6710 Grand

We were watching A Christmas Story the other day (you know--"You'll shoot your eye out!") and in the beginning of the movie where Ralphie is hiding the advertisement for his gun in Mom's Look magazine, I noticed that his parents had twin beds in their bedroom. Did this ever actually happen or was it just something they did on TV so that no one would know that people actually had sex in those days? In Little House on the Prarie, Charles and Carline slept in the same bed, but being prarie folk, perhaps it was more of a space thing--little house. I pride myself on being too young to know the answer to this question. Anyone?

Finally--we have something resembling fall...in December. Oh well. Better late than never. I feel like I've been waiting for years for the smell of fire in the air and the damp mist that follows the rain. It's amazing--here in the desert, I have a cold (54 degrees) fall day (on December 15th). Iris is asleep in her bed; Ivy is away at school; Nick is somewhere in the sky. I am here at home, with a cup of peppermint hot cocoa (I'm having so much trouble finding the right kind of decaf coffee), watching Law and Order in a big, comfy sweater (ok, so it's short sleeved. But it's still a sweater!). What a day! I hope I get another tomorrow.

I can't believe it's taken me two weeks to post a photo of Iris--here she is, our new baby girl.

Holy bad writing Batman! I can not say enough bad things about Twilight. The least of which is that I'm so very glad to have finally finished it. I will not be reading the other books in the series. I can't say it's the worst book I've ever read--that prize goes to any number of Stephen King books. I took the dreadful book to the hospital and EVRY nurse that came into my room practically swooned--"Are you reading Twilight? Don't you just LOVE IT!" Um, no. As a matter of fact, I HATE IT. They all seemed to understand my reasons, and one nurse did share my general "What's the big deal about this book" attitude. I can see why the movie will do well--they'll skip the first 300 pages and get right to the action, and hopfully they won't fade to black when anything remotely interesting happens. Sigh! Oh well. I've moved on to a classic--I need something to remind me that good writing is out there, even if I have to go back to the 19th ce

This book is killing me. I'm finally about half way through it and it gets more annoying as I go along. Really, I think the plot itself would be ok if not for the horrid writing. So, Bella's off to an unknown destination with Edward. We got to hear a completely useless exchange between the two of them as to why she had to drive her car. Charlie would know. Can't tell Charlie who she's going with. If he saw her car still home, he'd wonder. They had this elaborate back and forth about how Edward would get to her house without his car. Who cares? Not relevant! Why can't they just get going already? If her car would have been some necessary addition to their little outing in the meadows of Washington, fine. But IT DOESN'T! Oh, and if I hear one more thing about the fabulous Phoenix weather, I'm flushing this book down the toilet. She mentions this blouse that she wears in Phoenix "in the dead of winter". Um, there's no such thing. Phoenix has

Almost 150 pages in and I STILL hate this book. Every week or so, I walk past Laura's (she's the one who lent me the book) cube and ask her when am I going to get to the good part? It just keeps getting stupider and stupider (Is stupider a word?). I remember in my earlier writing days (as if I were a seasoned veteran with NYT bestsellers in my portfolio) how I would think things like "Ok, I just described a work day and now I need to tell readers what happens at home. How do I get my character home?" The simple answer is--just skip that part. No one cares how the traffic was or whether or not it was raining. It's not relevant to the story, so skip it. That's the big problem with Twilight , at least for me. She goes on an on about stuff that doesn't matter. I don't care what Bella's English paper is on (Shakespeare and misogyny). I don't care about the weather (It's Seattle and always raining. Plus, how can you plan a trip to the beach two w

Literally--I have 20 more to go until the big day. Part of me can't wait. No more sleeping on my side, no more tripping over the cat because I can't see below my belly button (I'll trip over him for other reasons), no more worrying about being able to find a decent cup of decaf coffee (Gloria Jeans does not make a decaf coffee chiller and I'm dying to try another flavor of K-kups. Butter toffee is great, but I'm ready for mudslide and pumpkin spice!) eating a full meal, lifting weights--all which will return shortly after birth (I hope). But then there are the good reasons to stay pregnant: Nick has to rock Ivy to sleep at night since I have no lap. I can pretty much always find a seat anywhere since nice people are always offering me theirs. I get to leave work early every Monday so I can go to my doctor's appointment. I have an excuse to lay down whenever I want. I can deal with the getting up every 2-4 hours for a feeding (sleep is such a waste of t

