that time i tried to donate my engagement ring to the arts.

this is one of those stories that i will probably never live down. i’ve never told it on here, because i can’t quite believe that my husband hasn’t gotten to everyone in the world to make sure they know it. he’s actually pretty close to hitting that goal, so…valid point by me.

that said, i can’t really blame him for wanting to share my idiocy with everyone. this was a doozy.

it all started on a cold december night. my family has a tradition of going to dinner and a show every year for our christmas outing. we had just finished a delicious dinner at meritage in downtown st. paul (highly recommend), and had taken a few adorable photos in rice park before heading to the theater (theatre?), because Mister Man and i were fairly newly engaged and feeling lovey dovey.

finding our seats was uneventful, we all joked and yucked it up as we sat down to wait for rodgers’ and hammerstein’s “cinderella” to begin. because my ring was a new addition to my life, and i wasn’t totally used to having it on my hand all the time, i started to play with it, twisting it around my finger with my other hand, and sliding it up and down.

ringthe ring in question.

i must have gotten a little excited when the lights went down and flailed my hands a bit. (can you blame me? it’s a great musical, i totally know every single word. and i do tend towards the flail-y side of things.) i must have made just the right wrong motion with my hands, because as the theatre (theater?) darkened completely, i felt my beautiful engagement ring fly off my finger. to some unknown place in front of me. or behind me. or beside me. or possibly all the way to the stage. i had literally no idea which direction it had gone. and promptly broke into a cold-stress-sweat.

my very first thought was: “quick! stand up and yell fire! or stop the play! that way they’ll turn the lights on and we can have everyone help look for the ring!” my second, much more logical thought was: “don’t cry. maybe it’s in your lap. better tell Mister Man what happened and he can help.” i think that when i whispered to my fiance what i had just done, he thought i was telling a really unfunny joke at first. when he realized i wasn’t, he looked a little bit ill. *gulp*

we proceeded to spend the entirety of the first act feeling ourselves up and quietly trying to look around the floor to hopefully catch a glimpse of the sparkler. we had zero luck. the news had passed down the row to my whole family at this point, so my brother even tried shining his cell phone light around. it was most definitely not on the ground immediately surrounding us. i started to have a very physical reaction to the stress(sweating, shaking, giggling uncontrollably, feeling like i was going to pass out), and was counting down the seconds until intermission.

as soon as the lights came up, i jumped on the ladies in front of us and asked them to please not move, i had just thrown my engagement ring at them and i needed to find it. at least, i think i said please. i may have blacked out for a minute or three. and praise the Lord, and Heaven, and St. Anthony, and sweet baby Jesus, that ring was sitting smack dab underneath one of those ladies’ seats. i nearly cried when they handed it to me. i may have almost given one of them a hug but i feel like that would have made them uncomfortable. my family breathed a huge sigh of relief/started to laugh at how dumb i am. my now-husband did not think it was as funny and excused himself to, as he put it, “go throw up in the restroom.”

the moral of this story is: insure your engagement ring and don’t play with your jewelry if you’re a flailer.

the end.

clumsy flailer out!

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date night extraordinaire.

i have the greatest husband. when i asked to be surprised for my “valen-birthday”, he immediately said, “great, got it”, and that was that. and surprise me he did.

when i got home from work on wednesday, there was a note waiting for me (i don’t think he’ll get mad at me for posting this…):


now before you get any ideas, let me just show you what was in the bag up front. get your heads out of the gutters people!

pitch perfect

you have to know that Mister Man did NOT want to watch this movie with me. no matter how awesome i insisted it was, or how much i told him i knew he would like it, he kept refusing. which is silly, because anyone who has seen this movie knows it’s the best. so the fact that he was willing to sit through it with me, twitchy man that he is, that’s pretty wonderful.

we then proceeded to blast “thrift shop” on repeat while i changed into my little pink dress and nighttime makeup. this is the only photo i have of us, because i am the worst at capturing memories of people. whatever. also, please excuse my shaggy dog bangs. they are normal looking as of today.


then my darling MM told me where we were going for our dinner.

wa frost

for those of you not in minnesota, w.a. frost is one of the most delicious restaurants ever. it’s been around forever, and is beautiful and old-fashioned inside. they have a patio in the summer that is like heaven when the weather is nice. it’s fine dining, but the thing i love about them is that you can still eat there affordably if you want. they have an early bird special from 5-6pm where you can get three courses for $28. on mondays they have half-price wine nights. and their happy hour food and drink specials are amazing.

we did the early bird special, because we are 60 years old. and it was so. good. oh. my. gosh. let me  take you on a culinary tour*.

wa frost early bird

we both got the mussels in green curry sauce to start, because they are one of the best things either of us have ever eaten.


for entrees, i got the goat cheese risotto with beet jelly. i only ate half because i ate every last mussel in the bowl and was full, but also, it was so rich and creamy. so good. is that getting redundant yet?


