casey mullins.

The most unholy stink began permeating our half bath about two weeks ago.

I thought maybe it was garbage gone wrong or worse, a toilet gone wrong.

Cody figured out it was bird nests in the vent which, ew.

It was a sort of rotten farm smell, only today it got worse.

Way worse.

Cody is really good at a lot of things, but getting things done around the house isn’t really one of them. (I’ve always said it’s a good thing he’s an attorney so we can pay someone else to do the things he can’t/won’t. He’ll argue with me on this sometimes, but after today? There will be no arguing.) I climbed a ladder to see if I could get the nest out of the vent myself. When a bird came flying out at my face that plan quickly changed.

I called several local pest control agencies only to be hung up on as soon as I said ‘birds.’ Apparently birds and their diseases are not something any old pest agency will tackle, add in the fact that certain birds (sparrows included, which, what?) are protected by Indiana state law and a pest control agency could lose their license if they kill or injure one.

Two guys came with flashlights and nerves of steel to chase out the birds and get rid of the nests.

Y’all? It was nasty. (And apparently if birds fall under the subcategory of  ‘nuisance’ they can be handled in any way deemed necessary. Had you smelled my downstairs you would have been all “Nuisance? Try NASTY.”)

The good news? The nests are gone and my house no longer smells of a rotten barnyard. (There were two dead birds along with three nests in the vent. THERE WERE FLEAS IN THERE TOO.)

Bad news? Apparently there was still one bird alive in the vent and it found some Houdini way of getting out of the vent and INTO MY WALL. Every once in awhile it (they?) will flap and skitter about in the wall causing the cats to lose their minds. Sometimes it (they?) even let out primal bird screams which is terribly disconcerting and the stuff nightmares are made of. No one realized the bird was even in there until the vent was sealed up and everything seemed back to normal.

So now our options are this:

A) Let the bird(s) live out its life in a wall and hope it ends quickly and painlessly. Upside? Free. Downside? Guilt and possible odor.

B) Cut out a section of wall where we *think* the bird is, which means it (they) would fly into our house and 1. Fleas 2. Bird diseases 3. Hole in the wall.

Our attic was full of dead birds when we moved in, I think cleaned out at least eight last winter.

We also had carpenter ants when we moved in.

In the midst of everything today I heard a knock at my back window. A man, totally unrelated to birdpocalypse said, “Ma’am? I’m going to need you to close your screen door and stay inside. This long grass back here is a snake hazard and I’m going to be mowing it down, I’d hate for one of them to get into your home as they escape.”

o_O

Which leads me to option C.

C) Cut out a little hole in the wall, release dislocated snakes into the wall and see what happens.

In the words of Mary, “I’ll take hidden joys of home ownership for 400, Alex.” and at least it wasn’t car rats.

Homeowners, heed my advice: BIRD AND RODENT VENT COVERS.

Best money you’ll spend this year.

 

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From the moment I learned what a peony was it became my favorite flower.

I have tried to grow them for four years now, I’ve tried different dirt, different locations and different bulbs.

Nothing.

Driving home today I saw dozens of peony bushes drooping and bending under the weight of their huge showy blooms after the rain.

I’ve decided that peonies aren’t really my favorite flower anymore, they’re difficult and they give up too  easily.

Sure they’re pretty, but should looks really outweigh simplicity and ease? I don’t think so.

I’m now considering the petunia as my favorite, they’re the one flower I can keep alive on a consistent basis. Hardy little blooms, petunias are.

****
Vivi lost her damn mind in the produce section today. I was in too deep and too close to being done to abandon everything and walk out.

I think I had high blood pressure for the first time in my life this afternoon.

Vivi insisted on being held as we walked out, but here’s the thing, one cannot hold at sobbing toddler in one arm and navigate a very full shopping cart with the other arm.

I tried, it’s not possible.

Which led me to pushing the cart with both hands while Vivi sobbed in the seat.

I really wish someone would have offered to help, I probably could have asked for it, I probably should have asked for it. But I didn’t.

Remember when baggers used to push your cart out to your car for you? I really could have used that today.

*****

When Addie and I were in New York I was torn on taking her to a show on Broadway. Times Square is so busy and shows are so expensive. It was super rainy on Sunday so I decided a matinee would be an awfully good idea.

Discount tickets to Newsies were available at TKTS, but the line was long and we were already soaked and exhausted from waiting in line for two hours at Carlo’s Bakery.

I decided to try the theater for full price tickets, we had already come so far and Addie had been such a trooper.

Full price tickets were sold out so we waited in line again in hopes of getting some through a cancellation, we were told our chances were slim. The good news was at least this line was indoors and we had lots of pastries from Carlo’s to keep us company.

Just before we were ready to admit defeat, a woman stopped with her daughter and asked if we were buying tickets.

“Well, I hope we can.”

“I have two extras, the people who were coming with us couldn’t make it and I would hate for them to go to waste.”

Just like that she handed over two seventh row center seats to a sold out showing of Newsies on Broadway. She refused to let me pay her and I started to weep.

Her oldest son was just deployed with the Marines a few days earlier. Since he is with intel she won’t hear from him for seven long months.

I thanked her a thousand times for the tickets and a thousand times more for sharing her son with our country.

I dare you to tell me karma isn’t real.

Put good out there, get good back.

I drove past a church sign today that said “If God brought you to it, He will help you through it.”

I sometimes wish my church had a witty sign out front.

xx

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It was over cheeseburgers and fries at the Shake Shack in Battery City on Friday night.

“Mom? What is a blog?”

