Friday, July 30, 2010


Oh snap! That’s right! Lindsay Cookies has expanded into Lindsay Cupcakes. Introducing the original Lindsay S’mores Cupcake. Graham cracker bottom, triple chocolate fudge cake with chocolate chips, and chocolate peanut butter icing with a marshmallow treat under the icing AND on top. I’m drooling just writing about it.

I said I wanted one, so I made one. Actually, I made a bunch. This little cutie wanted his picture taken. Alright, now say goodbye. He won’t last until tomorrow!

Tuesday, July 27, 2010


Music has been a huge part of my life since I was a wee preschooler. I was the weird kid (this is where I expect you to gasp in disbelief, but my gut tells me you’re nodding in agreement). While everyone else played nicely together in the sandbox, I was alone, on the swing set, sailing to and fro as I sang my current favorite song repeatedly. My mom can vouch for this. She often yelled at me for coming home with “black stuff” on the sides of my shorts. “Black stuff” cannot be washed away. I guess black rubber melts off and leaves stains when you swing long enough that your clothing is becoming “one” with the swing. Sorry mom.

So it’s dark out, I’m much older, and there’s no swing set. Instead, tonight, I’m watching Palladia. If you love live concerts and don't get this channel, you’re missing out. Of course, everything is pre-recorded. However, the footage is fantastic and I find myself ready to put on my favorite concert attire, open the windows for that amphitheater “feel,” and start cheering.

This is one of my favorites from tonight. I’ve heard this song many times before. It’s one of the few songs that literally make my heart ache from the moment it starts. It’s not complicated. However, it’s steady rhythm, poignant lyrics, and haunting melody will flood my heart with a bittersweet twinge before my mind has even recalled a memory. I have always been floored at how a song can invoke such a response, so I just thought I’d share…

Monday, July 12, 2010

Frowning on Bedtime

It’s late. I’ll let you in on a secret. While this post will probably be time stamped around 9 or 10pm, it’s actually almost 1am. I haven’t yet figured out why the time stamp is weird. In my haste to create a blog and write my first entry, I probably decided I was on Pacific time.

11pm is the magic hour for me. So, why is it after midnight and why am I still ticking? I hate to go to bed when Lenny’s not here. I don’t know why. Well, yes I do. I hate sleeping alone. Let me rephrase that. I hate sleeping without Lenny. He’s my snuggle buddy. When I don’t want to put my electric socks on, he kindly serves as the warmer of the feet. Lift Lenny, place feet under Lenny, experience incredible warmth while Lenny winces in the darkness and refrains from unkind expletives.

After the feeling returns to my feet and his core temperature has dropped, we continue to dent one side of our mattress by settling in on the same side. That’s right. We could fit a family of four in our bed, but we choose to sleep on the same side. When I’m gone, he holds a pillow. When he’s gone, I just can’t sleep. So, since I am not a fan of watching tv, I find other things to do. Tonight, I’m writing this blog. La la la. I am frowning on bedtime like a kid that doesn’t want to lay down for a nap. Foot stomp (cold foot, that is). Pout. Deep sigh. Not going. Hmmph.

Meet the Kids

News flash…if you don’t already know, Lenny and I do not have human children. We’re now both officially in our thirties and no, we’re not surrounded by drooling babies. I honestly believe that this is by God’s design. We went through a rough patch, our marriage continues to grow stronger, and I’m ever so thankful that kids weren’t caught in the middle of our mess when it was happening. I have nothing against kids. In fact, I’m currently dating a fine fellow named George (otherwise known as “Small”). You can check out George and his lovely family here. Lenny is perfectly fine with this “boyfriend.” In fact, they’ve been seen watching baseball together.

Notice that I said we don’t have human children. I am not ashamed to say that I have two cats and they are like children. If you’re truly going to know me, then it’s time you meet the kids. My mom calls them her “grandcats.” I only have two, so you cannot yet label me the “cat lady.” However, I do love these critters, their little personalities, and the way they have become such a huge part of our family. Meet my kids.


She is my first-born. Given to us by a friend, we brought her home in 2003 just after Hurricane Isabel. For some odd reason, we named her Isabel and have NEVER called her that. Shortly after she joined us, Usher’s duet with Alicia Keys, “My Boo”, became a hit. I started calling her Boo, Boogie, Boo Nuggets, Boo Boo, and probably many other forms of the name. Boo she became.

She was the only child for two years. Prissy, independent, and incredibly sassy, she became a unique playmate. Nightly, even now, she waits around corners for me to appear and then dashes off, in the hopes that I will chase her. What’s the game? Hide behind the shower curtain and run again when I find her. Next hiding place? The living room window sill, behind the curtains. And then? Hide at the top of the steps. When I creep up the steps, pounce on me. We have repeated this routine over the years. She considers it great fun. I continue to be amazed that this sleek little feline is so smart and gets such joy out of a game.