Mister Man ordered the atlantic cod, which was amazing as well, i know because we always trade bites.


for dessert, i got the mini creme brulee, and he got the carrot cake. look how cute my creme brulee is! it’s the size of my palm!

creme brulee

carrot cake

perfectly full, we walked across the street (which is how far away we live from w.a. frost) and poured a couple glasses of wine and settled in to watch pitch perfect. and he liked it. a lot. especially fat amy, because obviously. and then i gave him a million kisses to say thank you for being so awesome and that’s where the story ends for you all, because this is not that kind of blog.

*sorry for the white levels/quality of these photos…i didn’t want to be that girl with the flash in the nice restaurant. it’s weird enough taking pictures of your food, amiright?

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as i was sitting in the family room at my grandpa’s wake over the weekend, eating plate after black plastic plate of pickles and barbecue chips (don’t judge me, salt is my comfort food), when my sister came in and told me that two of my friends were in the lobby. i had to tell her to repeat herself, because i hadn’t heard that any of my friends were planning on coming up. for good reason, the wake and funeral were an hour and a half away.

so i went outside, and sure enough, there they were. and the waterworks began. but happy waterworks, because friends are wonderful. friends come to your grandfather’s wake. friends send you plants at work. friends call you for five minutes to make sure you are feeling okay. friends have lunch with you on sundays to catch up and sometimes they’ll even let you drink a bloody mary while you’re there.

i don’t know if all of my friends read this here blog. i don’t care if they do or not. because i get to text them things like, “scratch that. i’m an idiot.” and they know what i mean.


my baby sister turns 18 today. her golden birthday. seems like just yesterday she was being born, and i was volunteering to be her main caretaker. seriously, i was 8 and i thought that was old enough to be the one to wake up with, feed, and change the baby. the first night she came home, i told my mom not to worry, i’d get up with the baby. the next morning, after a very restful night, my mom asked if the little one had gotten up at all at night….i said no, hoping that was true, and my mom said that she thought it would be best if she took care of the babe from then on. and that’s how mairsie made it to her 18th birthday.

mary and me

happy birthday to a wonderful little sister, we are so proud of you, and so happy that you are in our lives. you’re our little miracle! we thank God for you everyday, even when you’re a little cranky. 😉

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the way to my heart.

i am a big believer in over-using the word love. i love most things and most people. i do. i truly love them. i believe that loving is the reason we were put here on earth. so obviously i’m a big believer in the “treat every day as valentine’s day” mantra.

that being said, i think that valentine’s day is a nice little reminder to all of us that even if we aren’t always romantic (which is fine, everyday love is just as good, if not more important), sometimes showing a little romance is a nice change of pace*.

and if you were married to me, which i’m sure you’re all wishing you were, you would know that my idea of romance is warmth. and warm things. and heat. i think that’s actually why i fell in love with Mister Man in the first place. his first gift to me was a pair of gorgeous fairisle glomitts. glomitts, for the uninitiated, are gloves with a flap that goes over the fingers to make them mittens. they are the most amazing invention of this modern age, i’m sure of it.

well. those first glomitts have been darned and mended within an inch of their life over the past three years, and i don’t even know how to darn! but i just can’t let them go. i feel like i should make them into a blanket for our first child someday (that’s weird, right? i know it is). so what did my husband do today? he left me a little valentine’s day gift:


no honey. i’m the luckiest. because warmth over chocolate, that’s what i always say. and you get it. pink glomitts are the way to my heart.

happy valentine’s day my little loves.

*and really, if we get right down to it, what good is february without valentine’s day anyway?

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prayer cannot always be something that you do in order to get the end that you desire. sometimes prayer has to be unselfish, even when your first instinct is to pray hard for what you want.

it’s hard to wrap your brain around changing the words from “please, i want…” to “please, do what is best…” because as much as we want to say that we want what is best, sometimes the truth is that we want what is gentle. what is easy. what is best according to us.

when all we want to do is to get on our knees and pray that our will be done, to beg and argue that what will make us happiest in this moment is the best way, we need to take a step back. we need to circle it, see it from all angles, stand a little ways from it like it’s a van gogh or seurat.

when we get to the part that says, “thy will be done”, let’s stop there and repeat, repeat, repeat. then pray that soon, “i want” and “do what is best” will be one and the same.

my prayer today for my loved ones is that He brings peace to those who are in need of it, by bringing them home to Him, or by bringing comfort to them in their sadness.


for my grandpa.

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