I'm scraping my way through this dreadful book. I'm only in chapter two--I know, not enough time to judge by. Ok, ok, I'll keep reading. But it's REALLY awful. It's a high school book, no doubt. That's fine. I can understand that. The problem is, it reads like it was written by a high school student and not just from the perspective of one. I keep trying to remind myself that all of the ridiculous sentiments that Bella has and the feeling that the world and everyone in it revolves around her are really in tune with the way I remember high school girls thinking (I would know, I used to be one). I certainly felt this way. If a boy looked at me and said hi, he must like me. I mean, people don't just say "hi". Heck, if he tripped over me, he must like me. Why else would he walk that close? Ridiculous. Completely stupid. But realistic, nonetheless. I can't wait to get to the part where I'm in love with this book. The problem is, if I make it th

I read an article recently in Fitness Magazine where a reader asked the question "should I put my sport bras in the dryer?" The article explained that no, sport bras should not go into the dryer. They should be hung to dry on a line because anything over 105 degrees would deteriorate the elastic. So, then, what's an Phoenician to do? Is my clothes dryer cooler than 113 or should use a blow dryer on my elastics?

This book has been recommended to me by more than one person so I figured I’d give it a shot. Everyone said how much they just couldn’t put it down. Nick and I went to the movie theater this week and I saw a poster advertising it’s debut on the big screen. It was all over the bookstore when the fourth book came out—quite the buzz, so I thought I’d better dive in. I tried reserving it at the library—I was 104 on the list. I tried another library—207. Blessedly, a co-worker leant me her copy (in exchange for my copy of Skinny Bitch). I’m on page 7. I hate this book. I want to throw it. The writing style alone is enough to annoy me. I’m trying to give it the benefit of the doubt and realize that the main character is in high school (why then, is she moving from Arizona to Washington? Don’t get me wrong—I’d love to make that move, but not as a high school student.) The detail to which she describes her cars is completely useless…so far. I mean, maybe this 1960-something truck will be a maj

Last Christmas was our camping Christmas. We dubbed it so because we'd gone to REI, made out a list and added all of those things to our Christmas lists that went out to anyone whom we normally exchanged gifts with. Whatever we didn't get, we bought ourselves. When December was over, we had everything we needed for a trip to the woods. Why then, did it take us more than eight months to finally venture into those woods? Who knows. But finally, at the end of August, we made the trip. We drove a little less than two hours north to Prescott, AZ--it's MUCH cooler up there and we figured a day or two away from the 105+ heat that still plagues Phoenix at the supposed end of the summer would do us good. It's actually a very nice drive. Prescott is a small college town, but the Target and the Wal-Mart are just minutes from the camping area. We had no idea really, what to expect when we got to Lynx Lake. What we did not expect was that all of the camp sites would be occupied. H

It was a rainy day But outside the sun is shining I’m chilly But it’s 106 degrees I’m having a hot cup of coffee And my ice is melting I have days and days Fifteen minutes have passed Leaves are falling The palm trees sway in the breeze that Is so cold I can hardly stop shivering The summer is Fall and I’m home For the first time.

I am not an avid sports fan by any means. But baseball is one of the few professional sports that I can watch and understand. I enjoy going to games and I can even watch it on TV. Ingrained in my blood is a loyalty to my home team, the St. Louis Cardinals. Despite my variety of homes, the Cardinals are always the team I root for. If I’m flipping channels and passing baseball news or a game, I’ll pause to see if the red birds are on. Because of my loyalty to them, it is required that I hate the Mets and the Cubs. Living in Chicago, I could have gotten killed for wearing any type of Cardinal gear. Nick suggested we become Cubs fans while living there. I said it was absolutely out of the question and should he feel the need to suggest it again, I’d file for divorce (ok, not really but it’s a serious offense!). While I was in the hospital delivering Ivy, the World Series was on. I don’t remember who the Cardinals beat in that series, but it doesn’t really matter. As I sat in my room waitin

I know the secret. I know... It so simple and yet so...contradictory. But it's true. I know it! The secret to the most often asked question particularly among women: What do I have to do to loose weight? Well, let me just tell you...because I KNOW! Here it is. Get ready. It's not eat less or exercise more. It's way easier and less time consuming than that. What is it? I'm going to tell you... GETTING PREGNANT! Yes, that's it! Sorry men, you're out of luck. You'll have to stick with your higher metabolisms and ability to just eat more. I feel no sympathy for you. Yes, I have simply lost 12 pounds and 2 pants sizes in 22 weeks. People usually assume I have dreadful morning sickness. While I did for a while, it's long gone. Well, you must be taking better care of yourself. No, I don't think so. As you know, I'm obsessed with food altogether and have been for some time, not to mention a rigorous worker-outer. Those things have