Earlier in the day we visited Babble HQ and it finally clicked that I really do have a job, not just a computer addiction. All the people I talk to and work with each day through my computer were standing in front of her saying hello to her and offering her cookies. I dare say she even though my job is cool.

“It’s like a journal, I talk about what I like, what I don’t like, what I’m scared of and sometimes I post pictures I take. I tell stories about you, Vivi, dad and myself.”

“Can I have a blog?”

“Of course you can have a blog, do you want to share mine?”

“Yes! When can I start? Now?”

On the flight from JFK to IND Addie wrote her first post, she called it a theme. I don’t know how often she’ll want to write, or what she’ll write about — but here’s how it went down. I didn’t tell her what to write, how to write, nor did I help her with spelling or grammar unless she specifically asked for help. How it’s published is how she wrote it. She did ask what she should write about and since I’m selfish I said I would like to read about what goes on in her head when she meets someone new. While Addie has always been brave and bold on her own and with those she is close to, she shuts down fast and hard when it comes to meeting new people.

I will never be able to thank my friend Lindsay for suggesting I read Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. It changed the ENTIRE way I parent Addie. If you see any of Addie in your own kid I cannot stress reading this book enough.

So here it is, history in the making. The next generation of the Internet, Addie’s first blog post:

****

Hi I’m Addie I just started Blogging today. So my things will be on my moms Blog page and I want to know about everything to know about Blogging. So my mom is helping me start because she is a great mom. So this post is about how scared I get when I meet new people and I get really scared because I am a kid and kids do get scared when they are little like me but when I met my moms friend Dara I looked her in the eye and said hi then I got to know her and we became friends and I love her now. And there is someone else who I met her name is Andrea but I like to call her big sissy sometimes and we met on a Disney Cruise and Andrea is my moms boss. How I get comfortable is I stay quiet and listen to them.

****
Oh, this child.

Any suggestions for what Addie could write about next?

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There are times I don’t know if I’m doing a good job at this parenting thing. Sometimes I just have to hold my breath, push through, believe that I am and enjoy the little moments that let me know I’m not totally screwing things up.

My mom would probably tell you she did a pretty fantastic job of raising me, which she absolutely did — but even now at 31 I could pick apart what she did that bugged me, bothered me and probably cost me a few thousand in therapy.

I sometimes wonder what I do now that will cause Addie to roll her eyes at me later. “Oh, my mother.” I can hear it already, I know it so well because I’ve said it myself.

Perhaps it’s because I had such a tumultuous relationship with my own mom that I’ve always believed my relationship with Addie is somehow doomed. For the past eight and half years I’ve just accepted that there will come a time when she hates me, wants nothing to do with me and can’t stand me. I mean, isn’t that the way all mother daughter relationships are?

Part of me holds out hope that one day she will be sitting around with her friends talking about the time her mom took her to her first Broadway show, made her try chicken feet and forced her to figure out the subway system on her own. That she will be able say I did something right that helped her discover what she is meant to do in this world. I hope she always remembers time spent as just the two of us. I hope she understands I’ve tried my best and felt terrible when I let her down or had to say no. I so desperately want to give her everything but know in the end I’m giving her more by denying her a lot.

She has grown in ways I could have never imagined over the past four days. My heart has grown three sizes and wrapped around her twice this weekend. She is so confident and sure of herself — but every once in awhile she’ll reach out and grab for me, even if it’s just for a moment.

I don’t  know how this whole raising her thing will turn out in the end. I have no idea if what I’m doing now will mess things up later, but I do know I will always be someone she can grab for to steady herself, even if it’s just for a moment.

*
**
***
****

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Remember how I said you wouldn’t like the subway?

I was wrong.

As long as no part of you is touching any part of a stranger you LOVE the subway.

You already know the difference between uptown and downtown you know that streets are shorter than avenues.

We easily walked more than 6 miles today and you never complained.

When you were tired you asked to take a break.

When you wanted to take a picture you asked if I would stop so you could.

You move out of foot traffic to tie your shoe.

You bob and weave on busy sidewalks like a lifelong pro.

People talking to themselves, trees, their fingers or the sky don’t phase you one bit.

You are easily the most fun person in the world to travel with.

You stop to listen to every street performer, I’m out of dollar bills because you’ve insisted we give one to anyone dancing, singing, or playing an instrument.

Even after walking ALL DAY, you still insist on stopping at the playground to play before we head in for bed.

Remember when I said you’d probably want to live out some part of your life here?

I was right, and I believe with every part of me you will. You fit in here, you belong here.

Today you said you wanted to take the subway home from work everyday, stop at Dylan’s Candy Bar on the way to your apartment and “get a pack of Nerds, because that’s what grownups do, they can get candy whenever they want.”

I’m tempted to give you candy whenever you want, you’re so wonderful.

Here’s to all that tomorrow has in store for us.

xo, mama

*********

You can follow Addie’s adventures in NYC on Instagram and twitter with #AddieInNYC.

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Tomorrow I will pick you up from school under the ruse that I am taking you to the eye doctor when in reality we will be headed for New York City.

Just you and me, for the entire weekend.

I do hope it’s okay that I keep springing these surprises on you, there’s so little that impresses you anymore and given your highly curious nature it’s in the name of self preservation that I don’t tell you about trips like this lest I be bombarded with a hundred thousand questions which cause me to rethink my decision to bring you along in the first place. I have a few plans laid out for us, but most of the time is open for us to do what we do best, explore.

I didn’t go to New York until I was 24, had I known what it was like before ever meeting your dad I would have been that 18 year old kid who saves up all her money, packs every belonging she has in a bag and heads to New York with nothing more than hopes and dreams. I want that for you, I want you to know that cities like New York are real and possible places to live out your life, but I also want you to know that places like New York may be too much for you and that you always have a home with me, wherever we may end up.

