Grati...Thursday.

So I haven't done a Grati-Tuesday post in a while. But that doesn't mean I don't have anything to be thankful for! So I'm scooting it over to Thursday this week. Behold my thankfulness for:

1. Other Disney freaks on Pinterest, so I can get my fix vicariously through things like this:

Via

Via

2. A vet that is open late so that we can get flea meds when we discover our kittens are infested. Not thankful for fleas or the WORMS THAT APPEAR TO HAVE COME WITH THEM. I just had to have the strays. Thankfully they are indoor cats, so once we take care of the problems they seem to have come with, they should be good to go for the foreseeable future, at least as far as pests are concerned.

3. Cheddar cheese sticks and grapes as a morning snack.

4. Stripes, stripes, stripes.

5. The Free TV Project, through which I discovered a new guilty pleasure: Underage and Pregnant, the British version of 16 and Pregnant. Yes. I will watch this.

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I'm in love with my outfit.

I saw a woman on my way to work yesterday who was wearing a version of this outfit, and I liked it so much I put together my own version today.

DOTSTRIPES. I'm having so much fun in it. The skirt swings fulfillingly when I spin, it includes navy and cream, one of my favoritest color combos, and I get to have stripes AND dots. Why didn't I think of this myself? New favorite outfit.



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The water is tepid.

So we got the kittens home last night and B and I felt much the way I suspect new parents of human babies feel, except we were looking at less expense, more fur, and we still get to sleep. What I mean is, we let the kittens out of their carriers, then stared at them and asked each other "Now what do we do with them?" and "What in good gracious have we gotten ourselves into?"

It's going to take a little getting used to.

But without further ado, here they are:

The gray one is a boy and the black-ish one is a girl. Thank the good Lord they have been using the litter box with no problem. I stayed home from work today to help them adjust and they could give a crap. They're all "that's nice, I'm just going to nap and ignore you, thanks". Which is another way in which I feel this is similar to bringing home a child.

Neither one has a name yet. I generally name my pets after Disney characters; B says unequivocally no to that one. Then I thought of Nimitz and Sigsbee after the Admirals who signed the Japanese surrender in WWII and captained the Maine, respectively, but B keeps pronouncing Nimitz "Nidbits" and I don't know if I can do that to a cat. So that's on hold and for now they're "baby girl" and "baby boy". 

Also, stripes!

*Disclaimer for people with children-I've been a nanny and I am not in any way actually of the mindset that owning kittens = having a child. So don't hate.

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We jumped.

B and I have been talking about getting a cat for a while now. He grew up with them, and I love them but never had one since my dad is allergic. We would get really close to going to the shelter and getting one and then pull back, not sure if we were ready. It felt like standing at the edge of the pool, staring at the water and thinking, I made it this far, I put on the suit, I lotion-ed up, am I going to do it? Am I going to do it? Should I just jump? Maybe I should get in slowly. Back to the steps maybe? Maybe I'll sit in the sun a bit first, get really warm so it'll feel nice to jump in. I'm going to do it! No wait.

Anyway.

We jumped.

Or rather, we are in the air. Tonight we pick up a brother and sister pair of gray kittens that, through a complicated series of relationships, a friend-of-a-friend type family found wandering in a field. Are we ready? Hopefully. It's hard to tell till you hit the water how it's going to turn out. I'm really excited, as we have already visited the kittens and they are beyond a doubt sweet, adorable and fun. The idea of being completely responsible for some other being is intimidating, however. I'm pretty sure my parents are apprehensive about my decision.

However.

B and I decided that the worst case scenario, if we absolutely cannot care for the kittens at some point, is that we have to give them to a friend or a no-kill shelter. No one else is willing to take them, and the family that found them is leaving on vacation this weekend. They will have to go to the pound if we don't get them, and it would break my heart for these tiny things to grow up in a cage. At the very least, we can provide them with the love and individual care they'll need as kittens (they seem to be around 6 weeks old). So we're going to do our best.

So while I am nervous about being able to provide them with what they deserve, I am also very excited to grow our little family by two. Pictures for sure to come!



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In which I lick salt off of my hand.

