Juxtaposing

I love a good juxatapostion. And for me, there is none quite like big manly car vs a tiny, girly me. This case of opposite attraction occurred just before my 16th birthday and ended with me and my baby. A 1994 Toyota Landcruiser. This vehicle wasn't one I had grown to love after road trips and rush hour traffic; this is one that I aggresively and passionately loved. I told my neighbors every chance I got how much I loved their car, and magically enough it worked. A few short days after my 16th birthday that baby was mine, in exchange for 24 cold cans of Diet Coke. That car was everything to me, and not just because of the promises of freedom and the secrets it concealed, but because in a family of eight it was the one thing I had ever owned that was mine. It was not something my older sister could beg me to borrow and the rest of my siblings were far from driving age. Most Saturday mornings you could find me washing, waxing and vacuuming every inch of that baby until she shined like a penny. I even remember crying the time she choked to a stop in the right lane of Buckley Road. I remember thinking, "You can't die!"

It is these fond memories of my first car that make the death of my second one so cold. This one was newer, sportier and much girlier than my baby would ever be. She didn't even get a name. So after about 5 grand and a resurrected Jeep Liberty, my dear Methodist friend will be blessing her and we will be christening her with love and a name. I'm thinking Bessie.

Chicago, I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU!!!

So for the last year we have been living in the South. Not the deep south or the dirty south, just kinda South-ish. Definitely more South-ish than I am used to, that is for sure. We have something here called snow days. Now, if you are from Chicago you have no stinkin' clue what a snow day is. You might have heard of such a glorious occurrence, but you have certainly never experienced it. A snow day is a day when it snows more than an inch, so you don't have to do anything. You don't have to work. You don't have to check your mail-- 'cause guess what, the postman ain't working either. You just do nothing. Since experiencing this phenomena, I have been considering living in a more South-ish place. I think this is all a part of Rory's master plan. You see, Rory hates the winter and would much prefer living somewhere South-ish. Despite all of his brainwashing, today i was reminded way I would rather live in a world with no snow days:

Best. City. Ever.

Palmer House Lobby

(I went to Prom here)

Cloudgate (aka the bean)

Staircase in the Rookery

(almost every building has incredible architectural features)

Sears Tower

{you will always be the tallest building in our heart}

Jeweler's Building

there used to be a huge, car-sized elevator in the back so that the robber barons and their wives could shop for jewelry one floor at a time and not even have to leave their cars.

Art Institute of Chicago

keepin it classy

Chicago Cultural Center

Used to be the Library

View from my Grandma's apartment

Dying of the Chicago River for St. Patrick's Day

{not photo-shopped!}

DIY Madness

As of late we have become quite the diy-ers. The school year's coming to a close and I have little bit of creativity left in me to spruce up the house. And of course, Rory's manliness is always helpful:)

First, we took this old barn door we found in Lancaster and turned it into a coffee table. We still have to put the hardware on it, but we love the weathered look.


Then I sewed some pillows to brighten up our dark sofa. Every month we get the pottery barn catalog and I just drool over it. But I know I could never convince Rory to spend $40 on a pillow. So, I learned how to sew. Here's a pretty good tutorial for creating your own Pottery Barn pillows.


Next we decided to re-upholster our chairs. Previous to their extreme makeover these babies were sporting green crushed velvet and crocheted heart seats. They were also about as comfortable as rocks. So we bought some chair pads and went to work.

First we removed all the staples/tacks holding in the fabric.
Then we cut the chair pads to fit our seats.
We used spray adhesive to adhere the chair pad foam to the seat. Then we stapled on a layer of batting, followed by our fabric.
Ta-da! The final product.

Genes

My mother has some amazing gene that allows her to never gain a pound. The woman has weighed the same since baby 1, and that was 24 years ago. The most miraculous thing about this gene is that my mom NEVER works out. She just automatically looks awesome everyday of her life. Oh, and on top of that she eats tons of chocolate and NADA. Not a pound. Well, I was lucky enough to inherit this gene until yesterday. When it decided to fail terribly. Unfortunately, the constant chocolate-crave gene, which I also inherited from her, has not failed terribly. So I am stuck with a J. Lo booty and an unstoppable craving for chocolate. What's a girl to do? If you have any bright ideas let me know, I'll be eating my chocolate.