I’m excited to see New York through your eyes and with you by my side. I’m excited to show you where I’ve been, what I know and learn a few new things with you.

I’ll apologize now about the Subway, I already know that isn’t going to be your favorite, but trust me when I say I will share my excellent bob and weave tactics with you as well as my hand sanitizer.

You will get to experience a side of New York many visitors don’t, we’ll be taken in by locals, guided by lifers and you’ll have a chance to see how families like ours exist in a place like Manhattan. We’ll have pizza, dim sum, hot dogs, dumplings and so many cupcakes.  We’ll go to a birthday party, maybe a Broadway show, a swanky hotel and to an everyday office. We’ll smell terrible things, we’ll see wonderful things and there will be times when we’ll both just go ‘whoa.’

You’ll also get to see Andrea, I’m not sure which one of you will be more excited about that.

I’m so happy I get to be your mom, I’m convinced there isn’t a better kid out there to hang out with. I hope you’re as excited about this (once you know about it, that is) as I am.

xx,

Mama

 

 

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Things are in a sort of chaotic, yet silent uproar around these parts.

I haven’t fully unpacked my suitcase since the end of February and starting on Thursday it will be in constant motion until May 20th.

I won’t even be home for Mother’s Day, I’ll be in the second happiest place on earth with my own mama. I talked to her yesterday and she squealed “I’ve been telling everyone that my kid is taking me to Disneyworld for Mother’s Day!” I was writing her a little Mother’s Day thank you letter when I realized we are now equals. I don’t rely on her for anything and she really can’t boss me around anymore. Rather than her being the mom and me being the daughter, we can now live out our lives as friends for however long our wits and health allow us to.

While I am beyond excited to be a part of this year’s Disney Social Media Moms (and Dads) conference, I’m even more excited to share what I do best with my mom. I’ll be able to show her off to the people who know me professionally as the woman who let me live through my teen years and my colleagues will be able to get to know this crazy cool little lady I call mama. I haven’t ever written a *whole* lot about my mom because for a long time we didn’t get along so well, it’s crazy to sit here now giddy and anxious with the anticipation of spending an entire weekend with her. I couldn’t even tell you what or who changed and when, perhaps it’s just been this gradual and imperceptible acceptance and appreciation of each other and our own unique talents. I’d like to say it’s all the therapy I went to in my younger years. If it did in fact take 9 years for all that therapy to kick in, that’s a terrible ROI.

Vivi’s birthday was on Saturday. It was a good day.

Two is a much harder transition than one, one is still a baby. Two is just a very little kid with terrible communication skills.

I can’t believe how well she fits into our life. It’s as if there were a place for her all along, we just didn’t realize it was there.

Kind of like that button in your car that turns on all the overhead lights with one push, it’s so handy! Why didn’t I notice it before? My life will never be the same from here on out!

And it won’t, because once you’ve experienced my offspring your life is never really the same.

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My birthday at Disneyland was everything I dreamed a birthday at Disneyland could be.

Some people thought I would be lonely.

Other people thought I was crazy.

Tracey met me early on and we both peed a little on Tower of Terror. Afterwards she took me to lunch and it was the most perfect segue into the rest of my day. I met Mr. Origami, Alexander, who just so happens to share the same birthday as me . (He guessed I was 26. Bless you Alexander.) He gave me a little purple origami box I put my ticket in when I got home. I befriended an eight year old named Wallace in a single rider line, I kind of wanted to set him up with Addie. He planned out the rest of my day for me and when I told him I was planning on eating ice cream for dinner I could tell I solidified adulthood as being awesome in Wallace’s mind.

Thanks to my birthday button I was wished ‘happy birthday’ no less than a hundred times and it never got old.

I can remember walking behind Addie on her 8th birthday aboard the Disney Magic, every crew member who saw her wished her a “Happy Birthday, Princess!” in their native language. I could see her stand a little taller every time they did. One of the things I love most about that kid is her inability to mask emotion, turns out I may be where she got it from.

It’s official. Disney can become even more magical when combined with your birthday.

Can’t see the video? Click here.

Thanks for the memories Disneyland, you’re simply the best.

*********

(Entire video shot with my Samsung Galaxy camera, I’m so in love with this thing it’s crazy. Not sponsored.)

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It’s April 28th which means it’s my birthday.

Only the very best day of the year for yours truly.

I spent last night at the Radio Disney Music Awards as a Minnie Messenger surrounded by screaming Mahomies, Beliebers, Directioners, Simpsonizers and Selenators.

We all went a little crazy.

 

At the end, enough confetti was dropped on my head I began to worry about being buried alive in it, but if there’s one thing I can always count on Disney for, it’s confetti and fireworks.

Today will be spent at Disneyland, the happiest place on Earth and the place where my heart snuggles in and sings sweet songs of joy, love, and happiness until it’s time to bid adieu.

It’s a tradition around these parts that you wonderful people make a comment cake for my birthday, layers upon layers of wonderful comments that I can read as I wait in line for Space Mountain, Small World and Dumbo this afternoon.

In years past I’ve asked for the best parts of your day/week. This time around I’m going to ask something a little different (unless of course you had an amazing moment, then I selfishly want to know that as well.) This year I want to know: What is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for someone else? Go ahead, brag about it. This is no time for humility, you’re a wonderful person, go ahead and acknowledge it and make my day. Maybe you’ll even inspire others to commit random acts of kindness as well.

Ready?

Go!

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(new here? read this first.)

Daniel here. Welcome back.

