bottom of her purse.

We women do love to torture ourselves.

There has been a bunch of hubbub about Sprinkles. Even Laura blogged about them. And she makes cakes for a living. Evidently, they were on Oprah. Well, there you go.

I prefer lesser known, smallish bakeries that churn out limited amounts of amazing confections.

My local favorite is Elizabethan Desserts, located in the Sunshine Garden's Nursery. My birthday is coming up and I have requested a box of Elizabeth's best, instead of a cake.

I also love, love, love the coconut cupcakes found at Twenty-Five & Main in St. George Utah.

If you have a great cupcake find, leave me a comment. I want to know about it.

Oh, and I thought I'd show you this kit put out by Chronicle books (I love everything they do). Don't you think it would make a nice gift for someone's birthday?

Moving along, I'd like to discuss something else that has been on my mind. Tootsie Pops.

I recently found out that finding an Indian and a star on your Tootsie Pop wrapper never meant a thing. I know, you all thought, like me, that it meant you won another free sucker, but alas, it is not true. One of my great childhood beliefs has been crushed. It's like hearing that there is no Santa all over again.

And to make matters worse, my all time favorite sucker, the Astro Pop, has been discontinued. You can read about it here, complete with tales of punctured throats and business crippling lawsuits.

The only good news I have for you regarding candy on a stick is the release of these darling little cherry pops. You can break them apart and share with a friend. -OR- You could eat them cheek to cheek with your one and only.

please check your stress at the door

I've been running from stress this week. In my mind stress looks like my third grade teacher, Mrs. Nexdorf. Backcombed beehive and polyester slacks. Liver spots and rigid spine. Oh, how I despised that woman.

She's dead now, but she still haunts me in times of stress. She digs her pointy fingernails into my shoulders and stands on my chest when I try to sleep. These past few days she has had me firmly by the hair. She is pulling, and I am trying to run, and it is causing a terrific headache.

I sat, criss-cross applesauce, on the floor of the nursery. The morning sun shone in. and I tried some deep breathing. I starred at the sharp shadow the shutters cast on the wall. Finn sat by my side, eyebrows twitching, tail waging, expecting something to happen. And, after a time, I knew what had to be done.

Mrs. Nexdorf isn't allowed in Anthropologie. The beauty of it makes her burst into flames.

And I needed a new hat.

winners a go-go

I was a little frazzled yesterday and I didn't announce the winners of the Go Girl stuff.

The random number picker choose #21 Danielle, and (this is hilarious) comment #15, Shawn, who is the first ever MAN to post a comment on my blog. HA!

Shawn, I know you will find a use for your Go Girl. Wear the t-shirt with pride.

you can't kill the rooster

One of my favorite authors, David Sedaris, wrote a book of short stories called Me Talk Pretty One Day. There is a chapter in that book named "You can't kill the Rooster". It is about the author's family and how this younger brother, "The Rooster" is capable of getting away with almost anything regarding their father.

Here's an excerpt where The Rooster has just shown up to Thanksgiving dinner after a bar fight.

The physical pain had passed, but it bothered Paul that his face was "all lopsided and #*+% for the $(@&** holidays." That said, he retreated to the bathroom with my sister Amy's makeup kit and returned to the table with two black eyes, the second drawn on with mascara. This seemed to please him, and he wore his matching bruises for the rest of the evening.

"Did you get a load of that fake black eye?" my father
asked. "That guy ought to do makeup for the movies. I'm telling
you, the kid's a real artist."

Now Sedaris isn't for everyone. If you have tender ears, (Rachael, I'm speaking to you) don't go there. I, however, was raised by my mother, who in turn, was raised by a sailor. I'm positive that when (or I should say if, because my mother seldom reads my blog, she's annoying in that way) she reads this post, my mom will be appalled and deny any accusations. But the truth of the matter is that we were raised using, what I like to call, descriptive, language.*

BUT. Not around my father.

Dad was raised by Vola, who winced at the word shoot.

And so, when my father wasn't around we girls carried on our conversations as normal, but when the back door slammed and my father came in from work, we all instantly grew manners. After all, a girls greatest desire is to have her Daddy pleased with her.

This is not the case with my brother. Ryan is the baby. He is our official family mascot. He has been arrested, splayed over the hood of a cop car, handcuffed and frisked. He has been kicked out of school and given demerits. He has ridden skate boards through fire and been catapulted from behind a moving vehicle. He has broken his collar bone, heel and back. He has various road burn scars that will take years to fade. He regularly shaves his head bald and wears a metal studded belt.

