It had to be . . . Harry.

Image by DawnMHSH

Yes, it's true. I met Harry Connick, Jr., at Blissdom. I'm not saying we sat and chatted over coffee. I mean, first of all, I don't like coffee.

But I did shake his hand. And I can't wait to tell you more of the story. But tonight, my brain is mush and my bed is calling. So until then, tell me: have you ever met anyone really famous?

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Live from Nashville: airport ramblings.

 

Image by Jsome1

I'm sitting at the Nashville airport, waiting for Hillary to pick me up. I suppose I could just grab a shuttle to the hotel, but, well, I'm cheap.

You'll be happy to know that I got on my flight as planned this morning - as opposed to the flight I missed going to SheSpeaks. Yep, I got to the airport not so bright and early, so I wouldn't have a replay of that little event.

So early that I had about an hour to kill. Which means, of course, that I'm almost finished with my book.

Oh well. The good news - aside from simply MAKING my crazy early (yes, 8 a.m. is early for a flight when you factor in getting ready, last-minute packing, drive-time and check-in!) flight - is that I just had the best flight EVER.

See, I'm not a good flier. Not at all. But this morning's trip was great! Of course I knew the flight would be short (just over an hour), but I didn't know it would be practically empty.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when I got a WHOLE ROW to myself! It took everything I had not to pop up that other armrest and make myself AT HOME.

Instead I read a little more and half-slept, half-eavesdropped on the much-too-chipper guys a few rows back.

Little did I know that I should have been listening in on the folks a few rows UP. Because those guys? Those guys were MUSICIANS.

What clued me in? Well, I suppose it could have been the fact that they were on a flight TO NASHVILLE. But you know, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. (After all, they could be tea partiers, or whatever that OTHER convention going on at my hotel is about.)

Nope, I know they're musicians, because as I walked ahead of them and then behind them (then ahead again and behind again - their unsteady pace REALLY made it difficult for me to properly eavesdrop), they were singing.

Singing. In the airport. And laughing. And saying, "That's great! That will be my first single! Hahaha!"

I know. My deductive skills are amazing.

As I was working much harder than I should have to on five hours of sleep to listen in on this fascinating display of, well, SOMETHING, I also tried to get a good look at their faces. After all, until I heard the words "FIRST single," I thought maybe they're really famous. This is Music City, right?

Well, I'm pretty sure they're not famous. Yet. Maybe they will be. I'll let you know if and when I hear that phrase they repeated all the way from our gate to baggage claim on the radio.

And with that, I believe I'll log off for a bit. I don't see an outlet anywhere, so I'm depending on my laptop's battery. And as said laptop is actually a dinosaur that has never heard the word "netbook," much less the hideous "iPad," I'm guessing I've just about exhausted its poor little battery.

Oh, one last thing, though: my bag that I painstakingly packed late last night, folding each shirt and pair of pants into tiny squares and placing them JUST SO? Yeah, it got inspected. Thankfully, even MacGyver couldn't turn way too much plus-sized women's clothes for a four-day trip, a lint roller and a cheap plastic hairbrush into a bomb.

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Hey, jealousy!

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve started implementing my company’s social media strategy. Or kicking off our social media campaign. Or entering the world of social media.

I’m not really sure what we’re calling it. I just know that it means I get to do a lot more fun stuff during the day.

It also means that I’ve spent more time on Twitter than normal. And because Blissdom is this week, I’m hearing a lot of conversations about the conference. What to wear, what to pack, how much snow does Nashville really have?

But I’ve noticed other questions, too: Will I fit in? Will I be awkward? Will I embarrass myself?

I’d be lying if I said I don’t have any of those same thoughts flying through my head (along with my packing list, flight agenda and the tax rates for the hotel room I’m sharing), but I’m also relieved to be meeting and sharing that overtaxed room with two good friends.

They may not know this, but I’m assuming that if all else fails (read: I cry in front of a big, famous blogger I adore – again), they’ll still be there.

It’s interesting, this world of blogging – and by that, I guess I mean this world of blogging women. We can be so insecure, so conflicted, so scared, can’t we? And while it’s easy to hide our fears, weaknesses and insecurities behind well-written articles, a witty username and punny post titles, it’s not so easy to be that confident in person.

At least it’s not for me. A good friend asked me yesterday how she could pray for me while I’m gone, and one of my requests (I kept it to four, okay, people? And not a single one included, “Please, God, let me meet Harry Connick, Jr.!”) was to not be awkward.

