Easter…not just about eggs.

love-decorate-eggs-easter-ecard-someecards

 

Truth be told, I loathe decorating eggs. Just not a fan of boiled eggs, unless they are destined for devilry–complete with pickles and paprika. And I don’t like those stupid plastic ones either. Mostly because I find them all over my house for months to come, filled with rancid jelly beans and crusty chocolate footballs. You probably call them eggs, but face it…they look more like footballs, don’t they? I am rather fond of the mythical, cotton-tailed, candy bearing critter who leaves baskets full of sugar for The Beans to rip into before church services on Easter Sunday. Okay, really….I just enjoy wearing my crafty hat while embellishing the baskets to the point of embarrassment.  What can I say? I’m a creative soul who is really good with her hands.

Seriously though, Thank GOD…literally…Easter is not just about eggs or candy.

Now, to be fair, we as a family, have only been attending church on a very regular basis for about 3 months. The Man was raised in the Catholic church, but never really adhered to it, as far as I can tell, and I being Protestant, don’t quite understand a lot about Catholicism. So, when Sugar Bean was small, we decided to attend church as a family, and settled on an amazing Episcopalian church. Catholic enough for him, Protestant enough for me. We both got it. However, we moved far from that church in Beverly Hills, and enrolled our kids in Presbyterian school, because it was the best one around, and public was not an option at the time. Soon after, we began attending the church affiliated with the school, and really liked it for several years. Then, another move forced us to find another place to worship, where after just a short time we feel like part of  the church family. You know, like regulars at “Cheers”—where everybody knows our name…lol. It’s obviously meant to be our church home. And now, at 41, I am grasping the importance of deep faith along with an understanding of The Bible. Although I grew up in a Christian family, who attended church regularly when my brothers and sisters were small, by the time I came along….I assume my parents were just plain tired. Which meant we went on holidays mostly, and I don’t ever remember attending Sunday School as a child. And my knowledge of the Bible? Skeletal at best. But I am making an effort to educate myself so I’m prepared for the questions The Beans will inevitably have when they reach that point wanting to know “If God made us, who made God?”  Which, of course, I won’t know the answer to, but I want to at least try and communicate effectively.

My most vivid childhood memories of Easter involve the exquisite dress my mother would make for me to wear each year. Of course, I have carried on the tradition in my own girls, complete with gigantic satin bows in their hair to match. In fact, they have each worn some of THE very dresses I wore, as I cherish them dearly and have taken good care of them. But I am also doing my very best to make them understand that it’s not about big baskets of goodies, or eggs, or fancy dresses. And I was reminded of my efforts quite exquisitely, when I picked Butter Bean and Sweet Pea up after school on Good Friday.

Butter Bean said, “I’m sooo excited for Easter!” “Me too,” squealed Sweet Pea. Expecting the answer from both girls to be “Because the Easter Bunny comes,” I asked why, and beamed when Sweet Pea said she was excited for church, and then elaborated on why. “There are good friends there, and we learn about Jesus. I love Jesus.” In true Butter Bean style, she still hailed the Easter Bunny, but I know she understands. She just LOVES chocolate.

As a family, we are going through a bit of a difficult time. We need our Faith now more than ever, to lean on, and turn to, as guidance towards light overshadowed by darkness….albeit temporary. The Man is making huge strides at developing a Faith similar to mine, and we are discussing attending classes at LCPC in order for us to learn and solidify our knowledge together. Now, that’s not to say we will agree with everything we’re taught. I  mean, I am, after all….a liberal Christian. WHAT?!!! Yes, I said it. I firmly believe that Jesus LOVES EVERYONE, and to quote my favorite blogger/author, Glennon Melton, ” Jesus is forever tries.” He never gives up on us, and we shouldn’t give up on ourselves. I just pray he’s prepared for the Minklers…because I’m pretty sure I’ll be blowing up his shiny white, straight line to Heaven phone more than once over the next few years. Probably forever. He died for us. I really owe him A LOT of attention.

 

Anyway, here are The Beans, with some precious friends after church this morning.

Easter Angels in their Sunday Best

Easter Angels in their Sunday Best

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Oh, lucky day!!