Ryan never minds his language around my dad. Being the family mascot and joker, he is usually the one with a great story to tell. We gather around the kitchen bar and listen intently. When the language gets a little colorful we sisters glance nervously at my father to see his reaction. The amazing thing is, there is none.

My dad, the equivalent of a staunch minister in our church, doesn't bat an eye. Our eyes dart back and forth with each new curse. Nothing.

It's all very curious to me.

And so, I've taken to calling my baby brother "The Rooster".

Long live The Rooster.

Having said all that, you must know that deep down he's a really good kid. A long time ago I sent him a card with my all time favorite quote from Oscar Wilde. It reads, " I'm not saying we should misbehave, but we ought to look as though we might."

It seems Ryan has taken this to heart.

On Sunday, he straps on a tie, shines his head and goes to church. He has never touched drugs or alcohol and rarely even eats sugar. He flosses his teeth obsessively. Being "on time"(read 5 minutes early) is his second job. In truth, the guy's a real goody goody.

Maybe our Father has learned from counseling other families in our church that a few expletives aren't worth the battle.

me, ryan, amy, heidi

As for me, well, I'm trying to watch it. Especially since our last trip to Legoland. We were at the top of roller coaster when my sweet little son yelled out "Oh my hell!". That's enough to put the kibosh on any mother's fool language.

* To be fair, I must say, that harsh swear words were never allowed. Only the more pedestrian ones like, damn, hell and shit. Oh, and funny enough, we weren't allowed to say pregnant or snot.

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For those of you wondering about my brother's martial status, please see this post.

to my granddaughters

Someday, hopefully a little while off, I'll have grandchildren. And maybe I'll be lucky enough to get a granddaughter or two. I hope so.

The three things I look forward to as a senior citizen are, in this order: One, being able to carry a little dog around in my purse. Two, having tea parties with my grand kids, with real shortbread cookies and pink lemonade. And three, discounts.

I would also like these grandchildren that I'm planning on having to know what I was like at thirty-four. I want them to know that I think life is hard. And fun. And overwhelming. And amazing. And confusing.

I don't know much. Seriously. I am amazed on a daily basis at my pure ignorance regarding so many things. But there are a few things that I have down pat. Things that I know for sure.

To my granddaughters,

Hello my darlings! I hope I'm not dead when you are reading this. But if I am, rest assured that I am upstairs enjoying myself. I'm probably eating chocolate covered cherries. If I could pick up the phone and call you from the year 2009 and give you little bits of wisdom that I have collected, this is what I would say.

Ring. Ring.

Marry a work horse not a stallion. What really matters happens when no one is watching.

When disciplining your children, never take away an opportunity they will never have again.

Always wear a good bra, it can make all the difference.

To enhance your powers of persuasion, become a good cook.

Kiss your children while they are sleeping and try to hold on to the memory of these moments.

Call your husband by a pet name, even in an argument.

The only friends worth having are the kind that will tell you when you have something stuck in your teeth.

Don't complain about someone you love to someone who doesn't love them as well.

Save your strong opinions for your closest friends and blog.

Some of the most interesting people you will ever meet will be found in a book. Read.

fungus among us

Every once in a while, I come across a recipe so absolutely perfect for my family that it goes into regular rotation. The January edition of Martha had a recipe for leek, mushroom and chicken casserole that I tried and have determined is worthy of cheffing up at least once a month. I'm not including a photo, only because, well, it's kind of ugly. This girl was brave enough to post the recipe and photos on her blog, but, like I said, it's not so photogenic.

Now I know that there are those of you out there that do not like mushrooms. To you I say, I am sorry for your affliction. It's a little like being allergic to shell fish. No lobster? Quelle est la vie ?

But I digress. Back to the recipe. I didn't have any leeks so I substituted shallots. I was also plumb out of sherry so I used white wine. I think you could tweak this recipe here and there to suit your tastes and it would be great. Don't, however, leave out the mushrooms.

Did you know that people pay thousands (and by thousands, I mean hundreds of thousands, $330,000 to be exact) for fungi? A giant truffle was auctioned off in late 2007. A Macau casino owner, Stanley Ho, made the record-breaking bid for the white truffle, which weighed 3.3lbs.