As heard in room 205

Today my culture class presented their heritage projects. We have literally spent weeks researching, summarizing, conferencing and creating glogs on a country. This was the culminating event. Students brought in authentic foods, prepared five minute presentations, and invited the principal. I was super excited for my kiddos to strut their stuff. Well, let me tell you, those kiddos did me right proud. That is until a boy we'll call Cole presented. Cole spent an extensive amount of time researching India. I read his paper, and it was spot on. I'm not really sure what happened when it went from paper to his mouth, but it came out something like this: "In India everybody's like the people in Senegal. They are all Christian and they eat microwave pizza. And that's pretty much it." OMG. Try smoothing that one over.

Latest Obsessions.

1. Zumba

Zumba is like a Spanish teacher's dream. Crazy good Spanish music mixed with cha-cha, salsa and reggaeton. Need I say more? I shake my groove thing in the back row laughing at how awesome we all look. I share the last row glory with one other woman; her name is Gloria and she's 76. Gloria has put me to shame every class so far. Her hips don't lie.

2. Issac's

Greek food reminds me of weekends spent in Greektown in Chicago with the fam. The staff would have to push two or three tables just to accommodate our crew. We would then spent the next three hours talking, laughing and eating the most delicious and decadent food known to mankind: saganaki, dolmades, lamb, orzo, tzatziki, falfal, baba ganoush and baklava. Issac's in Roanoke brought back those feelings of pure euphoria. Don't skip the white chocolate bread pudding.

3. Motown

Can you think of something better to listen to while cooking dinner or getting ready in the morning? If you unfamiliar with this fabulous genre, try The Lion Sleeps Tonight by the Tokens. It'll put a smile on your face faster than you can say "mbube"

Bahston

One of the first times I ever met Lauren we got into a great debate about which city was better: Washington D.C. or Chicago. We have now come to the conclusion that they are both fantastic in their own unique ways and that no other city in the world could come close. At least that was our conclusion until a couple of weeks ago when we embarked on a journey to Boston. In fact Boston's official slogan is "The third best city in the United States." It's skyscrapers pale in comparison to Chicago's Sears (not Willis) and John Hancock Towers or the new Aqua Building and none of the museums were free like in DC (though I did try to sneak in on a few tours but got caught each time), so why is it so wonderful? I spent a significant amount of time attempting to come up with a creative and interesting way to express my feelings from that weekend, but cannot. Lauren has an extremely appealing writing style, but unfortunately I cannot say the same of mine(probably a result of the many boring scientific journal articles I was forced to read for school). With this depressing realization running through my mind I have opted for the Lebron James choice (aka the cop out). And so I present to you our pictures:


This actually has nothing to do with Boston, but the hotel we stayed at gave us a rubber duck. He was my companion for the weekend since Lauren was in conferences all day. I don't think he appreciated the city very much though...





This is on the front entrance to the Boston Public Library. The person there is Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom. Above her is the phrase "Free to All" meaning all the knowledge and wisdom that the library contains should be free to the general public. If only vet school felt the same way.



We met up with my buddy Jeff and after a fantastic dinner (we were told we couldn't be seated for 2 hours so he tells them he works for the Ritz Carlton and suddenly we're being seated within 5 minutes. AMAZING!) we went to Mike's Pastry, which apparently you can't leave Boston without going to. Lauren and I got 8 cannolis and between the two of us and the homeless guy we met on the street they were gone before we got home the next day.


Special thanks to Jeff and my classmate Kiara for acting as tour guides for me as I wandered throughout "The third best city in the United States."

This is not a joke

This is a real live conversation I had with a student today.

Random girl I've never met walks into my classroom: I want candy.

Me: That's nice.

