I just ordered a few of these accordion book samples from the AMAZING ProDPI! They are honestly, the most amazing company ever. And as I mentioned before, they always send candy!!!

These accordion books are absolutely beautiful and a perfect gift for parents of the bride and groom, grandparents of the new baby…or just for yourself! They fit easily in a purse and are a beautiful way to show off your kid.

It was our third evening in Mexico. We spent the day in Tulum looking at the Mayan ruins and once we got back, all I wanted was a margarita. Fruity, alcoholic goodness to cool off after a long day walking in the heat. We were getting pretty sick of the touristy areas of Playa del Carmen and in trying to find a place to eat, ended up walking a little outside the tourist trap area. It was still 100% safe–well, I take that back. It was probably slightly less safe than the tourist-area of Playa, but safer even than Brooklyn probably.

After walking for a good 20 minutes, we found a place called “Kool Fish” with pitchers of margaritas for $4. I don’t think it gets any better than that, right? Except that this “Kool Fish” had the most amazing fish tacos I’ve ever had in my life. And as the ice cold margarita slid down my throat, I thought it couldn’t get any better than THAT. Except then our waiter started chatting with us. And Eduardo was the COOLEST GUY EVER. So friendly. So chatty. He even added 2 extra shots of tequila to our (already strong) margaritas. Then he offered us pot…because apparently in Mexico, that’s how you make friends. You offer them pot. We politely declined–but it was nice to be accepted.

The following night, we went back to Kool Fish. Mostly because we wanted to see Eduardo again before we left. HE WAS THAT COOL. And he gave us more strong margaritas and great conversation. He even taught me a few phrases in Spanish, the most important one being: Dónde está el baño?

To be fair, Sean also taught me that. But Eduardo helped with the pronunciation. And thank god for learning that…it was used A WHOLE LOT THROUGHOUT THE TRIP. Because my bladder is the size of a pea. Not even. More like the size of a pinhole. And much of the trip was spent with me crossing my legs or sprinting from the beach to find some sort of public restroom.

Another side note–what is with the lack of toilet seats in Mexico?!?! I did more squatting that weekend, than I did in the gym preparing my body for bathing suit weather.

Wow–that was quite the rambling. So, to sum up: Mexico is beautiful; Eduardo is awesome; Playa del Carmen needs to invest in some toilet seats across the board.

Below are some images from Tulum –

As an early Christmas gift and in honor of my first ever holiday tree, Liza and Maddie picked out these two ornaments.

The boat represents Savannah, where we first met (Maddie and I first met in Savannah as well when she was just 3 months old. And she spit up in my mouth.) and of course the NY ornament represents our adult lives here in the city–except for Maddie. I guess it represents her childhood here in the city.

It was a sweet and meaningful gift and for the rest of my life, these ornaments will hang as a representation of our friendship. And every year in December, I’ll look at these and think of this friendship and what it means to me.

I’ve never owned a Christmas tree in my adult, NY life. So this holiday while my parents were in town, I got my first. We threw a tree trimming party which a handful of my friends joined me for. Everyone (by rule) had to hang at least one ornament.

Now, for me being so creative in my profession, I am ridiculously UNcreative when it comes to tree decorating. The brunt of the work of this tree was done by myself, my friend Emily (check out The LAMP organization!) and Maddie–my seven year old niece. The problem was, I had the same decoration sense as the 7 year old. Maddie and I would lazily clump all of our ornaments together, throwing them haphazardly onto the three. Then, Emily would follow behind each of us, cleaning up the mess and making the spacing more even. Without Emily, the tree probably would have had entirely bare patches. Thanks, Em!

For the longest time, I had a hideous pair of rain boots. But I didn’t care because…well, I don’t care about much other than staying dry when it’s raining. But Sean made such a big deal about the UGLY BOOTS. Every time it rained, he would avoid being seen in public with me because I’d be wearing “those things.” They weren’t even categorized as boots–he would call them things. Like, they weren’t even worthy of being dubbed as boots by the man who wears hideous flannel EVERY SINGLE DAY. God forbid I have one item that doesn’t meet his lumberjack fashion standards. It’s almost like someone wearing Crocs critisizing the Prada shoes you’re wearing. It’s like…”Um, seriously?!?” (and now I’ve angered the Croc wearers)

So, finally after a few years, I sprung for new boots. Sleek, black rain boots. And I have to say…I don’t feel frumpy and gross now when it’s raining. For about a week I sat, staring out the window hoping for rain so I could wear these boots. And then I got my wish. And I got it again. And then it rained every single day last week, including Saturday when I had to shoot a wedding. And all I can say, is THANK GOD I had some rain boots that I could wear for work with dress pants. In this ONE CASE, maybe…just maybe…Sean was right.