You can still enter to win the Go Girl. I'll pick a winner on Friday.

wet ankles

I'm banking on the assumption that most, if not all, of my readers are women. Not once have I had a comment from a man. Then again, maybe the men are a little too macho to leave a kiss, kiss, hug, hug, exclamation point sort of message somewhere.

Anyhow- I would like to share a little pet peeve I have about womanhood. Wet ankles.

You know when you are out in the woods and you have to go, so you hike a ridge or two or three to make sure no one sees, then you squat, freak out because you heard a sound which you are sure is a snake and without fail you end up with wet ankles? I hate that.

How about when you are trouncing around the wilds of your local shopping mall and you go to the women's room only to be meet with revolting filth? Of course if there is a Nordstrom's you can find a clean bathroom, but the other ones are very sketchy.

Need I mention gas station bathrooms? Gas station bathrooms with a small daughter that has to go? Ewwww. It makes my skin crawl.

Ladies I have found a solution.

Basically, Go Girl is a little plastic device that you can use to stand up and go, like a boy. It is disposable and small enough to fit in your purse. I could try to explain the system myself, but if you click on over to Go-girl.com you can get the full scoop.

I spoke with Sarah Dillion, the President of Go Girl, and she said that since they released their product in January the response has been amazing. She is getting calls from around the globe.

The promo crew has been bee bopping around in the Go Girl Mini promoting the product and having a ball.

Here's the deal.

If you leave a comment, you will be in the drawing for your own Go Girl to try and a Go Girl t-shirt. Two winners will be picked.

Here's to cleaner, easier bathroom breaks.

One thought though:

You may not want to go in a stall next to some other girl. It might freak her out to see your cute little pumps or flip flops facing the toilet. The last thing you need is to be arrested and frisked by some mall cop.

Winners will be announced on Friday!

where the hell are the underoos?

Seriously. What happened to them? What fool decided to pull the plug on Underoo production? I'd really like to know. I'd march right up to him (for surely it is a him, because any woman would know better) and poke him in the eye.

I can't believe my son will go through his childhood without knowing the magic that is Underoos.

I did find this site that claims that they are still being sold, but I haven't seen them. Evidently there are adult Underoos available, but not the benign child sizes.

For shame.

Wearing Underoos as an adult is a little, well, warped. Grow up people.

If you want to play superhero as an adult, there are more mature ways to go about it.

Like this site that my good friend Mic found. Go ahead. Click on over and make yourself into the superhero you always wanted to be. I bet you can't resist.

Here's Ben as:

And my alter ego:

Oh and we really look like that in spandex. Promise.

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I've always been ridiculously fair when I choose a winner for Suaviloquy giveaways. I always use the random number picker and even at the pleading of my family members, I don't cheat.

This time I'm employing my right as author of this blog to choose a winner. It had to be done.

Jill and I go way back to the ghetto days. We were both living in the arm pit of the world, working obscene hours as our husbands toiled away in law school. Jill's an infertile Myrtle too. We have crouched in the fox hole of childlessness and poverty together. We are blood sisters.

Last year Jill and her husband were chosen by a birth mother. They went through the whole pregnancy with this girl and at the hospital, after Jill had cuddled this child in her arms, the birth mother decided to parent. Which is her right, but still.

Much anguish ensued.

But that Jill is a resilient one. She picked herself up and moved forward. A couple of weeks ago she called to tell me that another birth mother has decided to place her baby girl in their home. You can see the video, where Jill tells her other children the good news, here.

I pick Jill to win this giveaway. I think she deserves it. Don't you?

sea fairing

The day started as most wonderful days start. We slept in.

A quick trip to Trader Joe's produced a package of havarti, spicy salami, a baguette, soda water and two blue balloons. We made sure to procure a menagerie of the world's best cupcakes from Elizabethan Desserts the night before, so we were ready to roll.

Or row, as it were.

We set sail at half past eleven.

The peanut gallery waved bon voyage.



We nagged the first and second mate to please stay away from the edge over and over, then we gave up. After all, a boy has never died from a little chilly salt water. Live and learn.


Besides, we had cupcakes to eat.



The wind gently coaxed our little vessel through the lapping waves. The sails snapped like sheets on the line. We talked and laughed and licked the frosting from our fingers.

Every once in a long while, a day will come along. The perfect day, spent with just the right people, breathing just the right air, eating just the right things.

A person might only get a handful of these days in their life. Surely they are divvied out sparingly.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I'm thankful for it.

I'll pick a winner for Friday's post tomorrow. Just leave a comment.