I attended an art parade a few years ago, taking lots of photos and videos. As I was packing up and heading out, I turned the corner and witnessed this scene. It was hard to resist taking this photograph. It appeals to me in so many ways, most significantly, it’s surrealism.

I’m never without a camera. In the past, it was a conscious decision to carry one. Heading on a big road trip. Flying somewhere new. Heading into the city. Or on a perfect cloud day.

Now I don’t always have to think or plan. I’ve taken some pretty cool shots with my iPhone. I take photos when I go running. On my way to meetings. Out with friends. I’m always prepared.

I’m always fascinated and amazed by witness or amateur photography and video during major events – sports, natural disasters, bloopers, Tosh.O, etc. You never, ever know what’s going to happen in life. I think that’s why I always like carrying a camera.

When I was younger (and even now, sometimes) I used to want to be a photo journalist. Someone that traveled to really diverse locations around the world – wars, natural disasters, extreme climates, you name it. I wanted to explore, experience and engage with local cultures. My camera would bring that world alive.

I don’t exactly live that life, but my camera does bring my world to you. I love photographing in new environments. Clouds. Airports. Cities. Food. Rarely people. Lego. Racing. And the natural landscape. And I love the unexpected. Like this shot.

I still remember this moment like it was yesterday. It was a moment I had to capture. And now I’m bringing it to you.

Long time no see! So, how are you? Me? I had a baby. She’s really cute. And it’s not just me that thinks so. Pretty much everyone is enamored with her to the point that going out in public is a big spectacle.

You know what else is a big spectacle? My six year old coming home from Kindergarten, throwing down her backpack, holding up her middle finger and proclaiming “HUNTER DID THIS TO ME ON THE BUS.“

*deep breath*

So I remember flipping my dad off once, okay, so I don’t actually remember the flipping, I just remember staring down at my tiny feet attempting to dodge my dad’s enormous ones as he tried to pummel some sense into me. (To be clear, my dad didn’t smack me around or anything, let’s just say they didn’t have parenting books back then that told you not to freak the freak out when your kid does something super naughty in complete innocence.)

Then there was the time she came home and asked me if girls really had to take off all their clothes to kiss boys. (Thanks again neighbor boy!) Or the time she asked me what ‘sexy’ meant. Or there was last Tuesday where she asked what the “I’M NOT GOING TO SAY IT BUT THE FUH WORD” meant.

Thanks to all those books I have that my dad didn’t, I calmly replied “That is a word that is a thousand times worse than the ‘S’ word (the ‘S’ word being “stupid” score one for innocence!) and if you ever say it to anyone your face will melt off.”

If her eyes weren’t huge when I told her it was a thousand times worse than stupid they were practically water towers by the time I finished telling her the fate of her face if she were to ever utter such a word.

What? The books just said to stay calm and not make a big deal out of it, how am I supposed to remember what comes next?

Today I had to explain cremation, last month I had to explain birth, breastfeeding and umbilical cords in a span of three days. In February I had to explain drag queens and someday I’m going to have to explain a lot more…and until I’m feeling the pressure of her little inquisitive eyes? I at least know to stay calm.

(new here? read this first.)

Casey here, and I’d like to think I know a thing or two about sadness.

There’s the sadness that comes from losing something you love, losing someone you love or watching someone you love lose something or someone they love. There’s the sadness that can come from chronic or temporary physical pain and the sadness that can come from a broken mind playing horrible tricks on your existence. Sadness can happen when you watch your favorite sports team lose or when you watch a friend win something you’ve wanted for so long.

On the surface it’s a crummy thing to be an expert on, who really wants to be familiar with all the facets of sadness? It’s like being an expert on all the dodgy and dangerous streets in a dodgy and dangerous city. However, the wonderful thing that comes from being familiar with sadness, just as the wonderful thing that comes from being familiar with dodgy streets, is that you can find your way back out that much quicker. Even better is that you are able to help others navigate the streets.

There is a visceral reaction in my heart whenever someone says they’re sad.

It doesn’t matter over what.

Sadness isn’t just something that can be told to feel better or turned towards the bright side. It cannot simply be taken away or glossed over. Sadness must be picked up and cradled, much like a mother scoops up a child who just turfed it for the first time on cement. It needs to be held close, until it is ready to leave. It cannot be forced to leave. It cannot be reasoned with. But it can be fed, hugged, supported, written about and talked about until the sadness is ready to become strength. And from that strength grown out of sadness comes empathy. And from empathy comes the ability to get love others around us more deeply, be they strangers or friends.

And when we love each other more deeply the world becomes a much less scary place and sadness holds a far less icy grip around our weary souls.

I’m Daniel and that’s me on the far left. No not really, but let’s pretend it is.

I crashed this wedding. But I at least brought all these balloons. I introduced myself as Marty Biesler, owner of Biesler Balloons. I said I was the second cousin of the bride. No one questioned it. Plus I had all these balloons. Purple one’s. The color of royalty.

I navigated through the reception handing them out. I had so many of them, that it looked like I had a float following me. People were in awe and took them as if they were gifts. The reception was a sea of purple. The sun sent it’s ray’s through the balloons giving everyone a royal glow. Magic.

I/Marty watched this magical moment of laughter, dancing, toasting as balloons floated, wandered, be-bopped through the night. The night was unforgettable. Love, memories, champagne, jazz, dancing and Biesler Balloons.

Slowly, balloons drifted up into the sky. One by one they left the reception. Every now and then, guests would catch a balloon crossing the view of the moon. A little balloon with string drifting across the moonlight like E.T., phone home.

Then I/Marty Biesler climbed back in a 1927 Model J Duesenberg and drove home.

The End.

