Last night, I had a chance to attend an event sponsored through Junior League that brought newly elected officials together with JL members to mix and mingle for the night. It was a great opportunity to talk with public servants up close and personal and get a sense of what they are all about while letting them know where Junior League stands on important issues.

(in case you don't know, Junior League of Las Vegas is a volunteer organization of women dedicated to creating and facilitating projects that address the needs of the community. Some past projects have included Ronald McDonald House and Shade Tree Shelter.  Our current focus is health and wellness, particularly as it relates to women and children.)

The event was all very Betty Draper-esque with the politicians mingling with members, although no one was sipping vodka drinks (to my knowledge) and no plumes of cigarette smoke stuck in the ceiling. In the crowd was a representative from the Governor's office, current and past state senators, and various assemblypeople. I also ran into an old work collegue who didn't recognize my married name, but said I looked "beautiful" (::blush::) despite the fact that my suit was a little on the snug side.

Two state senators were honored for their work to help improve the conditions for women and children in the state. One senator played an integral part to help prevent against Fetal Alcohol Syndrome by passing a law requiring bars and restaurants to post signs in the bathrooms regarding the dangers of drinking while pregnant. The other senator was the youngest woman ever to serve in the Nevada legislature and was a part of numerous committees, including chairing the Clean Indoor Air Coalition. Hearing the accomplishments of both women was both inspiring and exciting.

During the speeches, I also thought about the current book on my nightstand: "Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity" by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl Wudunn. They are a married couple (and recent Pulitzer Prize winners) that have traveled to terribly impoverished nations, looking for ideas to end global poverty, stop sex traffiking, and end honor killings.  Amazingly, they found an answer: invest in women.

Not only is it morally imperative, they say, but it's strategically necessary to empower and educate women. Women are naturally forward thinkers; we have to be. We are the ones that raise the kids, and as any mother would attest, planning your day/week/month is essential to just general survival. Women, more so than men, also need to be incredibly inclusive in their thinking, because their decisions immediately impact not only themselves, but also their children (who are more than likely with them for the majority of the day). Women tend to be more empathic than men, and are more likely to offer aid to another. Women who are well-educated and who have an independent income naturally find a voice in the family and in democratic society. They gain the power to speak out and resist the injustice they see around them, or are suffering themselves.

Therefore, by investing in women, you essentially invest in a better world.

I'm not done with the book yet, but the last section is called "Lifting Women Lifts the World." I couldn't agree more. I found this same sentiment echoed in a recent program on NBC called "Harmony." While it's main message was about finding new ways to combat climate change, it had a segment that examined the extreme poverty in some parts of India. And again, answer was the same: invest in women. While men struggle to farm and raise crops, giving a wife and mother a micro loan of $25 allows her to buy supplies to create wares. She sells the wares, is able to buy more supplies, sell more wares, and before you know it, she is feeding her family. The biggest benefit? Not only are the children fed, but they also gain important life lessons by watching their mother's success.

So as I was standing there in that room last night with all of these thoughts swirling in my brain, I couldn't help but look around at all of the intelligent, committed, and passionate women that were there. It made me so proud to think of what we can accomplish as a group, an organization that is directly affecting a community and changing lives for the better. We have the opportunity and resources to do so much, and to make such a difference.

So next time you're mulling over a problem, whether is global or very local, remember this: invest in women. It's worth its weight in gold.

For more information, please check out:
http://www.halftheskymovement.org.

Most of us know that in literature, there are seven basic conflict themes. Man v. technology, man v. the supernatural, man v. destiny – these are examples of conflicts that give structure to the plot. The theme is classified based on how it corresponds with the movement of the protagonist, and the protagonist (usually) works to resolve his/her conflict by the end of the story.

Is that enough English Lit 101 for the day? Sorry to get all Wikipedia on you for a moment, but I found myself analyzing the plot structure of the most recent episode of The Bachelor with those thoughts close at hand. I just didn’t expect ABC to cram in three conflicts in one episode when it’s not even Sweeps month.

With Brad as our protagonist, let’s examine them, shall we?