(I’ll keep you posted on how that works out.)

I especially don’t want to be awkward around “the cool kids.” Because, you know, they’re cool. And I’m not. And I want to be.

Whoa, there! Hold the phone! Chill out! (See, even when I talk to myself, I’m kind of dorky.) It’s just that easy, though, to start down the path of doubt and envy.

“They’re cool. I’m not. I wish I was like her. Or her. Or her.”

I know I’m not alone in this. Between the whispered fears on Twitter (And yes, we all recognize the irony of “whispering” something by broadcasting it on Twitter. Just go with me here.), the panic-laced e-mails (And yes, these may have been mainly coming from me and not to me), and the blog posts I’ve read lately about jealousy, I’m seeing a pretty distinct pattern.

[I started to say “trend,” but Lord knows that even at my most confident, I don’t fancy myself a trendspotter.]

I’ve loved these posts, and I thought you might, too. Posts that say yes, jealousy and insecurity are real, but you know what? We need to get over it. Because odds are, we don’t actually want that other person’s life (or stats or design or whatever) as much as we think we do. And odds are, too, that someone out there looks at us – small, insignificant (in our own eyes), scared us – with the same envy or admiration.

• Rachel Held Evans: On Resenting Anne Jackson 
• CJ Darlington: The Comparison Trap
• Penelope Trunk: How to Make Yourself More Likable (or, in my words, Why I Shouldn’t Be Jealous of The Pioneer Woman) 

What do you do when you find yourself comparing yourself to others or getting wrapped up in jealousy?

This post will be linked to Your Life, Your Blog at Real Life.

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Huggies is gonna be ALL OVER this blog post.

I have a confession. And you're going to think I'm crazy. But I've got to get this off my chest tell you.

I don't want to potty train Annalyn.

At first I thought it was just because I'm afraid it's going to be difficult. After all, my little sweetheart can be rather, how you say, willful. And even though she loves to talk about pee and poop and potty and panties 24/7, who's to say that reality is going to be as exciting as this idealized world of big girl bodily functions?

And then our schedule is a factor, too. I work full-time and Mark works evenings, so Annalyn spends her days with three different people in two different places. And in a few weeks, we're moving her from an in-home babysitter to a daycare. So we have plenty of complications to deal with here.

But today, someone asked me if my reason for being hesitant to start potty training is that I don't want Annalyn to grow up.

WHAT? No. NO! Of COURSE not! Um, wait . . . Yes, it is.

She's my BABY! And babies wear DIAPERS! They NEED their mamas! And I know I should be anxious to put these days behind me, ready to put that money to better use, all about leaving the diaper bag and wipes at home.

But I'm not.

It's going too fast! She used to be so tiny, so quiet, so BABY. And now? Now she's a walking (yay!), talking little person. She's a chicken nugget eating, princess loving, slipper and monkey jammies wearing, movie watching, silly song singing girl.

Where did this baby go? And what's so wrong with diapers, anyway?

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Short week, long to-do list

I leave for Nashville early on Thursday morning. If I'd been more on top of things, I would have used this past weekend to get caught up ahead on laundry, grocery-buying, etc.

You can probably guess that I didn't.

I did, however, have some sort of stomach bug, so that's something. And now that Annalyn is in bed, I've found the living room floor again, so that's good.

But I am SO far from ready to go on a four-day trip! The next three days are going to be crazy. Getting ready is definitely do-able, but it's going to be a stretch.

How do you do it? When you travel out of town, do you have a routine? Are you a packing list type person (guilty.) or a throw-it-in-the-bag-and-go person? Plan for weeks or scramble at the last minute? And does anyone have a truly sanitary way to store a toothbrush?

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A little more fun.

Last Friday we ate dinner at our friends’ house. After a delicious dinner and a too-short visit with Amy and Jeremy, I bundled Annalyn up and we climbed into the car. As I put the car into reverse, I looked down the dark street and saw headlights. I stopped, waiting to see if the car was moving. It wasn’t. So I backed out of our friends’ driveway.

And into a truck.

Did I mention the street was dark? That made it hard to see the small black truck parked across the street, even though it was RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET.

It took me a second or so before I realized what that CRUNCH was. But once I did, I immediately did two things. One, I slammed on the brakes and two, I covered up my initial reaction by saying repeatedly, “Darn it! Darn it! Darn it!”

Seriously. At our house, we spell out words like “dumb” and “jerk,” and I have gotten on to my father-in-law and brother-in-law more than once about their language. And yet, what flew out of my mouth when I smashed into a camouflaged truck last Friday night?