I like to make up names. I have my favorite DJ names picked out. And I have these alter ego names selected. Marty Biesler has been around for almost a decade. In my mind, he doesn’t look like he does in this photo. But he is the type of guy that would bring a thousand balloons to a wedding, uninvited. And then stand off to the side, enjoying the spectacle. He and I are similar.

Kurt Vonnegut has this great quote: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.

I pretend to be a lot of things. I am a lot of things. Sometimes I’m not sure which is which. I’m me, I’m Marty Biesler, I’m DJ Inspecta Collecta, I’m a husband, a father, a friend. Sometimes I’m great and sometimes I’m just not. What a struggle.

But one day, I’ll bring a sea of balloons to a wedding. Marty would want me to.

(new here? read this first.)

Happy 2011. I’m Daniel.

I’ve become obsessed with desserts. In fact, I’ve become quite the expert. It happened shortly after I stopped drinking booze. Apparently I still needed that sugar. So I started looking at sweets in a new way. Cheesecake seemed appealing. Crème Brulee beckoned. Carrot cake called.

I’ve always enjoyed dessert after dinner. But, in the past, I typically opted for an after dinner drink instead. Limoncello would look longingly at me. Grappa gaped. Scotch stared. And as a result, I always went for a liquid option as my reward. A piece of pie would only get in the way of some ouzo. Gulp.

I gulped some good stuff too. I became a huge fan of scotch – Scapa 16 yr single malt being one of my favorites. I embraced rum with enthusiasm, often bringing back Cuban Havana Club when traveling overseas; It’s sweetness and smoothness – definitely a dessert. And I went euro bling from time to time, with a Louis XIII de Rémy Martin. I made the most of each sip. I knew how to order a drink. And I often felt the cruel effects of a hangover.

I’ve not had a hangover since switching over to cakes, pies, cookies, ice cream or chocolate. In fact, I’ve never felt better. Now, instead of sipping on a scotch on the rocks on my couch, you’ll find me on that same couch stuffing my face with a chocolate croissant, filled with strawberries and whipped cream.

Now that’s what I call progress.

(Casey here…hi!)

Walnuts tear up my mouth.

I know because there is a pie at a restaurant in Salt Lake that has a filling similar to cookie dough that is simply filled with walnuts.

It is a delicious pie, but the next day my mouth is very sad. I’ll spare you the details, because they’re gross. But I’ll still eat walnuts on occasion, until I remember why it is that I don’t eat them.

Band-aids make me break out in a perfectly shaped band-aid rash. Especially when I’m pregnant. In fact, anything medically stuck to me while I’m pregnant leaves behind these horrible itchy rashes. I once spent a whole day in a hospital while seven months pregnant and it was quite a shock to see the dozens of red welts from where various medical devices had been stuck to me.

Kiwis make my mouth tingle. Avocados make my throat itch. But I don’t really care about those, because kiwis are delicious and avocados are akin to perfection.

My little kid is allergic to carrots. Nothing else, just carrots. If she eats them she barfs. And carrot barf is gross.

I wonder how many people throughout her childhood are going to attempt to feed her carrots only to have her look up with her big blue eyes and say “but I’m allergic to carrots.“

“Sure you are kid, sure you are.”

But she really is, so if you try to feed her carrots? You’re keeping her for 24 hours. Because as I mentioned, carrot barf, gross.

I used to tell people I was allergic to cigarettes and that’s why I didn’t want to smoke or be around smoke. Saying I was allergic always went over better than “I think it’s a gross disgusting habit and I hate smelling like an ashtray.” I once saw a girl at an Italian restaurant send back her fettuccine because it had pepper on it and she was apparently allergic to pepper.

Allergic to pepper?

Not going to lie here, I’ve used the allergic to pepper excuse, even though I’m not. I just hate pepper and don’t understand when chefs surprise you with a giant splotch of it on top of your food. Tell me it’s there in the menu and I’ll ask you to leave it off, surprise me with it?

I’m allergic.

(new to this blog? start here. new to the 30 d. of t.? start here.)

Hey, I’m Casey, and I’m supposed to tell you something I hate about myself.

But see, here’s where I tell you that I don’t even let the word hate into my vocabulary. Okay, so that’s totally a lie. I use the word hate, BUT I’M NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT. And I don’t use it around my daughter. Okay. So I try really hard not to use it around my daughter. If I had to narrow a situation down to the word hate? It would be stepping in water in clean dry socks. I hate doing that.

As far as hating things about myself? That’s not going to get me anywhere good. Not to mention I did it for over a dozen years and it landed me nowhere that could be considered awesome. Those nowheres including, but not limited to, the hospital, therapy and in really dysfunctional relationships. So for the sake of this post and for anyone who is already emotionally fragile I am not going to say I hate anything about myself. Things I’d like to change? Sure. Things I need to do a better job of accepting? Absolutely. Hate? Nope.

However, in the spirit of this whole project I will tell you that I’m a little disappointed in my complete and utter inability to participate in hypotheticals. I am thoroughly convinced that I would never make it through law school because it consists of really stupid hypotheticals that I’d be paying a whole boatload of money to think about.

Paying money to decide the outcome of a completely false situation. I read those “choose your fate” books in fifth grade. I was always the kid that read the last page so I’d know exactly which story lines to choose. This little inability to play along with hypotheticals drives my lawyer husband UP. THE. DAMN. WALL.

Today he asked me which of the destinations I would choose to visit that have been featured thus far on this season of the Amazing Race. My response? None of them. They were all either cold, ugly, smelly or waaaay too busy. Call me when those racers end up on a beach in Tahiti. I mean, okay. If someone else is paying…no. Nope. Not going to work. I don’t know too many people who would get geeked out of their mind to go to St. Petersburg. So maybe Daniel would. In fact I know he would. I would give my trip to him and his wife. They deserve a trip, even if it is to Russia.