Man v. Self

This is an easy one to see coming. Poor Brad set the stage for himself last week, proclaiming how much he’s changed and even had his therapist offer a brief commentary.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that Dr. Parker’s little voice is clearly echoed in Brad’s subconscious during each individual date. First with Ashley, Dentist and Hand Gesture Enthusiast, Brad looked surprised when she told him about her absentee father issues as casually as if she was ordering another glass of wine. (‘He was homeless most of my life…and probably still is,” she said lightly, with a wave of her hand). Brad responded reluctantly, but confessed some of his own plaguing, paternal problems. It was almost as a light above his head lit up (or maybe it was just the glare of the carnival?) as he heard Dr. Parker’s voice in his ear: tell her, Brad. You are safe. It’s just you, Dr. Ashley, her hands, and a national audience. Open up to his woman. You can do it, my boy. Dr. Parker is Brad’s Jiminy Cricket.

Then the same thing happened with Jackie during their “Pretty Woman” inspired date. (Is it just me, or is that kind of a slap in the face? I mean, let’s not forget Julia Robert’s character was a prostitute with serious fashion problems. Really? Do all women aspire to have a date that starts as a hooker with no taste?) Brad turned into Jackie’s therapist during dinner, telling cautious-and-what-appears-to-be-real Jackie that because she has only had two significant relationships in her life, she is “just like me, three years ago.” No Brad, she is not you.  It means that she has an intelligent head on her shoulders and doesn’t idealize marriage the way you do. It also means she is likely 23 to your 40-plus years, so give the gal a break.

Anyways, it will be interesting to watch as Brad continues to wrestle with those internal demons. Listen to your head, or throw caution to the wind and find love in four weeks? Considering he’s done this once before, I’m guessing we all know the answer. This is, after all, The Bachelor: Contractually Obligated to Find Love This Time Around*.

Man v. Animal(s)

And by animals, I, of course, mean Melissa and Raichel. What the what? What was all of that drama all about? And why did Melissa go spilling her guts to Ali and Roberto (henceforth known as “Alberto”) during her interview? Could the two of them not leave each other alone for four minutes before declaring what they were all about? It was like watching chickens peck at each other. I’ve never lived on a farm, so I don’t know much about chicken behavior (especially when the rooster is in the henhouse), but my goodness ladies, this isn’t “Real Housewives of an Undisclosed Southern California Mansion.” This is ABC. Let’s pull it together.

(Wo)man. V. (Wo)man

By that, I mean Michelle v. Emily.

And this friends, is the reason I’m going to tune in next week.  

I cannot imagine a more epic showdown than those two. I am praying (no spoilers! Don’t tell me!) they are the final two. The producers have done a masterful job in just two episodes of framing both women as polar opposites of one another (yet they are both mothers to girls. Interesting).

I can just see it now…(::booming voice::)…in this corner, weighing in at 117 pounds, is the dark-haired, pale-lipped Michelle, hairdresser from Utah and mother to one. She just turned 30 (did you hear?), likes Starbucks, always has turkey and water in her fridge and has a penchant for abnormally large earrings. She won’t hesitate to pitch a fit, wave a rose in your face, or make Brad play defense.  And in the opposite corner, weighing in at 121 pounds (the extra four pounds is mascara), is blond-haired, angelic Emily. She’s sweet, she’s Southern, and she hasn’t told Brad that she is a mother and her fiancé died in a plane crash. (I mean, I know she said she’s not super open, but don’t you think that would come out in the first week or so?)  She’s about as nice as the day is long, and definitely will not be the one to make the first move.

It’s like watching the Evil Queen v. Snow White. Or the Evil Stepmother v. Cinderella. Or Ursala (a very, very skinny version) v. Ariel.

All of which, coincidentally, are Disney movies.

Anywho, the other girls sadly fade into the woodwork when those two are around. It’ll be interesting to see how Brad reacts to Emily’s life story. Or to see if he caves (again) when Michelle pouts in the corner.

Stay tuned!


*sadly, I was not clever enough to make up this phrase. Kristen Baldwin at Entertainment Weekly coined it first. Nice job, Kristen.

I need apologize for not writing much as of late.

I discovered 'Angry Birds' on the iPad.

For those of you unfamiliar with it, stay away. It's worse than crack. It is the dumbest premise in the world: some birds lost their eggs. You find out quickly that these evil pigs stole them. So you have to clear levels by sling-shooting birds into pigs. Really. And the pigs are encased in wood, glass, cement, etc. Seriously, it's brain-numbing, but so satisfying to hit a pig. Sometimes the pigs even wear helmets. Or have mustaches.

It has taken up more time that I dreamed. It's an incredible waste of time and therefore insanely addictive. I was on level 1 for awhile on Saturday morning, and looked up to find that two hours had passed. Scotty learned the concept of "individual play" very well that day while I killed some pigs (along with a lot of time.)