You guessed it. Not "darn it."

Anyway, I backed right into that darned truck. So I pulled back into my friends’ driveway, jumped out and hollered up to their front door, “I just backed into a car!”

Sometimes it’s helpful to point out the obvious.

My friend came out, which was good, because I was pretty much just standing beside my car, unsure of what to do next. I know, it seems so obvious. Everyone knows what to do in case of an accident, right? But I was a little stunned for that minute. Okay?

While I was gathering my senses – or SOMETHING – my friend said, “Do you want me to take Annalyn inside?”

I said, sure, and she didn’t argue, either. Not surprising, since she’d thrown a royal fit about leaving in the first place.

My friend, Amy, took Annalyn back inside the house while Jeremy walked around both cars with his flashlight and camera. It turns out the truck belonged to someone visiting their neighbor, and long story short (HA!), I ended up having to leave a note.

So, about 20 minutes later than I intended, I put Annalyn back in her car seat and hit the road. Carefully. I hit the road and just a road. I promise.

And as I did? Annalyn recounted our whole adventure, over and over: “Mommy hit car. Darn it! Bonk car. Fix car? Who fix car? Back inside. Go back Amy’s house. For a little more fun.”

Yep, that’s exactly it, kiddo. We just hadn’t had quite enough fun.

Have you ever been in a car accident?

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We are [still] the world.

“We Are the World” was recorded 25 years ago today, and I've heard that it will be re-recorded this year to benefit Haiti.

A few interesting tidbits about “We Are the World,” courtesy of Wikipedia, of course:

• It was the fastest-selling American pop single in history, as well as the first-ever single to be certified multi-platinum.
• The song earned three Grammy Awards, an American Music Award and a People’s Choice Award.
• And most impressive, as of 2009, it had sold more than 20 million units and raised more than $63 million for humanitarian aid in Africa and the U.S.

[Subscribers, if you can’t see this in your reader, click here for the video.]

It can be argued that the song is completely cheesy and only put a bandage over the gaping wounds of our world. It can be said that the lyrics are pandering and the melody is simple. But today, some of those lyrics are still poignant:

• There comes a time when we hear a certain call when the world must come together as one. 
• There are people dying, and its time to lend a hand to life.
• We can’t go on pretending day by day that someone, somewhere will soon make a change.
• We are all a part of God’s great big family.
• Let us realize that a change can only come when we stand together as one.
• We are the world, we are the children. We are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving.

Do you remember when this song came out? I don't, really. Obviously I've heard it a million times in the past 25 years (give or take a few thousand), but I don't remember the impact its debut had. And now, with celebrities pulling together on a fairly regular basis, from Farm AID to 9/11 concerts to last week's Haiti benefit, it's almost something I've come to expect. What do you think about celebrities working together on special compassion or aid projects?

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We all have pain; we all have sorrow.

A positive outlook does not run in my family.

Depression, on the other hand, does. The bad, serious kind. The kind that comes with substance abuse and suicide and therapy and medication.

The genes and chemistry that cause that sort of thing? The ones several members of my family have? Those are the same genes I've got. And while I don't battle the kind of depression many people I love do, sometimes I get a glimpse into that struggle.

And when that happens, I can’t always keep it under control. It’s kind of like holding a beach ball underwater. Once it starts slipping out of your grip, you know it’s just a matter of time before that piece of slick plastic explodes through the water and lands just out of reach on the side of the pool.

That’s what happened last week.

I’m better now. It took a few days, sure. And about an entire box of Kleenex, my husband’s patience and several Advil. (See: therapy and medication.) But I’m back.

I won’t say “back to normal,” because, really? Yeah.

And now that I’m back, listening to the Flight of the Conchords sing/talk French nonsense and looking forward to an extra-large bowl of Golden Grahams and my NCIS fix, I want to say thank you.

When you read my post last week, it may not have made sense. I know it was a little vague. And coupled with a random music question. All of that may not seem risky to you, or vulnerable. But for me? It was a big risk.

I wasn’t sure what you all would say. Or if anyone would say anything at all. Nothing like baring your soul, even if vaguely, just to hear crickets.

[By the way, I saw someone make a whistling noise last week that sounded like crickets. I wish I could do that. I can’t remember who did it. Was it you? Please tell me. And then teach me how to do it.]

Anyway, thank you all for your encouraging comments and e-mails and chocolate (that one was Smitty) and dinner and hugs. Thank you.