Just before I picked it :-)

Just before I picked it

Throughout the course of my life, I have had a unique gift for finding 4-leafed clovers. As far-fetched as it sounds—they seem to literally illuminate when I walk by them. Seriously. I don’t even really have to look for them, because they catch my eye, and at the ripe old age of 41, I  have 100’s of them. And those are just the ones that managed to survive childhood, my teenage years, college, a cross-country move and more than a few moves since living in Los Angeles. So I though I would begin this post by sharing a picture of one I found just a few months ago. Happy St. Patrick’s Day, and may the Luck O’ the Irish be with y’all!!!

But that’s NOT what this post is about…. at all.

This post is dedicated to my Butter Bean, who, weighing in at 7 pounds and 11 ounces, entered this world with a bang on the biggest drinking day of the year–after an induction AND 24 hours of labor!  Named after a saint, born at a ‘saintly’ hospital, in a city by the beach (also named after a saint) on Saint Patrick’s Day —she was bound to be an angel, right??? Nine years ago today, God saw fit to trust me with this force of nature and my life has just kept getting better and better because she’s in it.  Although she arrived into the world a few days early, and gave us a lil’ scare, she has made up for it ever since by growing into a dynamic, soulful little sprite!!! Everywhere she goes, she brightens up the space around her. She’s incredibly intelligent, and very observant, slipping into a room without making a sound, but leaving an imprint that simply cannot be forgotten. I am a better person because she is my daughter, and I thank God every day, for blessing me with her. My guess is that all those four leafed clovers I’ve found over the course of my 41 years paid off, because I feel VERY LUCKY to have her!

Here are just a few glimpses of her radiance over the years…

5 days old

5 days old

age 2.5

age 2.5

butterflybutterbean

a beautiful butterfly at 5

almost 4

almost 4

 

learning to fish at 7

 

 

 

 

 

 

becoming a model at 8.5

becoming a model at 8.5

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUTTER BEAN!!!

Mommy loves you to the moon and back 🙂

 

 

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Eye Yoo Wee, Mommy!!

beachgirls

I hadn’t planned to write today, as I already have a good kick-ass post scheduled for Valentine’s Day. (Yes, that’s what is known in Hollywood as a ‘teaser’, so you’ll need to come back to see what the fuss is about)

However this morning for some reason, I kept thinking about when Sugar Bean was a toddler, just learning to talk, which inevitably reminded me of the day I was almost in tears….convinced she would NEVER say ‘I love you too’ despite me saying ‘I love you’ to her 8,000 times a day. Then my mind connected the dots of ‘I love you’ with the upcoming holiday, and….BAM…here I am…writing, in the middle of the dang day when I’m certain there is laundry to be done, errands to be run, babysitters to book (this has so far, been an unsuccessful task I might add)…you get the point. Because the story of her 1st “I love you, too” is good for both a tear, and a giggle.

Back to Sugar Bean.

As I mentioned, I constantly tell The Beans I love them, all day long, every day. It’s nauseating, I think. Since you never know when life will catch you by surprise, cut things short, leave you hanging…and because, I can’t remember either of my parents ever saying it to me –although I’m certain they did– I want to make sure it’s fresh in their minds. Even if the last words they’ve uttered to me are “YOU ARE THE MEANEST MOMMY EVER!” because I’ve refused some request. Anyway, I started doing this immediately after Sugar Bean was born. So, by the time she was 18 months old and talking up a storm….you can imagine my disappointment at the fact that she never seemed to say ‘I love you”, “I love you too” or anything that sounded close. To me.  What did I know? I wasn’t given the ‘Toddler Talk for Dummies Guide”, as a shower gift.

The scene would play out like this, day after day….

Me: “I love you.”

SB: (smiling, silent) 

Me: “SB, mommy loves you.” 

SB: (still smiling…giggles…runs off)

Me: (furrowing my brow)

She did, however, randomly utter the words “EYE-YOO-WEE”….a lot. But never really in response to my endless, sappy proclamation. Which always left me with a puzzled, “WTF?” look on my face.

