A Little Google Analytic Goodness.

When I first started blogging, I was obsessed with checking my blog stats. I wondered thinks like: How did people find my site? What did they look at? Where are they? Also, there was a visitor from City X. I know a person in City X. Ahh, it's probably a family member reading my blog and judging me harshly.

Then I got busy and a bit bored with the incessant monitoring of my stats, so I forget just how amusing it can be to see the phrases people have searched to end up at this little website.

Here are the latest gems that made me giggle:

old cousin has bigger You're leaving me in suspense here....old cousin has bigger what?

being a new kid in high school Is hard. I've been the new kid in 2nd grade, 5th grade, 8th grade, and 11th grade. Being a new kid is far worse than being a new adult at a high school. And far less fun.

can i repierce my nose with a needle Ugh. You can, but it may lead to pain and infection. Just saying. (See: post repiercing my nose with needle and my naive, triumphant grin. Oh, the things I could tell you, Ashley. At least I didn't repierce with a pushpin like I'd contemplated.)

don't wear juniors clothing Don't judge me. You don't understand how hard the world is when you're a tiny little person. No, these are not jeans from Delias, thankyouverymuch.

dried blood in my nose after c-section That may be unrelated. I mean, unless there's some nose-uterus connection I'm unaware of. Though, honestly, I shouldn't be giving you medical advice, seeing as how I have never had a c-section and am without a medical degree.

how to tell if you are too old for clothes I say you're too old for clothes when you feel like being naked all the time. You're old, do what you want, I say.

coffee makes me smarter Yes, me too. It also makes me happier. Coffee is my anti-drug. Wait, it is a drug. Crap. Fine, coffee is my favorite drug in the whole world.

it took me two years to grow out my eyebrows Well. That just sucks.

peed hotel room floor And then whoever Googled this spent an hour on my website. I hope you found what you're looking for. And that you decided NOT to pee on the hotel room floor.

"i'm not built to work five days a week" I am proud to say that I am #1 on Google for this search phrase. Booyah! Full-time work haters unite!

You Can Thank Me Later | Pumpkin French Toast.

Mike got me three cookbooks from my birthday from my favorite chef. A cupcake cookbook, a cookie cookbook, and brunch cookbook. I am in heaven. Seriously, she's amazing. Here's my latest favorite recipe:

[It's Vegan!] Pumpkin French Toast
1 cup pureed pumpkin (from a can is just fine)
1 1/2 cups almond milk (or your favorite non-dairy milk)
2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 stale Baguette, sliced diagonally in 1 inch pieces, or 8 pieces thick sliced bread
Cooking oil for the pan

Mix together all ingredients (except for the bread, obviously). Spread out baguette slices on a rimmed baking pan in a single layer. Pour on pumpkin mixture and flip to coat. Let sit for 10 minutes, then flip over and soak for 10 minutes more. (Less time if using less hearty bread - otherwise it will break from sogginess!)

Preaheat a large non-stick skillet over medium heat. Spray with cooking oil, or drizzle a little into the pan, and cook about half of the soaked breads at a time for 5 to 7 minutes on one side and about 3 minutes on the other. They should be golden to medium brown and flecked with darker spots. Keep warm on a plate covered with tin foil while you cook the second batch.

Photo + Recipe Source.

She's Sort of Ridiculously Adorable, No?

My new lens + adorable little sister visiting + a gorgeous day = photo shoot, of course!

I am loving this new lens - even though I'm still not spending as much time as I'd like on my photo skills, I adore pretending like I'm a real photographer...

Tomorrow I have the day off, so it will be spent with Emmie, at the eye doctor, and working on design jobs while at a coffee shop...pretending I'm freelancing for living.

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PS: My Starbucks Giveaway ends tomorrow at 9am EST, so be sure to enter if you haven't already! Coffee is good. Mmm. (Or will make a good gift if you're not a fan!)

Just Like on Everybody Loves Raymond. Except NOT.

After living far from my family for five years, we've been about an hour drive away for the past year or so. (And by far, I mean - a 40-hour plane ride for three of those years.) It was a choice we made to move closer to them (and to the fabulous city of Cleveland, of course.)

The Benefits of Living Near-ish to Family

• DVR/satellite television access. (Uh, these are in no particular order...)

• Suggesting we go out to dinner and always being treated.

• Seeing my siblings get older. When I left for college and my little brother was a wee little 9-year-old, I bemoaned the fact that he'd grow up without getting to know me. He just gave me the rundown on his skincare regimen last weekend, so I think it's safe to say we're fine.

• Being around when college or Colorado sister come home to visit.

• Laughing with my mom as my 15-year-old brother suddenly cares about his hair. And his breath. And his skin. And wondering together HOLY CRAP, WHEN DID HE BECOME A TEENAGER!?

• With a crazy amount of little cousins in the area, it's always someone's birthday. Birthday cake = score.

