Enough Of Her Wedding, Let Me Tell You About Mine…

All week we’ve been inundated with details of today’s nuptials between Prince William and Kate Middleton. Well I married a prince of my own on Aug. 10, 2002. Click here for our story.

If you’re thirsty for even more wedded bliss, here’s our website.

Tosca Reno’s Turkey Meatballs

I’m not much of a meatball girl, but these are yummy. Also it was a lot of fun to make them with Logan. The side dishes are broccoli and quinoa mixed with onions and orange bell peppers.

Turkey Meatballs
The Eat-Clean Diet Cookbook by Tosca Reno

Ingredients:

1 1/2 lbs. lean ground turkey or chicken
1/2 cup finely chopped onion
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 cup breadcrumbs
2 T. fresh parsley, finely chopped
2 T. fresh basil, finely chopped
2 T. fresh oregano, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, passed through a garlic press
1 tsp. sea salt
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

2. In a large bowl, place egg and breadcrumbs or oat bran.  Add spices and mix well.  Add remaining ingredients and mix well.  Using an ice cream scoop make meatballs and place on prepared cookie sheet.  Place in hot oven and bake for 20 minutes or until golden.

Wordless Wednesdays: Make Me Wanna Holler

My boys are like their mama. They have very clear ideas on what they do and do not like.

Logan at 2 1/2 months old and not too happy with his Halloween outfit.

Ethan at 3 months old, equally pissed at Mom.

Finding My Way Out Of A Funk

For days, I had been in a bit of a funk and what annoyed me is that I really couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I’m sure you’ve been there before too.

It led me to do some navel gazing. Running down the list of obvious reasons for happiness: My health? Check. Healthy kids? Check. Good husband. Check. Financial Stability? Check. Great Friends? Check.

Not to mention I’m on a glorious maternity leave that feels like a very long vacation. Well then, what the truck is wrong with me?

Who knows. The funk seeped in last Sunday, I thought a good night’s sleep was in order. Come Monday, my attitude still stunk and I felt like Eeyore. I was growing perturbed because before when I’d get in a funk, it was largely work-related stress, that was understandable. This time I had nothing to really pin it on. … Well that was something else. I set out to battle my blues.

I tried to find a drinking buddy for Tuesday night, nothing like a little girly time to bring on the sunshine. Then I decided I was long overdue for crossing items off my Chicago bucket list. I chose to hit up the Garfield Park Conservatory and emailed many of my mommyfriends to see if anyone wanted to come along.

First, my hopes for a date with my gal pal fell through and then the monsoon season struck the Chicago area that night. I considered staying in, but thought no, I need this Me Time. I’ll feel more like Me once I get to spend time with Me.

I swung by the store to pick up the latest Vogue, sloshed into a Latin-fusion restaurant and enjoyed my table for one.

At the Garfield Park Conservatory.

None of my mommyfriends were up for making the trip to the city on such short notice to visit the conservatory, so Ethan and I headed down alone. It was great to take my time and absorb the only place in Chicago where Spring existed.

Also I simply love being in the city. It’s got a steady hum of excitement and possibilities that somehow grounds me. I get twitchy out here in the suburbs. (Granted there’s a lot of comfy perks out here, but I still get a little antsy.)

On our way home, Ethan slept and I let my mind roam. I thought about being happy and how I’ve spent these past four months in a wonderful family bubble. And now that I’m on the tail end of my maternity leave, it looks like my bubble’s about to burst.

Even though I was initially disappointed no one could come out and play with me, I’m glad I still did what I intended. Spending quality time with me, myself and I was just what the doctor ordered.

Bowling For Jesus… Um, Kinda

This Easter morning we woke up late like usual. We got all dressed up and headed out to spend a couple hours with strangers. Instead of sitting in the pews, we were lacing up our bowling shoes.

Despite the look on Logan's face, he had a great time.

Yep, this Easter She’sWrite went bowling. There’s an awesome bowling alley not too far from our house called Pinstripes. It’s not the typical alley that’s decked out 70s style and serves greasy pizza and plastic-cheesed nachos. This spot is trendy, has tasty food with great presentation and offers high-end wines.

What’s best is that it’s not pretentious. They understand that kids will be kids and make messes and throw fits.

When my friend told me about their Easter brunch, I thought, what a great way to spend a special day with family. We don’t have a church home and weren’t up for dealing with a crowd of people and praying neither of our kids lost it while we listened to the inspiring words about The Resurrection.