And while the premise is silly, I found myself getting strangely into it by level 2. You find out that the first round of pigs were just decoys (a hoax!) and the birds' eggs are still missing. What? I actually felt offended. As in, if someone took my egg (i.e Scotty), yes, I would be flinging myself into sides of buildings to get him back. So, yeah, I'm going to keep playing until my eggs are returned to me. Hmph. 

And hence, the lack of blog entries.

I promise to write more...just as soon as I finish that last level...

...I offer you a delicious pork chop recipe.

(rest assured, the freezer was delivered - on time - by the good people of Sears. They even moved the file cabinet to make extra room for our beauty. I had this random thought to stage a photo for the blog by putting Scotty in there (with a caption like "Polar Bear!") and then I thought better of it since that would have been weird/dangerous/creepy.)

We had these for dinner tonight. Paired it with a Parmesan cous-cous and steamed peas. I had two happy guys! Well, kind of.

Costco Pork Chops by Kim

2 cups mashed Saltine crackers (about 1/2 a sleeve of crackers)
1/2 cup of Parmesan cheese
1 Tbl spoon of Italian seasoning
1/2 Tbl of garlic powder
2 Tbl melted butter
4 Costco pork chops

Heat oven to 425.

Put Saltines in a Ziploc bag. Hand bag to your freakishly strong baby. Watch as he mashes all of your crackers into a fine powder. (in lieu of a toddler, you can also substitute mashing crackers with a rolling pin). When he's done, mix Parmesan, Italian seasoning, and garlic powder into bag and shake. Pour into a flat dish. Melt butter in another flat dish. Sprinkle a dash of salt on the pork chops you plan to eat; wrap the additional Costco pork chops in Saran wrap and label appropriately. (should yield approximately 6 ready-to-freeze pork chops). Dip remaining pork chops in butter and then coat in cracker/cheese mixture. Bake in a foil covered dish for 30-40 minutes, depending on the thickness of the chop. Set oven to "Warm and Bake" when 60 minutes have passed and your husband is still not home from work. Call husband repeatedly. Serve with peas and a healthy side of guilt. Enjoy!

(Editor's note: I was successfully able to work through my fear of Costco through systematic desensitization (i.e I just keep going...and it keeps getting easier and easier. Which, as you will read, may or may not be a good thing.)

Yearly membership to Costco: $50

# of trips I've made to Costco since the maiden voyage: 4

# of friends I've gone with/seen there:  3

# of blocks of cheese I have bought in those four visits: 2

# of lbs of cheese that equates to: 4

# of samples I have tried: 5

# of samples Scotty has tried: 3

# of samples I didn't give to Scotty but he managed to wrestle out of my hands: 2

# of pork chops in a Costco pack: 10

# of dollars said pork chops cost: $11.99 (!!)

# of nights per week we will be eating pork chops: 5

# of minutes it took me to realize our current freezer just simply does not have enough storage space:  14

# of minutes it took to convince Brian that we needed a larger freezer: 38

# of minutes I spent analyzing freezers (upright, chest or mini?) in order to find the right one for us?  204

# of stores I dragged a teething baby to in order to find the chest freezer of my dreams: 3

# of times I called Brian to complain about the teething baby and lack of good chest freezers in this town:  4

# in percentile that the chest freezer of my dreams was discounted: 30

# in dollars of the cost of the chest freezer of my dreams: $388.80

# of times I hugged the Sears salesperson: 2

# of fist bumps Scotty gave the Sears person: 9*

(*he was incredibly patient...and helpful...I love Sears!)

# of minutes it took to herd Scotty out of Sears since he was on foot and not in the stroller: approximately 25

# in dollars I paid for a new label maker so I could accurately label my pork chops, lest we eat a newer chop before an older one (egads!):  $29.99

# of times I've mentioned to Brian how insanely excited I am about the new freezer and my accurately-labeled pork chops: 3

# of times Brian sighed when I told him the above statement: 3

# of times Brian has asked, "Is this whole Costco thing really saving us money?":  4

# of times I've totally blown off Brian's question, since this Costco thing has awaken an organizational, grocery-shopping side of me that I never knew existed:  4

Ahh, Costco. I love you! And my freezer is set to be delivered in t-minus 45 minutes! Wa-hoo!

We've had some pretty gnarly weather here in Vegas for the past several weeks. (As I type this, the sun is shining, but less than 48 hours ago, white stuff was raining from the sky. No dead birds, thankfully.)