This went on for months, I tell you. Until one afternoon, The Man and I were in the car cruising down Beverly Boulevard on our way to who knows where, with Sugar Bean strapped into her car seat in the back, happy as a clam, when I looked at her and said “I love you” and she responded with “Eye yoo wee too mommy! Eye yoo wee too!” 

WHAT!???!! 

There it was!!! My heart swelled with joy, and my eyes with tears. Then I realized, all those months, my dumb-ass thought she didn’t love me, when she had been saying it all along.

Unsolicited.

Needless to say, I made The Man pull over so I could yank her out of her car seat and shower her with hugs and kisses 🙂 The following Christmas, I took her to a cool new store called Build-A-Bear and (after two hours of coaxing) recorded it on one of those thingys you stick inside the paw of the bear, and gave it to The Man as a gift, hoping to capture it forever. What they don’t tell you is, the recording devices have a shelf-life, dammit. Still have the bear, but he no longer has Sugar Bean’s voice. Now that she is older, I receive beautiful things like this, which will weather the test of time, both in memory and in print 🙂

The moral of this story is: Leave it to a toddler to come up with a freaking genius way to say “I love you” that sounds nothing like it, but really sums up the meaning quite well.

“EYE + YOO+ WEE”

I + You = We

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A Post-holiday vacation….in all it’s GLORY


As soon as the topic for this week’s Theme Thursday was decided upon and announced, as “My Biggest Vacation Disaster” I immediately knew the story I wanted to share with y’all. It’s an adventure straight out of National Lampoon’s Vacation franchise. That is, if one of their movies was set on a Carnival Cruise ship.

I only wish it had been a trip I TOOK. 

No, I didn’t cheat, and fabricate a story about a disastrous vacation with my family. I didn’t have to. My niece, Ryan Anderson,** and her husband actually had one worthy of an award, and she agreed to let me share it. I mean, why wouldn’t she? After it happened, she sent the following letter to American Express, and the Director of Public Relations called her on the phone, laughing hysterically, saying that everyone in the office now had a copy on their desk and nobody could get any work done because they were all giggling breathlessly. At the end of the phone call, they were discussing the possibility of making it into a commercial. Seriously.  Intrigued? Read on….

Dear American Express, 

Sitting around the house late one night after Christmas, my husband Hank and I, childless and full of adventure, poured some cocktails and spontaneously decided to take a Carnival Cruise over New Years. He spent the next hour or so online looking for an available cabin, and I truly believe we booked the last one….in the world. We rented a car that Friday morning, and headed down to Cape Canaveral, Florida, where we stayed the night at the Radisson Hotel. We boarded the cruise ship Glory the following Saturday morning. Our itinerary was 2 days at sea, a day in Cozumel (boring), a day in Belize City (not what I had expected), a day in Costa Maya (LOVED IT), then on to Nassau, Bahamas after a couple of days at sea.  We arrived at the port in Nassau at about 10:00 a.m. The night before, Hank read the daily schedule for the next day, and saw that we were due to leave Nassau at 16:00 hours, giving us plenty of time to enjoy the day before we got back on the ship. So, excited about Nassau, we disembarked in our bathing suits (mine was a skimpy little two piece thing), grabbed a taxi, and headed over to the Atlantis Resort where we purchased a day pass and spent the day relaxing on the beach. It was absolutely beautiful!!! The water was so clear, and the waves were perfect!!! After we got tired of the beach, we headed back to the main part of the resort, toured the stunning aquariums, then walked outside to shop some more and check out all the beautiful yachts docked at the piers. It was truly an awesome day. Around 3 p.m., we decided to head back to the ship so we could leisurely check back in before everyone else, pack, and get ready to enjoy the last night of our vacation. On the way back, we took a wonderful water ferry taxi, then walked through the local craft markets at the dock where I purchased a very cool pair of leather handmade flip-flops. Still can’t wait to wear them!!!

Tired, sandy and a little burnt, we left the craft market and walked towards the Glory. All of the big ships were there as well, so I asked Hank if he would take my picture with all the cruise ships behind me, before we boarded. He said yes, of course, so I immediately tried to pump up my wet hair and make myself look cute for the picture. I was standing there smiling with my head and hip slightly cocked to one side, like the ultimate dork tourist in my skimpy bikini, posing for my picture…Hank raised the camera to his face…I give him a big smile…and then, I watched all the color slowly drain out of his face. I was still smiling (my cheeks were beginning to quiver) as he slowly lowered the camera back down. With jaws dropped, he pointed to our ship behind me and in a weak voice Hank said…”Baby! The boat is moving! Our ship is leaving the port!”