My inability to stick within the parameters of a Cody given hypothetical leads him to massive eye rolling and frustration. Why would I pretend to choose between eating cereal or eating spaghetti for the rest of my life when it is NEVER GOING TO COME TO THAT? Besides, why cereal or spaghetti? Why not sushi or pancakes?

So there. I wish I could do hypotheticals better. But to be honest, I am the best weasel outer of hypotheticals ever. I dare say there isn’t a single one you could get me to agree to right out of the gate. Unless it was something stupid like “Eat ice cream forever or lose a leg?”

********************************

I’m Daniel and I will write this entry. I will finish it.

I’ve procrastinated for weeks on this post. I’ve started it countless times and written lots of drivel. It’s either been way too personal or severely lacking in any personality. This is my final attempt. I will write something.

What do you hate about yourself? It’s a simple question, but so tough to answer.

I thought about sidestepping this one with some humor and wit. But I won’t. So here goes.

I’m incredibly hard on myself and I hate that. It creates personal feelings of inferiority, unrealistic expectations and easily misinterpreted social situations. Aside from the general feelings of negativity, it’s enough to drive me crazy.

This way of living has resulted in some amazing accomplishments and experiences in life. I can only say that because I’m going through this writing exercise. I never take time to reflect on the positives of things. It’s not healthy. It’s insane. It’s not reality.

I’m capable of easily outlining the critical aspects of what I do or who I am. We could be here for days. I could easily point out the horrible things I’ve done, mistakes I’ve made, or opportunities I missed and so on. Easily. I actually do that very well.

But there’s no balance. I can gloss over the positive things I’ve accomplished or initiated. I can justify why they occurred – it was luck, it was others, it was too easy and so on. But I’m incapable of finding the healthy balance in processing this. One accomplishment is quickly erased in pursuit of the next.

I hate this because it’s had a big impact on my life. I’m not fully aware of how lucky I am in all areas – my wife and son, a home, family, friends, colleagues, projects, creative outlets, opportunities, you name it. There’s something to be said about stopping to smell the roses. I hate that I don’t. I hate that I don’t give myself a chance. I hate that my actions are shaped by this way of thinking.

All is not lost. I’ve given this part of me a lot of thought the past few months. I’m aware and taking time to soak it all in.

And today, I’m telling you.

Casey here, Daniel and I are going to throw a little something different into the mix. There’s this thirty days of truth meme floating ’round the Internet and I figured Daniel and I could do it in a way no one else could. Daniel wasn’t totally stoked on the idea, but I know he’ll surprise himself. We’re certainly not doing thirty consecutive days, we have lives you know.  We may even change a couple of the topics. That’s what makes this so fun. Enjoy.

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

(new here? read this first.)

Hi readers. I’m Daniel.

You may not recognize this through the fog, but this picture was taken on the grounds of the Indianapolis Museum of Art. I worked at the IMA until February for just over 5 years. It was a wonderful journey filled with unforgettable projects. That’s easy to say now. At the beginning, I certainly couldn’t see the path. It was kind of hazy.

Most things in life are like that. You start on a journey, not exactly sure of the final outcome. Along the way you make the right choice. You make the wrong choice. You adjust. You keep going. That’s the way it is. I’ve been surprised in life by a wrong or right decision drastically determining a destination. There are decisions I wish I could take back. And there are decisions I could have not made better.

I’m incredibly thankful for my opportunities at the museum. When I joined in 2004, I know that Linda Duke (Director of Education) had taken a risk in hiring me. There were times where I felt I was in over my head, days where I went home never wanting to return and countless moments of self-doubt. Often, I simply went through the motions, trying to do what I thought was right. I’m glad no one ever gave up on me. Then one day, things just kind of clicked and there’s was no going back.

I’m proud of the projects I participated in at the IMA – a trip to Cuba, a video series with the Louvre, an exhibition featuring an eastern mole, a pretty cool blog, The Nugget Factory, lots of websites,  ArtBabble, and hundreds of videos. It was an incredible five years and an experience I could never had predicted. Especially when I first started.

I’m in a newish job now, I’ve got a new baby, I’m trying lots of new projects and I’m trying to make the right decisions in crafting my next journey. Along the way, I’ve learned that the haze disappears. I’ve learned that persistence is key. I’ve learned that you don’t arrive in a short time. I’ve learned to be patient (maybe not). And importantly, I’ve learned to surround myself with brilliant people. I would never get through the haze without them.

Casey’s turn.

I haven’t left my house enough over the last 11 weeks to enjoy much of anything. I have been so consumed with keeping myself and the baby in my belly safe that going outside seems to be too much work. There are too many noises and not enough soft places for me to land outside. It seems as though the last 11 weeks have revolved around soft things. Soft places to sit, soft places to sleep, soft things to wear and soft places to recover from the overwhelming emotions that have nipped away at my spirit like birds pecking away at a peanut butter and seed covered pinecone.

It’s surprising to me how bright the world has become, some of it is a side effect of hormones surging through my body and a lot of it is the amount of time I spend locked away in cool, quiet darkness where the sickness isn’t able to get to me as easily. There are times when I look out my window and wonder if God has turned up the world’s exposure two stops, there are other times I wonder if it’s simply the sun burning away at the ozone and POW KAPOW! the world ends and who thought it was a good idea to bring more children into this world anyway?

I spent the last week in Toronto. The truth is I cried at least a dozen times because I was so scared of being away from everything and everyone I knew. I choked on the tears and forced them down because who cries when they are handed amazing opportunities? Me, apparently. More specifically a pregnant me. I have become so protective of myself when it comes to where and who I choose to spend time with, it’s instinctual. And somewhat crippling.

