6710 Grand

Brace yourselves--I've stopped drinking coffee. Dun dun DUN! If this were an episode of Law & Order, here's where you'd here the "Glung glung!" Yes, it's true. I've gone cold turkey. I know, what's wrong with me? Well, I'll tell you--I'm trying something new. I read a book called "Skinny Bitch". The title cought my eye. It's basically promoting an organic vegan diet. Yeah yeah--heard it all before. But then I thought, "I wonder if I can do it." You know, just to try it out and see how hard it is. Well, I'm here to say--it's not that hard. I can't do the vegan cheese--just not it for me. And even though all of my wonderful Coffee Mate creamers say that they're non-dairy, there is a milk ingredient in them (sodium caseinate), so that's out. I did have a soy mocha at Starbucks and it was good, so if I'm dying (not so far) I'll have one. But really, this hasn't been tough--a

Tragedy has struck the Olson household. Yesterday morning after my daily trip to the gym, I came home at my usual 5:30. Nick hasn’t been sleeping well, so he hasn’t been up with me. It was no surprise that the house was still dark and the coffee had not been brewed. I set everything up and switched the pot on before heading up to the shower. Despite the insane heat, I am still enjoying 8-10 cups of coffee day. I have managed to cut out the sugar, though I’ve still not been able to go black. Perhaps cutting my cream with milk will help… As I showered, I pondered the different ways I might have my first cup. Are we out of whipped cream? I know there’s plenty of chocolate syrup. Should I finish off the vanilla caramel cream or open the French vanilla (which was all I could find at the store!)? As I stepped out of the shower, drying and dressing, I noticed something strange. I inhaled. Nothing. I took a deep breath. Nothing. Hmmm. I should be smelling fine Arabica beans by now. Something w

Coffee is something both my dad and I have a taste for. That being said, however, we have very different preferences when it comes to coffee. I like mine flavored. If even a single flavored bean finds its way into Dad’s morning joe, he notices—Not a flavored coffee fan. At the very least, I put milk and sugar in my coffee. Most of the time, I add chocolate syrup and whipped cream if it’s available. I used to be fine with the powdered cream, but I’ve since upgraded to the liquid variety, favoring the Vanilla Carmel of Coffee Mate, but settling for French Vanilla when I have to. As you know, I’m quite the coffee drinker. I’ve also become somewhat of a nutrition junkie. Back in my Kansas days I was on a pretty restrictive diet of no more than 1000 calories a day (yes, I was constantly hungry!) followed by almost two hours on the elliptical every morning. I told myself that coffee was the one thing I would just let myself have. Well, no problem when my calorie intake was so low th

There’s been a bit of hype recently surrounding Salary.com’s study that says Stay-at-Home-Mom’s would earn $134,000 if they were paid for what they’re doing. Well, I don’t know about that. Let’s face it ladies (and gentlemen—there are plenty of Stay-at-Home-Dads too), we’d all be doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. whether we had kids or not. Back in Chicago, when I was waiting for Ivy to arrive, my housework took all of an hour. Most of the time, I was bored. Now, I didn’t have a two story house or even a decent kitchen, so I would imagine that my chores took less time than many other non-working people. That isn’t to say that when our bundle of joy arrived, I didn’t have more to do—I certainly did. Ivy is messy, if nothing else, but I’m not sure that my work as a mom should get me that kind of a salary. Being a mom is tough. There are days when I’d gladly trade my legs in for extra arms just so I could eat my dinner before it gets cold. I’m not sure a non-parent (whether biologica

A bit of squishy history: 1. When I was growing up, on my birthday some well-meaning aunt or uncle would ask "so, how does it feel to be eleven?" or whatever year was appropriate. I was always perplexed by this question. What does one say? How does it feel? My mother, in her wisdom, came up with the perfect response: "Squishy". A ridiculous question, does, indeed, deserve a ridiculous answer. It was perfect. 2. In the Midwest, after the rain, you may find your front sidewalk littered with worms. In the summer, they may fry if they don't retreat to the grass before the sun comes out. I remember rescuing many a worm in my younger days. In San Diego, earthworms are replaced by snails. I had never seen a snail until I moved to California. The morning dew is enough to bring them out. In my early morning trips to the gym, I'd often find myself faced with a walking path covered in snails. Though I'd do my best to avoid them, inevitably, I'd step on one. It&

I like my coffee hot. Unless it’s a frappe. Or iced. What I don’t like are those sleeves they put over the hot cups at coffee houses. As my friend El will tell you, since our Monday night coffee dates in Kansas City, I’ve always pulled them off. I’ve never had my coffee so hot that I can’t hold it long enough to take a sip. The double cupping doesn’t bother me, but I don’t need it. Just don’t put that stupid cardboard sleeve on my coffee. The sleeve dictates where I hold my cup. It’s always around the middle. What if I want to hold it at the top? Or the bottom? What if I want a straw? I don’t like to be told what to do—especially when it comes to coffee. Nick and have been loyal customers of Barnes and Noble and Starbucks since…well, always. Nick actually worked at B&N just before we got married. My Saturday nights at the airport actually began as entire weekends at Barnes and Noble. I could sit there for hours—and have. It’s better than a library in that there’s c

Most people who know me now wouldn't believe it, but when I was in the 8th grade, I had a mouth like the inside of a trashcan--a really dirty trashcan. Like, the kind I use to dispose of my kitty litter. Naughty naughty. Today, I can't even think a curse word. But what's a curse word anyway? Words are offensive because people are offended by them, not the other way around. So, I've made up my own that are perfectly acceptable to shout, no matter who is within hearing distance. For example: Fruit! Schneikes! Schnoodle! I've been known to say things like "What the schmee?" and when I'm particularly amazed, "Schnoodle my doodle!" I remember a few years ago, I was doing something and got frustrated and shouted out "Oh fruit!" My mother didn't seem too pleased. "Stop saying that!" she said. When I first met Amy, her word of choice was crumb. One day, her mom told us that it didn't matter what word we substituted, we me

Ivy's finally down. It took an hour of rocking and back patting but she's finally asleep in her bed. Now I can get into mine. Nick has been asleep for an hour now. It's almost 2am. I've brushed my teeth, washed my face and put on my night shirt. I slide silently beneath the covers and lay my head down. With my eyes closed, I listen for Nick's breathing. That's one. I listen for Ivy's. I'm listening... listening... I don't hear it. Maybe I'm breathing too loudly. I hold my breath and listen. Listening... I still can't hear it. 'This is stupid,' I tell myself. 'She's fine.' But I still don't hear it. I'll hate myself if I find her lifeless in the morning. I get out of bed. It's completely dark, but I know exactly where she is. I lean my head down, less than an inch above hers and listen. The faint hiss is there and her breath is warm on my cheek. I slide back into bed. Now I can sleep. It's now 5am. I wake up