• Playing dominoes with my grandparents on a Friday night.

• Watching Mike teach my little brother how to play guitar. Precious.

• Babysitting my cousins - getting to take care of them and play with them and be a part of their lives.

• No long drives or expensive plane rides needed. A major WIN.

• 8 cousins, 3 aunts, 3 uncles, 2 parents, 2 siblings, and 2 grandparents live within a an hour of us. Support system much?

• We can visit for the day and not stay for the whole weekend...although we usually end up staying the whole weekend, somehow.

• Pilfered cereal and cans of soup taste better than ones you buy.

• Being around for things like this and this.
  

I think I just love being a part of my family's life more often. We might not always be around, but for now, it's working wonderfully. (Minus this sort of thing. But, you know. No one's perfect.)

Do you live near your family? As 20-somethings, we're now more mobile and have a say in where we live. Did you jet away as soon as possible? Would you hate living close to them? Do you wish you'd be closer? Are your parents down the street?

B.

On a trip to the nursing home where I take high school girls to volunteer, I came across a man in a wheelchair. With his plaid pajama pants, a head full buzzed grey hair, Velcro New Balances, and an adorably shy, sweet smile, I stopped to chat with him.

As we talked, he planted his New Balances on the ground and rocked his wheelchair back and forth. Even though he was well into his 80s, he reminded me of a shy, young boy with a crush as he fiddled with the rim of a paper cup in his lap. He’d glance up at me as he punctuated every sentence with that charming smile of his.

Me: "So, I see you have a giant American flag and a military haircut – were you in the service?"
B: "Yes…well…a long time ago….
I was in….that one….
I’m sorry, I can’t remember."
Me: "It’s okay. Were you going to say what war you were in? What branch of service?"
B: "Um….I….
.....Oh, don’t waste your time with me."
Me: "You’re not a waste of time. I’m here to spend time with you. It’s okay if you can’t remember. Can you remember today? Was it a good day?"
B: "Yes. It was. A very good day."
Me: "What did you do today?"
B: "I, uh…went…to that place…
….
I really wish you wouldn’t waste your time with me."

There is no smile when he says this, only a slight, embarrassed shaking of his head. As if he can’t believe himself. As if forgetting is just so painful. So humiliating. I hate that he feels ashamed of himself.

Me: "B, you’re not a waste of time. I mean, you still have a great smile. What else do you need?"
B: "Really? You think so?"

The smile is back.

Me: "Definitely! It’s great."

Mentally grasping for something that he might remember, hoping that I don’t ask a question that will force him to acknowledge the fact that he…forgets.

Me: "So, do you like coffee?"
B: "Yes! Oh, I love coffee."

The smile grows.

Me: "Did you have coffee today?"
B: "Yes, I did."

Victory. I can tell he’s secretly pleased with himself for remembering something, anything. I ask him a few more questions about how he takes his coffee (with cream and sugar - he likes it sweet, “naturally”) and if he enjoys fall. We chat for a few more minutes. It’s time for me to leave.

Me: "Well, I have to go. It was great meeting you."
B: "You, too."

I walk away.

B: "Um…"
Me: "Yes?"
B: "Thank you for being so understanding."

I walk away with tears in my eyes and my heart fluttering.

The next week, I stop by his room.

He remembers me.

He. Remembers. Me. (And tries to convince me that he’s separated from his wife. But that's another story.)

We chat until it’s time for me to leave.

I walk away.

B: "Um…"
Me: "Yes?"
B: "If you don’t have anything to do, you could…come see me again."

Crying at Work is Always Fun.

I got to work today, sat down for our department meeting, and burst into tears.

(It’s a good thing I work with all women.)

If only she hadn't asked, with the sympathetic head tilt, "Everything okay?" Which is, of course, The Worst Question Ever if you're on the verge of tears.

As I was driving to work, my car started making a ridiculously loud grinding and scraping noise a few miles from work. Without a phone, running late for a meeting, and a husband a few hours away, I decided to keep driving. Only slightly scared that the car would burst into flames, causing me to swerve into oncoming traffic and die a fiery death.*

Add to that a good dose of holy-crap-I’m-in-over-my-head-with-this-huge-work-project, a sprinkle of completely forgetting to go a meeting, and a dash of telling a 16-year-old that her adopted grandma died and you've got the makings for a day that would make anyone dissolve into tears.

(At least, that's what I tell myself - otherwise, I just get embarrassed about all the crying. Hate the crying.)

Today has basically left me a human marshmallow of emotions, so I'm just going to look at happy photos. . .

* No death, just a catalytic converter shield that rusted out. The friendly mechanic fixed it for free then told me I am dire need of new ball joints. I'm not sure what these are, but surely I can find them for cheaper than $480. Note to self: check Froogle. (Which, apparently isn't called "Froogle" anymore. And hasn't been since 2006. Oh.)

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PS: Blah blah blah blah Starbucks giveaway!!!