Every winter since I have lived in the midwest there comes a point where I mourn the loss of sunshine, however this winter the same fear isn’t staring me down with the same anticipated terror. I know darkness. I have been enjoying darkness. And not in a deep twisted way, but in a self preservation way…I am ready to spend the winter curled away growing a tiny human inside of me. This has become my biggest focus. Grow this baby. Love my family.

When the flowers and the leaves come back, so will I. Very symbolic.

(new here? read this first.)

Hi, it’s Casey, and never in my life have I been afraid to perform in front of a crowd.

I started in drama and theater when I was in fifth grade, our group performed for my elementary school. I was cast as Captain Hook in Peter Pan. A singing Captain Hook. I remember an especially rude sixth grade boy coming up to me in the library and saying “you didn’t actually pay money to do that crap did you?” Well the truth was my mom paid and I would have her pay again, because I liked doing it and I didn’t see his rear end up there doing anything theatrical.

My love of drama and performing continued through Jr. High and High School. I played Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird I performed in a very watered down performance of McCavity from “Cats” (which is where I met my first real boyfriend) and in high school I ended up in Arsenic and Old Lace and Much Ado About Nothing. I played a role originally written for a man in both plays. (I was Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing. Shakespeare holds my heart, it’s one thing to learn Shakespeare with the knowledge of iambic pentameter, it’s entirely different thing to memorize a the lines of a chronically drunk Shakespearean character.)

A partner and I even made it to the Utah State Drama Competition my Junior year with a scene from Baby with the Bathwater, the only problem was that by then I really was a bit of a drunken Shakespearean character in real life and instead of heading South to where the competition was being held, we drove North…to Idaho. Sure we missed the competition and our chance at fame, but we had some excellent pancakes in Lava Hot Springs.

I miss performing, I have taken to karaoke since it’s really the only chance I have to use all those skills I spent so much time learning in my younger years. I have on my life list to perform on stage again. And it will happen. And you’re all invited.

I am Daniel Incandela.

Talk about a frightening image. This conjures up a lot of anxiety. Public speaking.

Here’s my take on public speaking. I hate it, but I rarely turn down an opportunity. It’s painful, stressful and scary – but I’ve always managed to make it.

Those of you that know me would probably say I’m quiet. That’s mostly true. I like efficient communication. To-the-point. Blunt, even.  It doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot to say.

I’m also okay with silence. It drives people nuts so I try to be aware of that. I also like awkward, so there are some opposing issues here. I’m far from perfect.

And standing in front of others at a microphone is a challenge.

About a year ago I delivered a keynote presentation on Museums and Technology in Wellington, New Zealand. I was honored to be asked but scared to death. I had done lots of other conference presentations but never as ‘the’ presenter. I couldn’t turn down a trip to Kiwi land, but…

I knew this might be my only opportunity to deliver a keynote so I wanted to go big – either with a major meltdown or a major victory. Honestly, as i walked to the podium i didn’t know which it would be. That was a scary walk.

I’m most happy during major challenges. I enjoy testing myself, growing, learning and achieving.

I researched the sh*t out of this presentation. I researched what other museums were doing. I researched NewZealand. I researched popular culture. I researched presentations. I wanted go big.

I wrote in Indianapolis. I took my son on walks and practiced my presentation. I wrote on the long flight. I wrote on the beach. I practiced in my hotel rooms. I arranged and rearranged.  I wrote and rewrote. I PowerPointed (do I hear gasps?) – but I hate PowerPoint, so they were more like graphic elements. I didn’t fly 7000 miles to read stats, bullets or quotes. They would have to hear me talk.

And talk I did. Probably for 65-70 minutes. It felt like 5. It was a leap of faith.

My presentation in Wellington ranks as one of my proudest moments. On the topic of museums and technology, I managed to work in a personal video introduction from Kiwi IndyCar driver Scott Dixon, several Flight of the Conchords references, a nude body paint video and a lot of quiet sense of humor. Everything just clicked.

As I walked to the podium I told myself this was it – a moment to rise, an opportunity to be proud, an experience to remember. I left to the applause of 300+, a polite grin and memories that will last forever.

Here’s to more microphones in life.

(new here? read this first.)

Aye, I’m Daniel.

These are Scottish steps. Dumbarton one’s. Treacherous. Slippery. Uneven. Beautiful. Harry Potter-esque. I made it up and down without falling.

I love steps. I have apathy for elevators. Escalators kind of scare me. Especially if I’m wearing flip flops. I try to avoid ladders (corporate one’s are different). But I’m all for going up.

I’ve climbed lots of steps, just like you. And I’m talking physically, spiritually, metaphorically and other big words. What is next?

I’ve climbed steps to on my way to big meetings. Onto to a stage to give presentations. Boarding a plane (which I did at 5:40 this morning). Sight seeing in new places. At soccer games. Funerals. I’ve helped friends move. Double decker busses. I always go up and down stairs if I’m running. I watched in awe as my son mastered climbing the stairs. It’s hard to avoid them.

Steps take us to the next thing. They improve. They indicate ascension in more ways than one. It’s growth in some form.

When i reflect on the steps I’ve encountered, I experience a variety of feelings. There have been steady one’s. Joyful. Sad. Funny. Regrettable. Ground breaking. Humiliating. Beautiful. Stupid. Unforgettable. Frightening. Life changing. They’re taking me somewhere unknown.

It’s odd. I’ve never really known what i wanted to be when i grow up (in most ways).  I’m almost 38. I may never know fully. I’m aware I have a long way to go. There’s room for lots of improvement. It’s hitting me now more than before.