The new boots:

The old boots:

Up until two days ago, I literally had 12 loads of laundry just waiting around…hoping to be cleaned soon. And for the first time in months…literally MONTHS…I had a night where I had no editing to do (well, almost no editing to do) and no other plans. I finally dragged my ass down to the laundro-mat to take care of that god-forsaken pile of laundry. I’ll admit…it was a bit obsene. And I was actually excited because the pile next to my side of the bed was no longer going to smell like a gigantic garlicy belch.

And this is where I start to get the hate mail. The mail that says, “You spoiled brat! You have 12 loads worth of clothes that you don’t even care enough about to keep clean?? Don’t you know that some of us don’t even have underwear?! And we have to scour the streets searching for newspapers to keep ourselves warm during this 40-degree autumn weather! I WILL NEVER READ YOU AGAIN!”

And that’s when I respond with: “Ahh, yes. You poor unfortunate soul who has no underwear and newspapers for a coat. And tell me again–how is it you’re emailing now? How is it you have internet and computer access and all the time in a day to read my blog and comment on every post I’ve ever written? Maybe, JUST MAYBE, spend less of your time scrutinizing my blog and go look for some employment.” And then I’ll get 5 more emails of hate mail because I’M MEAN TO HOMELESS PEOPLE. But I’m not mean to ALL homeless people–just the ones who read my blog and yell at me.

But, I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes. Laundry. So I did my laundry…and it was MIRACULOUS. And honestly…it was even kind of enjoyable. Having nothing to do and no one to bother me for a whole hour and a half? That right there is my idea of heaven. Forget fluffy clouds and pearly gates–the laundromat is now heaven. I went to the laundromat and sat next door at the bakery enjoying a cookie and a coffee uninterrupted while my clothes circulated round and round and round.

However, coming home and having to fold 5 loads of laundry (no, I did not make it through all 12 loads)…was not so much my idea of heaven. ::sigh::

I am a competitive person. I hate losing. I know what you’re thinking—Duh, Colleen. No one likes to lose. But no—I HATE losing. As in, I take losing the most simple games very personally. Losing in Scrabble? I must be an idiot who didn’t pay enough attention in 3rd Grade Vocabulary. Losing in Pictionary…did I NOT go to art school? I’m clearly not creative enough. But the worst game in the world to lose to—is Risk.

Here is a game that is designed to turn the players against each other. Sean and I have played a couple of times in the past, but it usually results in a huge fight. We hadn’t played the game in over a year—that is, until last week.

I decided to give Risk another try. Sean plays constantly on his computer, so being a good friend, I thought that for once, I’d give him an epic battle for control over the world.

The game started off well. No arguing, no fighting…no one flinging the board across the room. He gained control of Australia almost immediately, and I managed to hold South America. He moved on to Asia while I tried to keep Africa and attempting to gain more countries in North America. Things were even and although we were conquering each other, trying to keep one another from gaining and keeping a second continent, nothing was being done out of spite. That is, until Sean turned in his first set of 3 cards and got extra armies. I had just gained Africa and built up my men along the boarders. I thought for sure I was secure enough that I’d at least be able to thin out his armies if he came after me.

Only, that’s the thing about this game—just when you think you’re going to rule the Western Hemisphere, the dice have other things in mind. I must have rolled a “1” 12 times in a row. WHAT ARE THE ODDS OF THAT? So, I lost Africa, along with 12 of my men. I exhaled. It was ok…soon, I’d be turning in my own cards and I’d build up these armies again.

Only, Sean didn’t stop with taking my one continent away. He looked up into my eyes before grabbing those evil Red die and asked, “You’re not going to throw the board again, are you?”

I narrowed my eyes. “That depends on what you’re next move is.”

“I’m serious, Colleen.”

“So am I, Sean.”

He decided to move on into South America and take Brazil. BRAZIL! Not only did he take Africa, 3 extra armies from me, but he stole my continent that evened our scores—HE had Australia (2 men), I had South America (2 men). We were even, but he tipped the scales.

I sat there dumbfounded for a moment as he utilized his ‘tactical move’ and rearranged his men. After a few seconds, he said: “It’s your turn.”

In my head, I thought I’d be cool and collected. I imagined myself tipping my hat to Sean and saying, Well played, sir. Well, played. But instead, my reply was: “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT, ASSHAT?”