I snapped this picture the week of Christmas.  It is of our street. It's supposed to show the mountain we live next to...but there is no mountain to be seen, just clouds.

The cloud cover was low enough to touch. I'm not sure when cloud cover becomes fog, but we don't really ever deal with fog in the desert. Or do we? Can someone look this up for me?

Anyways, the point of this whole post is that those crazy-low clouds lead to extreme winds, which in turn knocked down a gigantic branch off of the tree in front of our house. Now, I'm all for yard and landscaping and consider myself fairly proficient with both our lawn mower and shrub trimmer, but this was out of my bailiwick.

So I called Brian, Ye of the Great List of Referrals. (I swear, he is the best person to call for darn near anything related to services in Vegas. Plumbers, electricians, general contractors, etc. He has an entire office of people to ask and can usually get back to me within 45 minutes. Impressive.) I told him we needed a lawn care service, stat, and one that could take down branches the size of small cars but without killing or hurting our tree. I was very concerned about our tree and have become quite fond of it in the six months we've lived here. 

And not only did the Great Referral Source agree that I should not be climbing trees with power tools (made only more dangerous by my crippling fear of heights), he suggested using a certified arborist. Be still by heart!  A certified arborist! The Rolls Royce of lawn care services!  I cannot describe the love I felt towards this man in that moment; not only does he love me and our baby, but he loves our trees! And wants to make sure they live to see another season! Hurrah!

So I called and they came out today to repair our ailing little tree. It was painful to watch the hacking of limbs, but I kept telling myself, "This is necessary. Sometimes you gotta break some eggs if you want to make an omlette." Probably the most unexpected part is that the workmen's actions kept Scotty fascinated for a full 30 minutes as he gazed out the window. Nothing has ever kept his attention for this long - TV, the iPad, me dancing like a loon. But our front yard was quite a sight to behold when there is man in your tree.

Could this be a possible career choice for our little Bear one day?

A mom can only dream.

::sigh::

Ah, Brad Womack.

He's baaaaa-aaaack.

In the sake of fairness, I need to report that I did not watch his season (which apparently was the comment du-jour of the night, poor guy.) Because if you are like me and had to Google him, he's the guy that spurned both Jenni and Deanna and somehow earned him the reputation of the most hated guy in America. I thought that belonged to Wes? I don't fault the guy for not picking either girl; I mean, how is that worse than say what the English guy did by picking Lorenzo Lamas' daughter, showing up at about 12 red carpet events, and then breaking up oh-so-unceremoniously? Or any other Bachelor for that matter. The only Bachelor to find "true love" on the show was Jason, who just recently married Molly - but not before breaking up with Melissa on national television.  (yes, we all know the Trista and Ryan story, but she was the Bachelorette, not the Bachelor.)

Love is a messy, messy thing.

And yet, Brad spent three years in therapy, hashing out his issues and trying to get the root of all evil. (It was the 'I leave before you leave' scenario, ultimately, as a result of an absentee father.)

Anyways, just to keep everyone up-to-date on the Bachelor history, let's remember that Deanna went on to be the Bachelorette and she picked that weird surfer dude but broke Jason Mesnick's heart, who became the next big B and picked Molly (after that whole Melissa nastiness), and his season introduced us to Jillian (loved her!) who picked Ed who had trouble in the bedroom ("he was sunburned...and tired...and hungry." Um...okay) but spurned Jake who later became the Bachelor and despite his good looks and white teeth, he was really a psycho who argued with Vienna in front of a very concerned Chris Harrison and Tenley ended up falling in love with Kiptyn but not before Ali (Yellow Ali, as I dubbed her) was the Bachlorette and picked Roberto and left the lovely Chris L heartbroken with his plaid couch with his dead mother and adorable golden retrievers.

Did he have a golden retriever or am I making that up? It's all starting to blur together.

Whew. I really need to turn off the TV.

The point here: Brad's second season brings us full circle.

And I'm guessing the producers went through several possible subtitles, much like Jake's "On the Wings of Love" or the English's guy (what was his name??) "London Calling!." Here are Brian's and my guesses:

The Bachelor: What I Learned in Therapy

The Bachelor: The Flogging of Brad Womack

The Bachelor: Damn the Yankees
(was it me or did every girl with a Southern accent get a rose?)