It's a girl! That's right, we're pregnant again. We had an ultrasound this afternoon and actually got to see a 3-D picture of her face! Weird but very cool. She actually looks a lot like Ivy (big shock). I was actually quite sure that I was having a boy. I guess that women's intuition isn't as right as we gals like to say it is. Oh well. It was surprise to both of us. Nick, of course, is now fearing being outnumbered. He was safe as long as we had our kitties, but since Oberon has found himself a new home (where he's much happier), the estrogen/testosterone ration has been reltaively equal. Of course, Jean-Claude has been neutered, but we'll just pretentd his hormones are all there. Poor Nick now realizes that his bathroom time will be drastically shorter and he will have to learn to braid hair. He will have to threaten two sets of male suitors and deal with three women with PMS every month. He will now have to pay for two weddings and give two

I listen to a lot of books on CD in my car. Sometimes it feels like cheating, but when it’s a book that I really need to pay attention to and just can’t get a decent chunk of time to sit down and read it, this is a good option. I get a lot of these books from the library. The Phoenix Downtown Library is HUGE. It’s got five floors and lots of books on CD (a great writing section too). It’s the perfect way to spend my lunch half hour. One day last week, I’d gone to pick up a copy of Charlie Wilson’s War (a book I couldn’t even get through on CD—politics is just not my thing. It’s like football—goes right over my head.). As I was leaving the library, I was halted by one of many solicitors. I always see a homeless person or two asking for change and usually people trying to get me to donate to some cause. Today, it was a petition. “’Scuse me ma’am, could I have just a moment of your time.” I eye him suspiciously, but stop. After all, I don’t want to be rude. “I’m collecting signa

The phone rings. “Please stay on the line for a message from your doctor.” Sounds important, but I’ve just taken two telemarketing calls. Just in case, I hold on. “This is a message from the Arizona Wellness Clinic for Women. We have a message for Robin Olson. At your convenience, please call 480—“ Crap! I need a pen. What was that number? “Please have your social security number available. Once again, the number is 480—“ Ok, so I’ve been to the doctor lately and had tests run. This must be legit. I wonder what’s up. Why wouldn’t they just call me? Oh well. I hang up and dial the number. “You have reached the Arizona Wellness Clinic for Women patient information line. Please enter your social security number now.” I enter it. “Thank you. To hear your message in English, please press one.” I don’t even wait for the other options. “Thank you. In order to replay your message, we need to make a recording of your full name. Please state your full name after the tone. Beep!”

When Nick comes inside from anywhere, he takes off his socks and shoes. He just likes to be barefoot inside. He also doesn't like shoes on the couch or beds, so when Ivy's inside, most of the time, her shoes and socks come off too. Naturally, this necessitates putting shoes on when we've been home and then decide to go somewhere. Ivy seems to understand this. She LOVES to be outside. She's tall enough to reach the door knob, so it's locked all the time now. She'll go up to the door, try to turn the handle and say "side" when she wants to go outside (which is all the time). When she sees one of us putting our shoes on, she naturally goes to the door and says "side". Yesterday, Nick took Ivy out to the pool for a while before I got home from work. They put their feet in the pool and splashed a bit, but no real swimming (water is still cold). When I got home, they were back inside, shoes off. Ivy wasn't quite done being outside for the day.

The insane heat is on it's way. At this early May date, our high today is only 85 (that's still too hot for May) but last weekend, we reached 100--a reminder of the horrid desert climate that I've managed to somehow imerse myself into. I meet new people all the time--mostly at work. They come from nice cold states like Wisconsin and Massachusetts and say things like, "Oh, it feels sooooo good here." I can't help myself from raining on their proverbial parade. It won't for long. The heat will come. With a vengence. Heat like you've never felt it before. Of course, then they say they'd rather be hot--they can take the heat. Not me! I'll take a blizzard over a heat wave any day. Then, I get a quizzical look and this question: "What are you doing here ?" Excellent question. I have no idea!

