April Birthdays Bring Hometown Visits

Five months shy of my 30th, I have a bone to pick with birthdays in general. That said, I'm more than happy to help other people celebrate their increase in years. And this weekend, I did just that -- in ye old Washington State.

Since this little one was celebrating her very own 29th, I flew up to surprise her. And surprised she was, much as she tried to deny it.

 This one didn't seem to care one way or another.

To put the cherry on top the proverbial (birthday) cake, I got to spend some time with these fine fellas. One of them was celebrating his own birthday (the one who also appears to be threatening the photographer with deadly assault).  

Eating inordinant amounts of food.

And consoling children due to the heartaches of this life (putting away the Wii)

Apparently it worked.

And since I'm a party-pooper by nature, mom's homemade birthday cake was a health-fest, made from black beans, xylitol, and all my daughterly affection (which is low-cal as well).

As it turns out, the old Benton-Franklin is pretty nice this time of year

So I even stopped by my old neighborhood.

Mostly to avoid mom's homemade orange cake

Happy birthday, Mom and Chase!

Coming up next: Ricardo himself turns the old (and I stress old) Three-Five. Stay tuned. 



Hollywood? WE Would.

After boring you with my intolerance for pain and my reckless display of self-pity over my last few posts, I'm ready to move on to subjects not pertaining to my spinal column.

Do you hear that, L4/L5? I forgive you. Just don't let it happen again (I BEG of you).

So, last weekend, RP and I decided to commemorate the fact that I could once again do something besides watch MadMen and lay in bed (not to say that activity isn't still one of my most prized) -- and spent the day up north.

We Prices tend to flock southward when we want an Orange County break, and we felt bad about our long-time neglect of LA. And that's what drove us to a morning hike in Hollywood (that along with a rare smog-free day in LA and a secret desire to run into reality TV stars).

One thing they never told me on 'The Hills' was that those particular hills offer quite a spectacular view:

And after wandering the trails aimlessly for a good 90 minutes, we actually made it to the Hollywood sign. We're very good at choosing the path less traveled by when confronted with two roads diverged, much to our detriment.

I'd like a word with Robert Frost.

Not to worry; my back held up like a champ -- as did this fine fellow:

And while we were in the area, we paid our respects to the Griffith Obsevatory, both to take in the views and to commemorate my young dreams of becoming an astrophysicist (sorry I gave up on that one, RP).

Luckily I was able to make my apologies to Albert in person.

LA, you're not so bad. We'll see you again soon.

Springing Forward (a/k/a BACK in action)

Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned.

I’ve done nothing but sleep and watch three seasons of Mad Men in the past 10 days.

Give or take.

And that is reason #2 that surgery is awesome.

Reason #1, of course, is the fact that for the first time in 5 weeks, I cannot feel my sciatic nerve, thus enabling me to do #2 without moaning and involuntarily sobbing (except when Don Draper has another self-defining realization).

Last Monday, I had a microdiscectomy/partial laminotomy/epidural steroid injection. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what they did while I was under, but whatever it was, it was sent from on high. And it meant that finally I scored one against the as-yet undefeated L4-L5 disc.

Sadly, I’m not allowed to bend, lift, or twist my body for 4 weeks, which makes daily activities like cleaning and doing laundry out of the question.

Bummer, I know.

RP has been a wonderful nurse/servant since. He’s grown accustomed to me pointing at things below waist-level and fetching them for me, and on the day of surgery, he even stayed at home to feed me saltines and make sure I had bedside adult supervision. In this case, it was an adult rabbit.
Reason #3 and 4 that surgery is awesome came later that day, with a couple beautiful displays from my two favorite sets of parents.

By Easter I was doing a-ok, which allowed me to whip up a few little treats:

All of which were tossed in the trash by ingrate four-year-olds who hadn’t the palate for coconut.

It wouldn’t be Easter without a special shout-out to this Easter bunny, who apparently decided that this holiday was for relaxing:

What she’s trying to say is happy Easter.