But, I’m ready for what’s next. I’m ready for steep steps. Dumbarton one’s or not.

I’m Casey and I have a confession that nearly ended my relationship with my sister.

I didn’t like the “Lord of the Rings” movies. I don’t even think I forced myself to sit through the sequels after wasting seven hours of my life in the first one. (Three, seven, it’s all the same when it comes to cinematic torture for me.)

I remember reading “The Hobbit” when I was in fifth or sixth grade. (Hey, I liked to read.) It was easily one of the most magical and quotable books I remember reading. Closely followed by A Tale of Two Cities, Rebecca and Jurassic Park. I had the Shire imagined in my head down to the very last detail along with Frodo, Sam and Gollum (Sméagol if you’re nasty.) Everyone. Then Peter Jackson came along and told me how he saw the Shire and I immediately wrote him off as WRONG WRONG WRONG.

And Elijah Wood? Really? Maybe it’s because I was told by another girl who looked like Gollum that I in fact “looked more like Elijah Wood than any other person she had ever met.” that turned me off to him being cast as the legendary (and only real) hobbit of my youth.

My relationship with my sister survived (thankfully) until Avatar came out.

Oh Avatar.

Blue monkey people that can’t seem to keep their mouth physically shut for any activity. Breathing, talking, yelling, grunting, complaining, chanting…mating their hair with seven legged horse things.

Oh dear.

Here is the part where I admit that most movies that go over well with the general public? Don’t go over so well with me. I physically avoid movies that have won more than two or three awards of any kind. Only rarely have there been exceptions to this rule, and the only one I can think of at the moment? Life is Beautiful, or La Vita è Bella. The only way to watch it is with subtitles.

And while I’m certain anyone in their right mind has seen it, if you haven’t, rent it and if you don’t know anything about it? DON’T READ ANYTHING ABOUT IT before watching it. Just watch it. Promise?

(As a bonus today my friend and roommate Jessica from the Type A Mom conference in North Carolina saw this photo when I  saw it for the first time, her version of the story is below in the comments.)

(new here? read this first.)

Hi. It’s Casey.

I took this picture with my point and shoot while lying on the ground at my friend Emily’s house. The way the sun was streaming in making such long shadows on the wood floor out of the Little People strewn about was poetic. All Emily saw was a mess, but really? It was lovely. Imagine what I could have done with my 50mm set to 1.4, or even a sweet f/22 shot.

But I didn’t have my DSLR. I had my point and shoot. So I took the picture to prove a point, that it didn’t matter what kind of camera you have as long as you take the picture. I’ve taught this is more than three classes about this very topic, the whole “The best camera is the one you have with you.”

Well I’m here to call my own BS.

My best camera is my DLSR and frankly I get a little cranky sometimes when my point and shoot won’t do what my DSLR can do.

My brain thinks in aperture, in shutter speed and focal lengths. Not in preset settings where all you have to do is point and well, shoot.

When I picked this photo two weeks ago (oh, about that? Daniel was in Japan, I’m in North Carolina, I got pregnant, Daniel had sushi, football season started…we were very busy.) I had intentions of writing about toys and simple little things that can easily be looked at as beautiful things, like the shadows of strewn about toys.

However, aside from my issues with not having the camera I wanted to take this picture, I can’t stop looking at the crumb. I’m so sorry Emily. I can tell you now Internet that Emily is a very good housekeeper and the stray crumb comes at the expense of having four children in your house for a long time (one of them being mine.)

But the CRUMB. What is it? Cracker? Cake? Yellow Froot Loop?

I DON’T KNOW. But it’s all I can look at.

I could have photoshopped it out, and you never would have even known it was there.

But given that the whole picture makes me grumpy in the first place with it’s whole auto f-stop setting of 3.5 I wasn’t about to bother with photoshop for a crumb.

I guess the good news is at the moment it happened, the moment the sun was setting, I was able to admire the shadows and the light. It wasn’t until after the fact I noticed crumbzilla.

Maybe it’s like a really good wedding, everything is lovely and beautiful and it isn’t until the pictures come back that you notice a sauced Uncle Carl photobombing the bride and groom…

I’m Daniel. It’s nice to meet you.

A few things I want to say about this image. I’ve noticed that Casey shoots a lot of things vertically. I’m not sure I would have ever noticed that if we weren’t collaborators. I’m going to ask her about that. Actually, I’m asking her through this blog post. It’s official.

This is a very vertical image. It starts with the cowboy – who’s standing there with a purpose, like a tall drink of water. His shadow adds a lot of length too. The hardwood flooring brings the eye in. It’s a silent scene, but I feel like it had been chaotic moments earlier. His horse ran off. This picture had to be vertical, it had to be long. It’s consumed with empty space in the lower 2/3′s creating a slight uneasiness. It’s not a traditional composition and I love that. This cowboy was up to something.

I’m a big fan of flare in photos. I might have read somewhere once that it’s considered a bad thing. I don’t really care. I like what sunlight does when it peaks over something. And I like to capture that too. In this scene, the sun saw everything.

I also hold shadows in high regard. They’re not quite at the cloud status of coolness, but I do enjoy a nice, long shadow. I feel like cowboy here agrees. The shadow adds a little mystery. And that shadow ain’t saying a word.

The scarf on this cowboy isn’t lost on me either. The cowboy stands confidently in a deserted living room as the sun sets. His nemesis is lying behind him. A tumbleweed passes in front. And his scarf sits contently on his broad, cowboy-like shoulders. This cowboy is the real deal.

So that’s my assessment of the scene. What’s yours?