This one’s for you:



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A Valentine's Day Date Night

One of my goals for the year is to have a monthly date with Mark. January’s almost over, and we’re not off to a good start. But next month is February, and we’d really be in trouble if we couldn’t even figure out a way to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

[Yes, cynics, I know it’s a fabricated holiday that only benefits card makers and chocolate bakers. But I’m a girl, and I like it. Got it?]

It should come as no surprise that Hollywood is offering up several options for a movie date night. (Including one called “Date Night,” strangely enough.) But after being so disappointed at the lack of movie options for my birthday, I’m still excited to have so many to choose from! Here are my (yes, predictable) favorites so far:

• Date Night
• Dear John
• Leap Year
• Valentine’s Day
• When in Rome

What about you? Do you have plans to see a movie anytime soon? Do any of these look good to you?

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But what did Peter Piper DO after picking those peppers?

I thought about naming this post, “I made up a recipe and it was actually good.” But that didn’t seem very uplifting. I also considered calling it, “But isn’t garlic good for you?” Then I remembered the vampire craze that just will not die down (kind of like a vampire, I guess), and I decided against that, too.

It's too bad I can't get someone to write titles for me. Short, pithy anything just isn't my style.

Anyway.  

It all started last week when Annalyn and I went to the grocery store. Not the Super Walmart, where we get most our groceries, but the smaller and more expensive grocery store that’s conveniently on our way home. The one with the reasonable parking lot and the cute mini shopping carts that I could use if only I ever ventured to the grocery store sans kiddo.

As we walked through the produce section, I decided to take a minute and point out the varied brightly colored fruits and vegetables to Annalyn.

And then we saw them: big, beautiful, spot-free red peppers. I had to have them. Two of them, to be exact. Two enormous red peppers that put the puny one already residing my fridge to veggie shame.

I didn’t immediately think, “Oh, I’d better find a way to use these peppers!” After all, we both like peppers of any shape and color in fajitas and quesadillas, and Annalyn loves raw peppers to snack on.

But then, a few days later, I found a partial box of bowtie pasta in the pantry. And the wheels started turning.

I decided I would make a chicken pasta dish with red peppers. I just needed a recipe.

Easier said than done! I searched all over the vast cookbook known as The Internet. And I could not find what I wanted.

Not exactly what I wanted, that is. I found recipes for chicken dishes, recipes for all sorts of carbonara (with spaghetti or linguine), recipes for cold pasta salads and recipes for fancy, 28-ingredient triumphs. But I did not find a simple recipe for a chicken, red pepper and bowtie pasta dish.

So I made my own recipe. I didn’t completely disregard the many wrong recipes I found, though. I kept their quantities in mind when I threw together crafted my own dish. And, if I say so myself, it turned out pretty well!

Mary’s Garlic Chicken Pasta with Red Peppers
2 large chicken breasts, grilled and thinly sliced
1 box bowtie (farfalle, if you’re fancy) pasta
1 large red pepper, sliced
½ pound bacon, cut into inch-sized pieces
3 garlic cloves, diced
½ large white onion, diced
1 jar alfredo sauce
Shredded parmesan cheese

[Side note: You may have caught on when you saw the word “bacon,” but I’ll tell you right now: This meal is not diet-friendly. Or Weight Watchers-approved. I’m pretty sure I could make a healthier version, but on this first round, I definitely did not.]

Boil the pasta (feel free to do it in the microwave like I did, if all your large pots happen to be dirty). Rinse and drain.

Fry the bacon on low to medium heat, stirring often. When the bacon is cooked through, put it in a bowl and set aside. Drain most – but, I’m sorry, not all – the drippings.

Add the onion and garlic to the drippings and sauté. It will smell ridiculous. As in, good. Once the onion and garlic are translucent, add the peppers and chicken.

You may have to add some chicken stock (or, water, if you’re like me and have never bought something so fancy as “chicken stock”) if it’s cooked down, otherwise everything will burn. And then it will smell ridiculous. As in, bad.

Combine chicken and vegetable mixture, pasta and sauce. Add the bacon.

Now, at this point, I put it all in the refrigerator and Mark took it out to re-warm about 13 hours later. I think this helped smush all the flavors together, and yes, that’s my technical term. Before serving, top with shredded parmesan. Enjoy with a nice Caesar salad and cheesy garlic bread.

Have you made any recipes that “actually” turned out well?

This post will be linked to Mouthwatering Monday, Tasty Tuesday, Tuesdays at the Table and Tempt My Tummy Tuesday.

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