“It’s a game, Colleen—it was a strategy. A tactical move within the game. Nothing personal.”

“Brazil, Sean! BRAZIL! And maybe you should have been considering your tactical moves within this RELATIONSHIP as opposed to this game. Ever think of that? This is the first time I’ve played in a year and you’ve gone and pissed me off!”

“But, Colleen, it’s just a ga–”

“BRAZIL!!!!!!”

My following turn, I managed to get 20 men and the turn after that, I got 45. I swept through Asia and Europe and didn’t care who of my men I lost. There was bloodshed. There was mayhem. And that’s the problem with this game—when you start to play emotionally and focus on revenge instead of taking control of the world, that’s when you know you’ve lost.

At about 2am, we were both exhausted from battle. Sean forfeited to me—even though he CLAIMS he could have won. He still forfeited. I win. He loses. I’m the ruler of the world—including BRAZIL.

For Adelynn’s birthday, my sister and Adam got her a tricycle. But not just any tricycle–my sister’s and my first tricycle from back when we were kids. Back then of course, it looked very different. It was red and didn’t have any tassles or anything. Bridget had our old tricycle completely restored and repainted so that she could give it to Adelynn. You must be thinking where could they possibly find a place to restore a tricycle in Ayden, NC? Well, they took it to a body shop…where a mechanic specialist (I don’t know the proper term) sanded out the rust, replaced the foot petals, replaced the tires, added tassles and restored the bell.  And apparently, the cost of all this made no sense to the man at the body shop. He mentioned to Adam as he picked up the tricycle, “You know–you can buy these things for like $50.” To which Adam said, “This has sentimental value to my wife.” “What about a sentimental value to the kid’s college fund?” At which point, he handed Adam the bill.

In any case, it turned out super cute and the mechanic did an amazing job. I’m sure Adelynn will be grateful that mom and dad didn’t buy a random tricycle from Wal-Mart. Look at that smile…

It was the week after my birthday–which meant it was Maddie’s birthday. Maddie’s 7th birthday. Which is ridiculous…because seriously? When did my baby girl niece become a kid. She’s no longer a squishy, cuddly baby that I used to want to pour BBQ sauce over and eat whole. No. Now she’s this kid who has thoughts of her own and draws conclusions based on her findings. Like for example, not too long ago Liza and I were sitting in her kitchen discussing grown up things (::cough:: Twilight ::cough::) and Maddie came running in.

Maddie: “Mom! I want to get my ears pierced!”

Liza sighed. Apparently, she had had this discussion before. “Not until you’re older.”

Maddie: “But moooooom,” The word mom was dragged out to be at least 4 syllables long, “every other girl in school is doing it on their 7th birthday.”

Liza: “Really, Maddie? Every girl in school? Every single girl in school got her ears pierced on her birthday? So if I went around to every girl in your class next year, all of them would have pierced ears?”

Maddie faltered for a minute, but got her stony expression back almost immdiately. “Yes.”

Sighing again, Liza rolled her eyes toward me. “I told you already, I was 13 when I got mine pierced. You have to wait until you’re at least double digits.”

Maddie then turned her efforts toward me…the sucker. “Aunt Colleen, when did you get your ears pierced.”

Liza glared at me. “You were at least 10, right Colleen?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Er—” I looked back and forth from Maddie’s hopeful eyes to Liza’s “I’ll-kill-you-and-eat-the-remains-if-you-answer-incorrectly” eyes. “Well…actually, I was 8. So maybe wait until next birthday, Maddie?”

Liza’s glaring became a full on scowl. And Maddie started whining even more. “See mom! What’s a year? It’s nothing, I may as well do it NOW, THIS YEAR so that I don’t become an outcast.” And then she stomped out of the room making a face.

And seriously? When did 7-year olds start using words like ‘outcast’? That’s just crazy…

So, anyway…it was now the day of Maddie’s birthday. And due to a series of events that I don’t think I should share with the internet, Liza caved, allowing Maddie to pierce her ears.

We met at the mall at the Piercing Pagoda. Liza was there, Liza’s mom, me, and Maddie’s best friend Zaley and her mother. Maddie excitedly picked out a pair of diamond studs–yes, diamonds. I have to admit, there was a pang of jealousy that this 7 year old got a pair of diamond earrings before her 26-year old aunt did.