This weekend I got to see some of my favorite women, three of my best friends from high school. Well, I suppose we actually met in middle school, but that's beside the point. The point is that two of them have moved out of state, and we've come a long way from the time when we saw each other 6 out of 7 days in the week. Now we're lucky to catch up in person once a year. This weekend the stars aligned and we went out for dinner and drinks at a local bar.



I love this detail. B asked if I was wearing my shirt backwards. Hint-I'm not.

My gorgeous friends, seen here:

Convinced me to try a "Chocolate-Covered Pretzel" shot. It came in a giant, non-shot glass with a salted rim, but I was informed that it would be better to wet my hand, put table salt on it, lick it, and then take the shot, like so:

My camera doesn't function well indoors, ok?

It was about as palatable as any shot is (I have no idea what was in it...something about amaretto and whipped vodka?), but I did NOT taste "chocolate-covered pretzel". Sorry. My one friend actually liked the taste so much she sipped it instead of taking it in one gulp as is traditional.

But the best part of the night was being with people who make me laugh until my stomach hurts, give me frank and honest advice and opinions, and seeing B with my high school friends and watching the past, present and future people in my life come seamlessly together. Also I had a kick-ass pulled pork sandwich.



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Question for the movie industry.

Why are movie commercials now announcing that they will be playing in "3D and 2D" theaters? Aren't all non-3D theaters 2D? Those would just be called...theaters. 3D you can single out as special, yes. 2D, no.

Also I got a lovely striped sweater! So cozy. Here at work we call such things a "wubbie". Meaning we're more or less using it for comfort as you would a blankie or stuffed animal. And I do do that. And I'm not ashamed of it. (This from a girl who didn't put her blankies away until middle school...I still have them but they're mildewing. B has also been known to find me in bed with a Care Bear if I'm sad).



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What the hell, Monticello?

First things first:

Stripes!

Hot chocolate with peppermint marshmallows. I am aware that it is July, but it is cold in my office.

Now for the real story of the day: Monticello and Abraham Lincoln's birthplace. These are my personal, biased opinions.

Sinking Spring Farm is part of the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace NHP. The park itself encompasses the site where he was born and lived for the first two years of his life (Sinking Spring), as well as the site where he lived from ages 2 to 4 (Knob Creek). I visited on my recent road trip and was disappointed. Not sure what I expected, but this wasn't it.

It looks like a mausoleum. Kind of contradicts the "humble beginnings" that are such a big part of what Lincoln's legacy is associated with. I mean sure, they have a "reconstructed" log cabin inside:

But my personal philosophy in public history is to use objects/reconstructions in such a way that makes history real to people. I wanted to be able to walk around what I had thought was presented as a farm and imagine what it really would have been like growing up there, but I didn't really feel able to do that here. Because it felt like I was at a shrine to a log cabin, a shrine to the American idea that you can come from humble roots, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and become whatever you wish, not a place designed to help me understand and connect in a real way with an historical figure. 

Knob Creek Farm wasn't any better:

This is not the cabin Lincoln lived in. It was rebuilt from logs of a cabin his neighbors lived in, which is still neat. However, there was no information at the site. Just a cabin and a closed tavern. They tried, I guess.

We also stopped at Monticello. Now, I've been there before, and I love it. I also love Thomas Jefferson himself, but that's beside the point. (I may have told B last night that if Thomas Jefferson were alive today I might be dating him instead of B). This go round, I noticed something I hadn't before.

WHO THE HECK PUT MODERN BATHROOMS INTO MONTICELLO? Unacceptable. Jefferson was the architect of the building, and he clearly didn't add modern bathrooms for the convenience of 20th century guests. I'm not saying he wouldn't have had he been around for the advent of indoor plumbing (he liked technology quite a bit actually), but the point is that he wasn't. For us to get a true understanding of the building he built and life there, whoever committed this travesty should have left well enough alone. After all, they already built a gift shop with modern bathrooms right down the entrance way, so it's not as if people can't use the facilities. I'm just saying they shouldn't be able to do it in THOMAS JEFFERSON'S HOUSE.

This PSA was brought to you by someone who clearly has a lot of public history rage (thanks grad school!).

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What I would've worn to work if the trains were on time.