We arrived around 11 a.m. and were first to get assigned a lane. Tons of people were already there, but most of them were sitting at tables with fancy centerpieces. Me and my brood plunked our stuff down on the couches by our bowling lane. A mimosa quickly arrived for me along with a Peroni for Hubby and lemonade for Logan.

One look at the buffet tables and I knew my diet had to go on pause. It was over-the-top, like they have on cruise ships. One side had everything you’d want for breakfast and the other side had everything you’d want for lunch. There was even a chocolate fountain. (Hubby and I were very proud that we at least abstained from that bit of decadence…)

Going for a strike on a previous trip to Pinstripes.

The bowling was fun too. Hubby and I have always enjoyed competing with each other, the only thing better than winning is the smack-talking, but we’ve had to tone it down now that Logan’s older. Good thing too because I suck at bowling.

We were using bumpers because of Logan, but it’s good for me too. I’m so bad I’ve managed to perfect a bank shot off the bumpers that knocks down an amazing amount of pins. I’d like to think that being able to develop such a move requires talent.

Though we didn’t go to church this Easter, I loved that we spent the day being just us.

God is love.

Wordless Wednesday: Chasing Spring

Chicago’s had an on-again-off-again relationship with spring this year. This week it’s been more than off since it snowed two days and the temperatures have generally been in the lower 40s. I decided to find myself a little spring and summer in the only place it stays all around. Also, this was one of the items on my bucket list.

Garfield Park Conservatory

A Farewell To Old Friends and Their Twisted Lives

When I first heard the news I thought it was one of those bad Twitter rumors. You know, like the kind that killed off Sinbad, Jackie Chan and Morgan Freeman.

But alas it was true. Two suburbs of Philadelphia were going to close their fictional gates: Llanview and Pine Valley. ABC announced that it was ending two of its soap operas, All My Children will be done in January and One Life To Live is over come September.

I grew up on these soaps and have been watching them for years. I loved how I could go days, weeks, months, even years at a time without seeing an episode. Then when I tuned in, it felt like an old friend because we could generally pick up where we left off.

I remember being in kindergarten and my mom would braid my hair while we watched All My Children. <insert wistful sigh> There was Erica Kane and her never-ending string of suitors. I was barely a tween, but took note that men told her she was so beautiful when she was angry. I thought: that’s when I’ll know a man really loves me. He’ll think I’m beautiful when I’m mad. (Though when Hubby says I’m beautiful when I’m mad, it’s no where near romantic, it’s annoying.)

The residents of Llanview and I got acquainted in high school while I was visiting a friend in Colorado. It was compelling TV because it was the start of the gang rape trial. Gang rape? It gave insights to something that no one ever talked with me about: the aftermath of rape. A shattered Marty Saybrooke against the well-coifed fraternity boys. It was complexly heartwrenching.

As I got older, it felt like soaps were things that “smart women” didn’t watch, so I became a partly closeted soap fan. Plus, I apparently liked “old lady” soaps, as my friends watched Days of Our Lives or General Hospital. It seemed no one my age liked All My Children or One Life To Live.

I’d record them when I couldn’t watch live and had a little VHS system of soaps. My system was quite flawed and Hubby’s seen how ugly things got when I’d accidentally record over one that I hadn’t yet seen.

As work got more demanding, I kept falling more and more behind in my soaps, so I dropped them entirely. Besides, what self-respecting journalist watches soap operas?

Then into my newsroom walked a proud soap fan. We’d start gabbing about the soaps and I’d interview her on what was happening and quickly got up to speed so I started watching again. And I was glad I did. After a long day of corruption, murder and heartache, it was a twisted escape to watch fictional corruption, murder and heartache.

Now I watch about an episode a week and though it was only a matter of time with reality TV and social media filling up people’s days, I’m sad it’s ending. I’m going to miss my favorites, the wonderfully bitchy girls: Erica, Skye, Kendall, Greenlee, Blair, Tess and Tea. And to all of the residents of Pine Valley and Llanview thanks for all of the laughs, tears and love.

Wordless Wednesday: A Slice of Serenity

A quiet morning along Lake Michigan.

We Came, We Saw, We Shuffled

The temperature was in the lower 70s, clouds dotted the sky, a slight breeze skimmed off the lake and we were surrounded by more than 32,000 people. What a perfect day for a first race.