Random girl: You married?

Me: Yes

Random girl: Your husband come round here and see me he say, "oh i want her" (pointing to herself)

Me: Doubtful.

Random girl: How old are you?

Me: 30

Random girl: Yous look like a baby. Yous look but 22.

Me: That's nice.

Random girl: Ooo you husband old. He don't want me. He want my mama. Yah, yah he want my mama.

Me: ...

Ay Caramba

This lovely little creature decided to grace the floor of my classroom today. It caused more drama than any of the baby mama stories I've heard. Girls jumped on their desks screaming, others screamed in defense for this "cute" (seriously,
people?) bug. They definitely did not discuss a classroom management procedure for this.

Don't do the YMCA in Indiana

After a hot, McGrath-less summer we decided that a trip to Chicago was in order. We were a week from starting school and this would be our last hurrah. We headed out after my last day of work and drove the 14 hour stretch. This would allow us to arrive at about four a.m. Now, if any of you have ever lived with me you are aware of my many idiosyncrasies. One of the most glaring being that after 9 p.m., I kinda lose my mind. No alcohol necessary. I find everything, and I mean anything and everything, hilarious and have more energy than a three year old who just drank an entire pitcher of kool-aid. Now trap me in a car from 9 p.m. to 4 am. I know. My poor, poor husband. As we rolled through Indiana around 2:30 am, the elementary school dance jam YMCA graced the air waves. A dance party was in order. As I wildly busted out my 90's grooves, a blue and red flashing light appeared in our rear view mirror. Yes, despite Rory's fixed attention on the road, my dance moves caused the Indiana police force to believe we were very heavily under the influence of alcohol. My poor, poor husband. After being interrogated, it was determined that my dance moves were just a little out of control and we were let off with the warning that I better not bust a move while I was driving.

Top Two Reasons why I (Rory) Want to Live in Alabama.

I think that the following two videos speak for themselves.

And here's just one more reason why if you weren't completely convinced!

Top Two Reasons Why I (Lauren) Will Never Live in Alabama

I think that the following two videos speak for themselves.







If you get a chance watch the remix

Night Owl

I'm used to having a husband around to help me take care of myself. I know that sounds juvenile, but sometimes I forget. I get so wrapped up in reading that I forget to do normal things... like eat or sleep. This week he is starting his job in D.C. and I'm helping the fam out in Chicago, which means my sleeping habits have gone completely, utterly AWOL. Ever since I can remember I've been a night owl. As soon as I could pick up a book, I spent my nights with a flashlight reading until the batteries ran out or I feel asleep mid sentence. Then one day I got married. Just in case you were unaware, married people go to bed by 9:30. My apartment complex was silent by 10:00. Sometimes you'd think I lived in a geriatric ward. I tried to comply to the married-therefore-I-am-now-old-and-boring social rules and go to bed early, but 12:30 was the absolute earliest it ever got. Poor Rory. Rory left two days ago and since then I've read three going on four books, and now that I qualify as married-therefore-I-am-now-old-and-boring I don't even have to use a flashlight:)

Secret to Student Teaching Success

It was last November that I confided to my mother-in-law that I desperately wanted a Hannah Montana lunchbox. If you want to know the truth, I have never seen the Hannah Montana show or any of the High School Musical movies. It was pure peer pressure. I was employed at an elementary school as an ESL teacher, and I just wanted to fit in. Every student had Hannah Montana notebooks, folders, backpacks, t-shirts and stretchy pants. Since stretchy pants aren't really my thing, I knew I was destined to own a Hannah Montana lunchbox. Several months later I received a package containing just that! At this point I was student teaching at Timberline Middle School and wasn't sure how the students would react to my new shiny pink lunchbox sporting a Disney Channel character. But since it's kinda 'cool for school' and since I've always been kinda a rebel (it would be completely appropriate to scoff here) I decided to bring it anyways. Let me tell you, word spread like wildfire. Señora Hekking has a Hannah Montana lunchbox. I went from regular old teacher to the cool kid on the block. Within no time students where asking me for lunchbox-fashion advice and what Disney characters would be the next big thing. Thanks Susan! You rock!