I got up expecting to go to work today. I am not at work. I usually board a train to DC by 6:58 a.m. By 7:15 I was still standing at the station. Along with about 200 other people. At 7:30 a train approached...and bypassed us. By 7:45 I realized that I was going to be over an hour late even if I got on the train right now, meaning I'd have to stay at work until at least 7 p.m., and that there was no guarantee I'd even get on the train at this point considering the number of people lining up around me. So I turned around and went home.

See what I mean about the stripes?

So now I think I'll do all the little tasks I've been putting off-clean out my closets, take out the recycling...nap.

In another outfit note, B told me he didn't think my shoes went with my skirt. Maybe they don't, but they're what I wanted to wear, and that is really what my "style", if I have one, is about.

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Stripe lust.

I think I have a severe case of it.

And I know I have plenty of striped tops. I really do. And yet every time I see a new one I'm like, "Mine!"

I'm currently lusting after this one from J. Crew:

Painter Boatneck Tee in Stripe

Do I need it? No. 

Am I going to eventually break down and purchase it? Possibly.

But not before I ate least purge my closet of clothes that I don't like/wear. I've resolved to stop buying crap (or, more likely, accepting hand-me-downs I don't like or need but feel obligated to wear) and buy and wear only what I love. Like this shirt. That I don't need.

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Scenes from a Boyfriend-less Saturday.

B stayed at his parents' last night. And what do I do with myself when he's gone? Apparently, tinker in the kitchen and do girly things. (AND I went to the gym. Proud of that one).

It was too hot to cook, so I opted to try a new recipe for a Green Monster Spinach Smoothie from Iowa Girl Eats. It was a great way to use up the leftover spinach that was on its way out, and it didn't taste like spinach at all. In fact, it was delicious and I had it for lunch today as well. Highly recommend.

I was still hungry though. But I had two frozen bananas and some Funfetti cake mix. A quick blend and...

Banana "Ice Cream"! Seriously. Take frozen bananas (my two bananas made about two decent-sized bowls of ice cream) and a splash of milk and blend until creamy. Then you can add any flavoring you want. I had cake mix leftover from cookies I'd made and it proved to be the perfect additive. It tasted like cake mix ice cream (which, coincidentally, is one of my favorites). Tip-take your old bananas and peel and chop them BEFORE freezing. Learned the hard way.

Then, I was looking through old Glamour Magazines and came upon a recipe for blueberry cream cheese muffins. Perfect considering: I love cream cheese and blueberries, and we had two pints of blueberries that really needed to be eaten. The problem came when I opened the cream cheese and it had turned into penicillin. I don't mean to say that it was a touch moldy; it looked like a lint blanket. So I made some quick adaptations.

My adapted recipe:

7 tbsp. butter

3 tbsp. olive oil

2 tsp. vanilla extract

1 cup Greek yogurt (blueberry in this case, but any flavor would probably work)

3 eggs (I used one egg and one half cup of egg whites)

3 1/2 cups flour

1 tbsp. baking powder

1 cup sugar

1/4 tsp. salt

pint of blueberries

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

2. Melt butter; whisk in oil, yogurt, vanilla and eggs.

3. Mix flour, baking powder, sugar and salt, then make a well in the middle.

4. Pour yogurt mixture into the well, then fold the dry ingredients in. Add the blueberries and gently mix in.

5. Spoon into baking cups or greased muffin tin (olive oil spray worked fine) and bake for 20 minutes.

They were easy and delicious. Plus, the added protein from the yogurt makes them great for a quick breakfast or morning snack.

I re-painted my toes using my smiley-faced toe spacers and settled in for a lazy afternoon before dinner and face masks with one of my best friends in the evening. The heat won't keep me down!

Displaying my new weekend uniform-leggings and a tank top. Loving it.

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The Absurdity of Being an "Expert"



I look like an expert babysitter, at most. Which I actually am!



I gave a tour for a group of soldiers the other day.  They were in Civil Affairs and learning how to handle museum objects they might encounter in Iraq or Afghanistan.  They looked at me and my colleagues like we had actual answers to all their questions and problems.  I am not sure where they got this information, but to me, it is incredibly bizarre that I might be considered an "expert" in anything, much less an actual, intellectual field. Maybe I'd feel differently if I could find a permanent position...

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Sometimes, Work is Awesome

Because sometimes, when you are innocently on your way to the bathroom at 8 in the morning, Michaelangelo is waiting there to greet you before he's moved back into storage.

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