It was Chicago’s Shamrock Shuffle, the largest 8K road race in the world and I was finally getting the opportunity to run a race with my husband. Though neither of us are avid runners, I’ve always wanted to do a race with him. He’s cheered for me at my races, but I wanted him on the frontline, not the sideline.

We decided to run the race as part of the Imerman Angels, an organization that provides one-on-one support for those with cancer. I was running on behalf of my two cousins, Jimmy and Chubby who died of cancer. (With the support of family and friends Hubby and I raised $525! Thanks again to all who donated.)

There’s something magical about races, a sense of community, excitement and strength that everyone should get to experience at least once. And today was my husband’s day.

A few minutes before the race was to start, we were jittery with anticipation, marveling at the crazy ways people paired running gear and shamrocks. Hubby was worried I’d leave him behind. I reminded him how he had trained way more than me and that he would be fine.

Then the crowd lumbered forward. We were off.

A few steps before my favorite view of the race. My "money shot" was covered up by my thumb. 😦

We paced ourselves fairly slow, as I always fear I’ll run out of gas at the end of the race. My smile grew as we neared one of my favorite views. It’s just as we’re about to duck under Michigan Avenue, you can see Nordstrom above you and the bobbling mass of runners sloping below.

Around the first mile I felt a stitch in my side. Whoa, what’s going on? Not too long ago I ran 3 miles and felt like I could have done it backward, now I’ve got a stitch at Mile1? This isn’t good.

Meanwhile Hubby’s chugging along like the little engine that could, giving me encouraging grins every few steps. We hit up the drink station and I thought Mile 2 would be better, but at the end of that one, someone had swapped my legs for concrete pillars.

Now Hubby’s shooting me some concerned looks, he can tell I’m hurtin. I’m wondering what’s going on with my body. I’m hot, I’m sluggish and it seems my runner’s high is late on arrival.

“If you want to go ahead, that’s fine. I don’t want to drag you down,” I told him.

He shook his head. “No, we finish this together.”

The temperature climbed and I could tell I was hot, too hot. I saw an onlooker with a water bottle and wondered if I could ask him for a swig. I started to think about all the people I was running this for. I heard my cousin Chubby tell me: “Now girl you finish this race, you ain’t that big.” And I imagined Jimmy smiling at me in a fur coat. (One of my favorite memories of him is when a bunch of us went to try on fur coats for fun, he tried to talk Hubby into getting one for me. Hubby wisely refused.)

I thought of my Twitterfriend who was diagnosed with cancer two weeks after having her first child, of my friend Glenn who’s an amazing man and lost his mom to cancer. She had to be spectacular to raise such a great person. I thought of Andre and his stark honesty about his courageous battle, a little girl named Anna who has since passed. All of them fighters, all of them great. If they can fight such a rotten beast like cancer, surely, surely my ass can make it across the finish line.

“You’re doing great baby,” Hubby smiled at me. I just nodded. My cheeks were on fire and I was starting to get chills. I knew I was dehydrated and overheated. This was not good at all. Instead of being smart and stopping to walk and get something to drink, I plodded forward.

A black woman in the crowd yelled for us to dig deep and keep running, that we were almost there. That helped me kick it up. Hubby and I rounded the corner that was the last leg of all major Chicago races. It’s a hill. (Why do they put the end of the race atop the only hill in town?)

And we dug, dug, dug our way to the top of that hill. We turned the corner, and could see that beautiful banner that reads: FINISH.

A woman who was quite… rotund passed me and I thought: No way. I sped up, she did too. I sped up more and kept it up so that she wouldn’t even try to catch up. Hubby was right next to me. Just before we got to the finish line, we embraced the cliché, clasped our hands together and crossed.

“We did it baby,” he said.

Yes, I thought. We sure did.

Wordless Wednesday: The Fountain of Youth

My husband and I just revisited this yummy well this weekend. We call it the fountain of youth because it’s soooo good. Even better, it’s free and all natural.

This is called the Flowing Well. Adam Channing hand dug the well to 55 feet deep in 1895 and it’s been flowing steadily since. The water in this well flows from aquifers where water at a higher elevation puts pressure on the water below it causing it to flow out readily when given an outlet.

Hubby and I love tasty water. Some might say that we’re water snobs. Our favorite is Voss, followed by this well near Whitewater, Wis., next is Norwegian tap water (essentially it’s melted virgin icebergs), then Fiji water and Evian comes in fifth place. We first stumbled on this place when we went camping in the summer and we were happy to find it again, since it’s in a rural area along Clover Valley Road in Whitewater, Wis.