I love my birthday. No, no—I LOVE it. It’s my second favorite holiday of the year—second only to Christmas. Strangely, in the seven years we’ ve been together, Nick and I have only been in the same city twice on my birthday. This year will be the third. When we were first together (but not officially together) we were in the same city, but Nick was in the hospital with mono. The second and third years, I was in Kansas City, he was in San Diego. The fourth year, he was in Pensacola, I was in San Diego. The fifth year, we’d just been married and though he was working, we were in the same city. This year, 2005 marked the very first Robin Olson Birthday Extravaganza. WOW! It was AMAZING. I got standard gifts—flowers, chocolate, a lunch date. But then, we took two days off in the middle of the week, packed a back pack with nothing but a change of clothes, went to the airport and said “where’s the next plane going”. It was Oakland. We hopped aboard. This was the first of many random vacatio

The first time Nick and I had dinner together was in his apartment in college. We weren’t officially dating, but I’m pretty sure it happened on the day that we now celebrate as our dating anniversary. I’d just gotten off work and he’d called to ask me what I was doing. “Nothing—I just got off work.” “Wanna come over? I’m making diner.” “What are you making?” “Hot dogs and macaroni.” That actually sounded good. I drove over there and hot dogs and macaroni has been one of our favorite meals ever since. I’ve had to alter it to fit our veg. lifestyle, but I think I’ve gotten it down. Actually, needing to be able to keep making this dish was what sparked my exploration into the world of veggie dogs. I’ve tried several varieties and I really only like the Morningstar Farms brand that comes in the freezer section. And you have to cook them just right. Above all, read the package directions. My first attempt to make them, I admit, was rather arrogant. I knew how to make hot dogs! W

I wasn’t there, so I can’t say for certain that this is exactly what happened, but this is the way I remember my dad telling the story. I’m not sure how old my older brother, Jeremy was, maybe 3 or 4, maybe older. I really don’t know. But Dad was chopping garlic for something and Jerm asked for a piece. Dad insisted that he wouldn’t like it, but Jerm assured Dad that he really liked garlic. I can only assume that it’s pleasing aroma is what caused my brother’s mistake. Garlic smells great. Dad eventually gave in. I can picture my brother, chomping down on that piece of garlic, insisting that he liked it while displaying a horrified grimace. Oh, how I would have loved to be there. Last week I was making Sweet & Sour Tofu (yummy!) for dinner. As is our tradition, Ivy was sitting up on the counter while I chopped vegetables. First the carrot. She took a piece off the cutting board and ate it. Next the green peppers. That was tasty to her too. Next came the onion. Most

Being nutritionally sound is tough! I spend I don’t know how long digging through recipe books to find not only something that sounds good (to both Nick and me) but isn’t bad for us as well. I have a favorite food website, but it’s not what you think. While foodnetwork.com and vegtimes.com are two sites I frequent often, my most reliable food guide is nutritiondata.com. It’s fantastic! I just plug in the ingredients to whatever I’m making and presto! It gives me the nutritional information. I’m actually really in tune to what I’m eating—that’s not to say that I don’t totally blow it calorie wise on occasion. It just means that when I eat naughty food, I always do it intentionally. This little website also helps to answer the “where do you get your protein” question that I get all the time—especially when I’m eating vegan. I realize that I’m at least one of the oddest vegetarians alive since I don’t like vegetables, but having this handy dandy website helps me get my vitamins t

Ivy has a boyfriend. Eric is in her class at daycare. He’s got the cutest sleepy blue eyes and blonde hair. He’s usually already there when we arrive in the morning. I’m not sure how they got to be such good friends, but in her first few months at daycare, it wasn’t unusual for us to find Ivy and Eric together. When we arrived in the morning, Eric always greeted us with a smile and what I can only assume was an affectionate point. It was a sad day when Ivy left the infant room (and Eric) for the toddler room, but Eric soon followed and once again, they were the best of friends. This morning was a bit different. As I was un-strapping Ivy from her car seat, a car pulled in next to us. It was Eric. From his car he was calling out to us—“It’s I. B.” We all walked in together and as soon as Ivy and Eric were free of their mothers’ arms, they went straight for each other. They hugged and kissed as though they’d been apart from each other for weeks. Eric’s mom and I shared an “aw”

I realize that I have a bit of an obsession. I know this about myself and though I’ve tried to overcome it many times in the past, I now realize that it’s a part of who I am and I’m ok with that. I love coffee. No, no, I LOVE it! It’s the most fantastic substance I’ve every consumed. Ask me to pick my favorite food—this is it. My favorite drink—no question. My favorite dessert, the one thing I’d take with me to a deserted island, if I could choose the last food on Earth—all coffee. When I travel, there’s no exception. My boss makes fun of me, but I feel no shame. I recently went on a business trip to New York/Connecticut. Heather (my boss) and I stayed at the fabulous Ryetown Hilton (very rustic and cute—I loved it). When we first got our reservation confirmations, my first task was to call the hotel and see if they had coffee makers in the rooms. Most hotels seem to, but the Waldorf=Astoria did not! Upscale my foot! I was pleased to learn that the Ryetown Hilton did provid