But as the employees were preparing the ear gun–Maddie got freaked. Apparently, she hadn’t thought about the specifics of what getting your ears pierced meant. It meant that a gold rod was going to PIERCE through your EAR. AND OH MY GOD, IS THERE ANYTHING SCARIER TO A 7 YEAR OLD KID?!

She began clinging to my jeans, moaning and whimpering everytime the employees would take a step near her. I bent down, brushing the hair from her eyes. “Maddie, hun…it doesn’t hurt that bad. I promise.”

“What does it feel like?” Her eyes watered.

“Well, it feels like this.” I pinched her lightly on the earlobe. And I’m not kidding–you would have thought I had just shot the child with a bazooka. She screamed, falling into my arms crying.

At which point, I stood up and chose the cheapest pair of titanium earring they had in the case. “I’d like to get my ears pierced a second time, please.”

Maddie stopped screaming and looked at me, the residual tears still falling off her jawline. “What?”

“WHAT?” All the adults said together.

“I’d like to get a second hole please.” I leaned back down to Maddie. “But if I do it…then you HAVE to do it. And you’ll see…it doesn’t hurt that much.” Maddie nodded…still unsure if this was some sort of trick.

As I sat in the chair, I started wondering if it actually did hurt to get my ears pierced–maybe I was in denial about the level of pain I had felt at age 8. My hands gripped the chair’s armrest harder and harder with each passing second. Liza came over and whispered, “You realize that if you show any ounce of pain, she will never get her ears pierced. Ever.”

No pressure at all. I shut my eyes, held my breath and squeezed my hands together. I could feel my eyes welling up as the first ear was pierced and the second one hurt slightly more. It definitely felt worse than that little pinch I had given to Maddie’s earlobe, but nothing unbearable. I opened my eyes to see Maddie and Zaley staring at me…waiting for a reaction. I tried to blink away the tears adn smiled wider than any normal smile. “See? Totally fine.”

At which point Maddie and Zaley started cheering and dancing around the store. It still took some cajoling to get Maddie in the chair. I just kept saying, “Diamonds, Maddie. DIAMONDS. You have no idea how exciting that really is just yet, but trust me. YOU WANT THOSE DIAMONDS.”

And she did it. My brave little 7-year old niece. And it just goes to show that I will do just about anything for that kid. Including putting an extra set of holes in my ears.

Let me start by saying that the only reason this post is in the weekly style section is because of the dress Adelynn is wearing in the photo. My mom made it and it is SO FREAKING CUTE that it had to be highlighted. Let’s take a moment to ooooh and aaaaah.

Ok, so now onto the story–

A couple of weeks ago I visited home for my sister’s 30th birthday where I got to spend some quality time with my adorable niece. I mean seriously…have you seen the smile? It melts my heart. That is, when my ears aren’t bleeding from her screaming. She’s not so good with the word “no.”

I was watching Adelynn for my sister (Bridget) so that she could shower and get dressed, blow-dry her hair and ultimately do all those things that those of us “childless” folk take for granted. Because apparently for my sister, getting a chance to put on makeup and do her hair is the equivalent to waking up next to Clive Owen drizzled in chocolate after someone wallpapered her house with 100 dollar bills. IT WAS THAT EXCITING!

So, my sweet sister looked lovely. And clean. And I’m sitting on the floor next to Adelynn when all of a sudden she gets a weird look on her face and starts staring at me. And I look back, wary, and say to her, “Addie, do you have to poop?” And she’s squatting and nodding, a pained expression on her face–which I think we can all empathize with.

I know Bridget is beginning to potty-train, but I’m a little lost in that department, so I figured I’d just let her do her thing and I’d handle the diaper later. All of a sudden I see a stream of poop running down Adelynn’s leg, staining the nice white carpet and my poor niece starts screaming, “Poopie, Cayeen! Poopie!”. I pick her up and throw her down on the changing table. Bridget comes running in upon hearing those ominous poop-filled screams and she takes over my position as I was about to take the diaper off.

As my sister slides the diaper off of Adelynn’s legs, projectile poop comes flying into her face. I mean, this kid may as well have been throwing poop around the room. The stuff was everywhere by the time she was finished and all the while she’s crying, “Poopie, Mommy, poopie!”

After all the excitement was said and done, we all got cleaned up; scrubbed the rug, the changing table, showered, changed our clothes again. And just as my sister and I flopped ourselves down onto the couch, Bridget’s husband, Adam walked through the door. Adelynn ran to him and he picked her up, asking: “Adelynn, what did you get Mommy for her birthday?”

She smiled coyly and pointed to both of us and simply answered: “Poopie.”

She sure did.