The Bachelor: I Forgot my Anxiety Meds in the Limo; Please Don't Yell at Me Tonight

(the last one is my favorite)

Okay, let's get to the good stuff: the ladies. Um...wow. Was it me or did they intentionally set up the beautiful, widowed Southern Belle to be the last story, and then always play that cheesy music every time she was on screen? I get it, I get it: Emily organizes fundraisers at a children's hospital. She lost the love of her life in a plane crash and found out she was pregnant right after the funeral. She has impossibly slender legs. Yes, we get it: she's perfect. She is the Tenley of this season (or is Keltie?? Keltie is super bubbly but Emily has a great tan. I call this one a draw.)

But it's clear to say that Michelle (?), the hairdresser from Utah, is the villian. Madison, Ye of the Fangs, must have missed the bus to the VH-1 studio and somehow winded up on squeaky-clean ABC and then pretended to bite Brad's neck as he inexplicably offered her a rose. Ashley the Dentist looks just like Ashley the One who Dressed up Like a Flight Attendant from Jake's season and looks mindlessly needy. I was surprised Alli, aka Booty Girl ("A guy broke up with me because he said my booty wasn't petite enough!") got a rose, and ditto for both Chantels (or Shawntel, depending on your preference). But good-bye, blond girl in the black dress who looks like a cross between Kristin Cavalleri and Kim from Real Housewives of Atlanta. As Brian commented, "You watch so much reality TV that you are actually starting to compare all of them."

Yes, I get it. I need to turn off the TV. But as I told him, this is research for the blog...

But our bachelor stayed the course and tried really, really hard to convince everyone he has changed. I'm surprised Thomas Parker PhD didn't make a surprise appearance during the cocktail party. You could tell Chris Harrison was getting increasing uncomfortable as Brad blathered on about how he's changed, what he's learned, etc, and Chris was probably motioning to the producers, "Send in the therapist! He's been talking for three hours!" I am happy, however, that therapy got the national spotlight and I'm sure Dr. Parker's phone is probably ringing off the hook right now.

Okay friends, let's make some predictions: who has legs? I'm putting money on Emily the coal-miner's daughter and Michelle from Salt Lake City. I think Lindsay is a wild card, only because she's from Texas, too. What about Nanny Ashley who got the first impression rose? Thoughts? Comments? Is Brad going to have a breakdown this season? Have we seen the last of Jenni and Deanna? Does Chris Harrison want to have dinner at my house?

Discuss, please.

This blog entry is brought to you by the letter 'B.'

B is for...

and...

and finally...

Our trip to Santa Monica was a smashing success. Have I mentioned I love 16 months? It's really the greatest age, ever. Aside from an early wake-up time (and Brian and I tip-toeing through Adam and Tiffany's house, begging the Bear to please, please be quiet), this is an ideal time to travel. (car travel...not sure how the Bear would be in the friendly skies. We're not going to find out).

I mean, he is down to one nap, which makes scheduling easier, and was a delight about 90% of the time. The other ten percent was spent screaming in the bath, running from the 60 pound bulldog that had an unnatural affection for our little guy, and screaming his head off from Barstow to Vegas. (and his defense, it was a long time to be in a car seat. I felt as though his protests, though annoying and ear-splitting, were justified.) But I'll take 10% bad as long as there is 90% good any day of the week.

As promised, Scotty also had a lot of firsts.

First meal at Chik-Fil-A:

First time living with a dog for more than 24 hours...

...although you may be saying to yourself right now, "Hmm...that's the second picture we've seen of Teddy, but the Bear is nowhere to be found." And the reason for that is Scotty was scared out of his mind of the dog. He didn't cry, but the two were like opposite ends of a magnet; if Teddy went this way, Scotty went that way. The only safe zone was the dining room and Scotty spent a lot of time in there. 

I think it was the combination of a very large animal (something Scotty has no experience with) along with the loud noise Teddy's nails made as they clattered along the (gorgeous) hardwood floors. Big sight + loud sound = one nervous Bear. By Saturday, Scotty had warmed up considerably and would venture within about 2 feet of Teddy, but that was about it.

And finally, his last major first: seeing the ocean for the FIRST time ever. What a lucky kid. I didn't see the Pacific Ocean until I was in my 20s. (one of the pitfalls of growing up in Chicago, I guess.) It was cold, as you might glean from what we are wearing, but it was so fun to see him shuffle through the sand and gaze at the big, blue sea. And not to fear, the Cheerio cup was there for moral support. (of course).

But aside from Scotty enjoying the beach, I think my favorite part was going with Adam and Tiffany and seeing how happy/sweet they were with our little guy. Evidence below.

Will Scotty have a playmate soon? Let's hope so!!

(thanks for a wonderful weekend!! Love you.)