Irritated at his lame attempt at humor I rolled my eyes, exercised my cheeks for another smile and reposed for the picture because I didn’t believe him….for those of you who know us really well, you know that Hank messes with me all the time. He is the ultimate smart ass.

I decided to give him what he wanted….you know, haha, joke’s on me, and turned around. My jaw dropped too….especially when I looked up to the top of the ship and saw everyone on the deck yelling and waving good-bye to Nassau.

With arms flailing we start running towards the ship like idiots, to no avail. It wasn’t stopping…I whipped out the camera and videotaped our ship sailing off into the sunset while we ran at break neck speed to another Carnival ship in port for help. They basically, in a short direct way let us know that we were S.O.L. Yes, my friends, we “missed the boat”. We were stranded in the Bahamas in wet bathing suits watching our ship sail off without us.

Ok, so, we are standing there speechless and helpless on the pier of a foreign country. Our wallets are on board, cell phone, keys, clothes…EVERYTHING, except thank God, our passports and our American Express card. Yep, that’s it…that’s all we had besides our camera. After making a second attempt to try to recompose ourselves in front of all the tourists who had now caught onto what had just happened to us, we ran back to the security station and contacted the ministry of tourism, with the hope of maybe getting ferried out the Glory. No such luck…the ship could not be stopped.

Ok, so, let’s back up to the day before (well, really the night before….in the casino on the ship…after cocktails…), Hank saw on the daily schedule that we were scheduled to leave Nassau the next day at 16:00 hours, which, of course, is 4pm….apparently, the “six” in “sixteen” stuck in his head, so all day long we thought the ship was leaving at 6:00. Yes, I just threw my husband under the bus.

We left the port authorities and grabbed a taxi after being assured that we could fly back to Cape Canaveral within the next hour, then get back on the ship the next morning to retrieve our belongings. Oh, if it had only been that easy!

We finally arrived at the Nassau Airport, and booked the last flight (7:30pm) to Orlando through BAHAMA AIR…ok, who has even heard of this airline? My thoughts exactly! We purchased the tickets, and proceeded through the airport to American customs. Of course, everyone in front of us have luggage, bags, purses, cute little souvenirs from their vacation in Nassau….Us? Nothing. We stepped up to our customs booth, and the officer slowly looked us over, cleared his throat and finally asks, “Uhmm, where are your bags? And how long have you been in the country?”
Hank and I looked at each other, looked back at him and said, “Everything we own is on the Carnival Glory, and we have been here for 6 hours.” He laughed out loud at us…I mean, who wouldn’t? Here we are getting ready to board a flight in semi-wet bathing suits, our legs and feet still have sand from the beach all over them, we have no luggage, and at this point we are beginning to smell.

Then, if that’s not enough, they walk us out onto the tarmac up to a little prop plane! At this point, I was scared to death and freezing my butt off. The flight didn’t even have beverages. I told the attendant that I was thirsty and she went to the bathroom and handed me a cup of tap water. Hank and I spent the entire flight huddled up together to fight off hypothermia. At every bump and drop in the air we professed our love for each other, wondering if it was our last moment together on Earth.

Thank God, we made it back to the States alive. We left the airport after I hurriedly purchased a sweat shirt and hailed a taxi back to Cape Canaveral to the Radisson hotel, the same hotel we stayed at the night before we departed. The taxi ride cost $100….we didn’t care, we just needed sleep, food, and warmth. Oh, and by the way, let me give you a visual of what I looked like. By this time, my inner thighs were so chaffed from the salt water and running around Nassau in a wet bathing suit, that I thought they were going to bleed, so I am gingerly walking around like I rode a bull for 8 hours, with my legs spread apart so my thighs don’t rub together. It wasn’t pretty and it hurt like hell. Also, to add to the visual, I have really curly frizzy hair that must be maintained with products and a hairdryer to look presentable. Mix that hair with sand, salt water, and give it a windblown effect…and you can imagine what I looked like. I was a dead ringer for the Bride of Frankenstein. My lips were also burnt and slightly peeled back, drawn taut from dried salt that I got tired of licking at some point on the plane.