I was in my car this morning, listening to a Chris Rice CD. The first song, Deep Enough to Dream, is a nice upbeat song. It’s a little abstract, but nice, just the same. It’s a song I know well. “Deep enough to dream in brilliant colors I have never seen. I join a million people for a wedding feast. I reach out and touch the face of the one who made me. And oh, the love I feel and oh, the peace. Do I ever have to wake up? Awakened by a familiar sound A clumsy fly is buzzin’ ‘round He bumps the screen and he tumbles down. Gathers about his wits and pride, He tries again for the hundredth time. ‘Cause freedom calls from the other side. And I smile and nod and slowly drift away.” Every time I hear this verse I have the same thought. You jerk—get off your butt and let the poor fly out! Silly, I know. But that buzzing would be enough to keep me

There are two Christian radio stations that I listen to in Phoenix. One of them often plays sermons or other programs (as opposed to music) in the afternoons and early mornings. This morning, on my way home from the gym, I listened to a preacher—who’s name I don’t know—talking about the miracles that Jesus performed in the presence of his disciples. The first one he mentioned was the feeding of the 5000. (Referenced in Matthew 14:13–21, Mark 6:31-44, Luke 9:10-17 and John 6:5-15). The preacher discussed how the disciples were worried that there wasn’t enough food, and then astounded (as was the crowd) and amazed when the food multiplied. The next miracle he talked about was just after this story where Jesus calms the storm. Again, those silly disciples worried. I’m always a bit annoyed when I hear preachers talk about the disciples and their unbelief as though they themselves would have acted differently. Didn’t they remember in the boat how He’d fed the 5000? Of course they did! It wa

Ivy has a toy Noah's Ark that Grandma and Grandpa Schleicher gave her for her birthday. It's a cute little plastic boat with three sets of animals, two each, and of course, Noah. Noah often finds himself in the midst of a storm by way of the dishwasher. Aparently, he belongs there. The animals, too, find themselves wet very often. I was taking a bath one day a few weeks ago, when suddenly, the bathroom door was opened and a zeebra decided to share my bath. He floated, so everything was OK. One can never tell what might find it's way into the ark. It has what I can only describe as a drawbridge at the base of the boat for storing the animals, and Noah has his pertch up on the deck. Ivy seems to be learning how to put different things into different holes. Certainly, animals find their way into the ark, but so do other toys--whatever fits into that hole. She's starting to put her toys back into their bin...and back out...and back in... Nick and I bought her a princess car

Um, yeah, that whole giving up coffee thing? Not happening. What can I say--I missed my morning java...and my afternoon java...and my evening java..and all of the other times of day when I gotta have my java. It wasn't so much an addictive thing--I've said before that I'm not addicted to coffee and I hold fast to that. I just LOVE the STUFF! I made it through October with not so much as a Gloria Jeans until Halloween. We took Ivy to the mall for trick-or-treating and there it was--Holiday flavored coffee (yes, that's right, it tastes like a holiday!). Then there was the peppermint mocha Coffee Mate, and the Starbucks white peppermint mocha--what's a girl to do? I gave in. I actually missed being the crazy coffee person. Shockingly, I did NOT win the award for person who drinks the most coffee at the Make-A-Wish holiday party. I guess I'm not that well known yet. (I totally drink more coffee than Marcia!) Still, the prize was a can of GASP! Maxwell House. Kinda

My Great Aunt Maureen makes an amazing potato dish that she (or someone) always brings to family functions. We call them Aunt Maureen’s Potatoes. (Clever, huh?) I’ve been told that most people refer to them simply as Pot Luck Potatoes. I was actually really disappointed when I heard that. It made them sound generic. Like anyone could make them. I prefer to think of them as something exclusive to the Schleicher/Wirtel family (and now, a select few Olsons). We’re the only one’s who can make them because we’re the only ones with Aunt Maureen…and we’re not letting anyone else have her! The secret recipe will pass from family to family, continuing on the tradition. You can only marry into the family and therefore, learn the secret. You may come to a family gathering as a guest and get to sample the famed potatoes, but don’t ask for the recipe. We’re not telling. You may wonder how to get those crumbly crumbles on top to brown just right and not burn, or how the potatoes stay so white and s