What else is there to know about Miss Boo? Lenny is her man. She is definitely not a lap cat, but you’ll find her in Lenny’s lap. She occasionally allows him to hold her like a baby, with her head on his shoulder. She loves to drink water out of the bathroom faucet and she often cries for someone to follow her and watch her eat (very strange, but very true). She’ll spend ten minutes munching on food if you watch her. If you leave, she’s done. I love this little odd ball.

Oh, Buddy. This little guy is my boy. He is also called Bud-DAY, Butternut Squash, and Buster Douglas. It was midnight, December of 2005, and I had just spent my very first practice with The Great Unknowns. I stopped to get gas at the Shell Station that sits on the Midlothian/Powhatan line. There he sat, eating trash. He was very obviously starving. I had no plans to have a second child and I’m not usually the type to bring home strays. But I spoke to him, and he spoke back. His little teeth were worn down and he had no whiskers. I decided he was coming home with me. And so he did.

I’m fairly certain that he thinks I’m his mother. He follows me everywhere. If there’s not a computer in my lap, then there’s a Buddy in my lap. He gets very annoyed when the space is not available. If I need a break and don’t allow him in my lap, he’ll reach out a paw and touch my shoulder as if to say, “Hey you, you need to pay some attention to me.” He also loves to be held like a baby.

We do not let either of them sleep with us. However, every now and then, when I’m waiting for Lenny to come to bed, I’ll leave the bedroom door open. This little golden ball of fur will hop on the bed, sniff my face, and then lay down right beside me with his head on the pillow. I’ve had other dogs and cats. This is the most unique animal I have ever encountered. If you don’t believe it, come on over and meet him.

I love these critters. I’m hopeful that there will be real children some day. However, these two fur balls will always be my babies. Meow.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

My Eyebrows and My Happy Place

I've never been the type of woman that fusses over my nails. I don’t get them done often. However, there’s something incredibly relaxing about sitting in a massage chair with your feet in warm water while someone buffs your fingernails as you chat with a favorite girlfriend. So I indulge myself on rare occasion. Ladies, if you’ve never done it, treat yourself at least once. It’s good for your soul.

Last time I went, they offered to do my eyebrows and rightly so. Eyebrows are another thing I don’t take adequate care of. My eyebrows tend to resemble the forest floor. You know, that area off the beaten path. You would never wander there for fear that some furry, never-before-seen critter will swallow your foot. Granted, no one is going to step on my eyebrows (I hope). Nevertheless, my brows are pretty scary.

Back to the story. They offered to do my eyebrows. I declined. They kept asking if I was sure. My heart sank a little as they reaffirmed what I already knew about the rugged terrain on my face. I declined over and over, as I was already splurging on the nails.

Fast-forward to this past Monday. Lenny and I slept in, had sushi for lunch, and decided to walk around the mall versus heading home to pass out in a food coma. And behold, what do we find in the middle of the mall? An eyebrow threading stand! That’s right, for just a few bucks, you can get your eyebrows threaded in the middle of the mall. Never heard of eyebrow threading? Check it out here. Of course, most sane people would glance briefly at this and keep moving. However, the sodium-laden soy sauce from lunch must have given me an extra dose of looney-tune-like courage.

Lenny looked at me. He’s so kind about my lack of grooming. Yet he looked excited. How cool was this stand? Wouldn’t I like a break from the wildlife on my face? Feeling ever so bold, I agreed. In the middle of the mall, I sat in a chair and smiled as a lady I’ve never met came at my face with some harmless looking thread. She said that it would be similar to plucking, however, the thread would remove more hair at once and with less pain.

I have a high tolerance for pain. So, I wasn’t worried when she mentioned that it might hurt a bit since this was my first threading experience. Then she began. PAIN. Searing, repeated pain. It was like my eyebrows had grown teeth and decided to attack me for what I was doing. There were people gathering to watch before she started, so I was determined to avoid the fetal position and crying like a baby.

Happy place! I had to go to my happy place! It hit me immediately…I have no happy place. I’ve never really needed a happy place. What is my happy place? I thought of my Granny. She always makes me smile. She's so calming and wonderful to be around . But as I pictured her, she was laughing at me. Despite the pain I was trying to forget, I wanted to laugh with her. So, all at once, I was suppressing tears, laughter, and utter disgust with myself for submitting to such torture.

I swear it took her ten minutes to do one eyebrow. I’m sure it was really three minutes, but it felt like ten. She handed me a mirror. I opened my eyes and the tears escaped. No, I wasn’t crying, but the pain had produced waterfalls behind my eyelids that I couldn’t prevent. My one eyebrow looked lovely. The other was growling at me. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and laughed with Granny for three more minutes.

What’s the point of this story? I’m not sure. Might I try it again? Who knows. Maybe it won't hurt so much the second time. I just know that when my furry facial friends return, I will likely embrace them for a little while and I will never again eat sushi prior to a mall walk.