We finally got to the hotel. Ahhhh, sweet peace. The first thing I did was run a hot bath while Hank went to the front lobby to get glasses and any free toiletries the hotel could offer. In the meantime, while soaking my thighs in hot water, I picked up the phone and tried to dial 411 to get my mother’s new phone number because she had just moved. I am no good with numbers, and I don’t have to be since all the numbers are programmed into my cell phone. HA! Where is the cell phone? Exactly…so, I dial 9 to get an outside line, then 411 for information….Can you imagine what happened next?

“911, what is your emergency?” I was horrified and apologized for inconveniencing them, that I just dialed the wrong number (apparently my finger didn’t push the 4 down all the way). I hang up, and completely exhausted, just give up and sink down into the tub. Hank comes back and I told him about the phone call and asked him if he would get Mom’s number for me. He did. 5 minutes later, the Brevard County police show up banging on the hotel door with flashlights. Hank goes to the door, opens it to find 2 officers on either side of the door with their hands on their guns. They weren’t playing around either. He assures them it was a mistake, but they insist on seeing me to make sure that I am not a bloodied and bruised up wife. So, there I am in the bath tub, trying to keep my boobs under the water line with one hand and the other hand struggling to cover up my hoo-hoo with any soap suds floating around in the water while they looked me over. My God….did it end there?

No.

We finished off the night with some much-needed cocktails, and, naked from lack of clean dry clothing, ate hot wings delivered by a local restaurant who took American Express. Outside, our rental car sat gleaming in the moonlight, locked, in the weekly paid for parking lot with things we could have used, LIKE CLOTHES….but, oh yeah, the keys were on the  ship.

We woke up hours later, took a taxi to the port, and what do you know? Security would not allow us back on the ship to get our things. We had to sit on a metal rod bench (that must have been constructed by the same companies who make the furnishings for death row cells) still in our bathing suits, with minimal clothing, from 7:30am to 10:30am until the ship’s purser finally brought our things to us, which had been METICULOUSLY packed and inventoried on sheets of paper. On the papers each item was listed as “found” and then “placed” wherever, in whatever bag they had chosen. I mean, seriously…these people were thorough!  For example, I had a partly used roll of stamps in my purse, and whoever the unfortunate soul was who had the task of packing our things, actually had to count out each stamp and inventory how many= 92…seriously, you should see the inventory papers. EVERY single item that was in our room was listed, which we had to go over one by one with the purser so he could mark it off the list. With my heart pounding and my face full of shame, I silently poured over the contents until I finally found what I was looking for. There it was, in all its glory, my hot pink dildo. I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. With impressive professionalism, he quickly checked it off after I nodded my head and moved on to the next item, which was not as bad but I am sure caught them by surprise…the two boxes of “decorative teeth” with fake diamonds embedded in them. Yes, the grills…the ones I had laughed so hard about that Christmas as I stood in line at the mall for an hour waiting to purchase them for our stockings. We actually wore them one night to the disco on the ship, and no doubt laughed by ourselves at how funny we were as we tried to dance to rap music.

So, we finally got our belongings, took a taxi back to the Radisson so we could load up our rental car and get the hell out of Brevard County, and I will be DAMNED….at some point while we were on the cruise, a drunken guest of the hotel had vomited all over the passenger door handle and door. It was pink and chunky and absolutely just not fair! The hot Florida sun had hardened it, and I couldn’t open the car door without tissues…it was beyond disgusting.

So, there you have it. The story is priceless, and I can’t believe all of it happened in less than 24 hours.  I simply had to share it, because if we hadn’t had our American Express card with us, I can’t fathom how horrible this experience could have been. Thank you American Express, I’m so glad we didn’t leave home without you!!!!!

….and HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Sincerely,

Hank and Ryan Anderson

**Not only is Ryan my niece, she is also the talented author behind the novels in The Detective Hank Jordan Series, and you can order her books here.

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