If You Give a Moose a Muffin

So Ryan has spent the last four eventful days at a trade show in Chicago. On Tuesday, day two to be exact, I was reminded of the time when upon coming home to our closet-sized apartment in Logan, I was hit directly in the face with a moose. Attached to the ceiling, the moose must have been calculated exactly at Leslie Barlow's eye level. The sentiment was simple: I miss, make that moose you. I kept the moose and this week the sentiment of missing, or moosing, has hit me in the face as though -again- stapled to the ceiling with pupils parallel to mine.
Our conversations this week have been totally mundane. I have been assured, make that guaranteed I will be coming out to the windy city next year, recovering from spinal taps or not. We've even discussed taking the twins out to the trade show, dressed like Kangaroos, to act as makeshift mascots and hand out fliers. At any rate, I'm sort of jealous that every time I talk to Ryan he's like--
"I'm on my way to grab some Thai food."
"I'll call you after I'm done sight seeing downtown-man, you would love it here."
"Sorry I can't hear you, I'm at a Jazz Club."
(From which I have been promised a souvenir.)

and every time he asks what I'm doing.

You know the drill, it's wiping, feeding, cleaning, carpooling, refereeing, punishing, something, someone, three little someones. Luckily with the help of "who's your favorite aunt?" (some people nickname themselves) Jocelyn. Honestly, what has the windy city got on Jocelyn?

In the midst of a rainstorm and a couple of really bad migraines and two four-year old temper tantrums that were inevitable this week we set out to conquer the world by way of the kitchen. Who knew we could concoct our own recipe for organic Beef Stew? Chicken Stir-fry? Oven-bake homemade french fries to compliment a rotisserie chicken? And finally in a crowning event for which we are still patting ourselves on the back, Magelby's carrot raisin muffins with secret caramel nut topping, equally as satisfying as finding the perfect Halloween costume.


I'll bet you can't guess what it was.

Experimenting in the kitchen has trickled into other areas, like what would happen with a little hair gel and this girl?




Don't you think pigtails should come with some kind of warning? After careful thought I have devised it: do not attempt pigtails unless you are fully prepared to see your baby turn into a toddler before your very eyes. This day was a doozey because I put her in this outfit the twins wore, like yesterday.


A pigtail silhouette.

And a whole bunch of other Ryan-proof things: Gilmore Girls marathons, shopping expeditions, cozy afternoons with Little Women, chatty chatty nights with no mention of technology, and, finally, circa 9 pm tonight, the realization that why yes, we could in fact put nuts in the muffins without suffering the wrath of our test group. Even more ironic, while consuming said muffins and watching said Gilmore Girls, the following phrase entered our muffin-numbed minds:

"All I'm saying is, sometimes eating a walnut is preferable to getting hacked to death or set on fire during dinner."

I think I will commit that one to memory.
See you tomorrow Tiger.