New Found Joy

Several weekends ago, Rory and I had the pleasure of heading to Laguna Beach for an all-expense paid vacay. Friday evening we flew into John Wayne airport. Yes, an airport named after a cowboy. That's how you know you are going to have a great weekend- although I was disappointed to find it completely devoid of cowboy decor and southern accents. Even more alarming was the fact that not a single soul greeted me with the ultimate cowboy platitude: "Howdy Partner". Our driver picked us up at the baggage claim and escorted us to an Escalade which brought us through the glitz and glamour of Orange County before arriving at our beachside hotel: The Montage. Now don't worry, we ain't jaded. Our driver had a keen sense of chic-ness and quick to sniff out our completely un-chic status as poor-married-college student. On the way to the hotel he was sure to point out the local Taco Bell. After the personal tour of our hotel room, I discovered my current obsession. A fountain pen. Ladies and gentlemen, if you have never scripted a sentence with a fountain pen, I urge you to go to your local chic hotel because they give them away for FREE! Unbelievable, I know. Fountain pens are the most choice writing utensils I have ever chanced to use. This certainly was an epiphanous weekend.

Farewell, My Friend

By Rory
Throughout my life I have had friends come and go, and all of them have touched my life in some way. Each one has filled a void that had not been filled before, nor been filled in the same way after. Yet about a week ago I lost a friend that filled a void so huge, it can never be replaced. The size of that void is 22,700. The BYU Marriott Center has done/been every single thing that I could ever ask for in a friend. We first met in 2004, and while I was excited to be friends, there were many difficult times. In fact only 6 out of the 14 times we hung out that first year of frienship did we end the night happy with each other. Yet, this friendship persisted and I was rewarded with countless nights ending with everyone singing "Celebrate". The Marriott Center and I were best friends.

Before I go on, I want to explain to you why this friendship means so much to me. All my life I have loved sports, both watching them and playing them. On the rare occasion that my family and I went to games, I always wanted to cheer, stand up, shout and yell. But our seats were in the old people's sections and I felt out of place. I watched with envy as the students cheered, screamed and yelled, hoping one day that I too could cheer on my team. That opportunity was given to me at the Marriott Center. I got to do all that I wanted to encourage my team, and not only was it not strange, it was accepted and encouraged. My lifelong dream was realized. The Marriott Center allowed me to finally express myself in ways that I had never been able to before.

Now some of you might be saying, Rory, you're ridiculous; or Rory, get a life. But let me ask you something: what makes a good friend? Did we spend time together? Yes. More than many outsiders think might have been healthy. Did we party together? Yes. Twice we won the MWC and got to watch Lee Cummard and others cut down the nets. Did we have sleepovers? Yes. How many people can say that they have had sleepovers with friends other than roommates since high school? The Marriott Center and I have. It is for that reason that I shed tears as I left the Marriott Center after the New Mexico heartbreaker. I had said goodbye to my friend for the last time as a student, and though we might be reunited in the future, I will have changed, the familiar faces we hung out with will be long gone, and all that we will have left in common will be the memories we shared together.

Fat Guy in a Little Coat

Yes, I just quoted one of the most idiotic movies known to mankind: Tommy Boy. Somehow I manage to watch this movie in the wee hours of the morning every time I go home and visit my family. And for someone reason at 3:00 a.m. I find it absolutely hilarious. But that is beside the point. The point is for the last four months I have been the fat guy in the little coat. I have a peacoat from high school which is a bit too small. When I'm wearing it, it looks fine, but if you take a look at the lining inside my coat it is a disaster of ripped seams repaired by me, the girl who doesn't know how to sew, with frantic whip stitches. Everytime I put on the coat before leaving the house I would find myself humming the tune of fat guy in a little coat, fat guy in a little coooaat. It was great for my self-esteem. Thankfully, I found a new coat on clearance this weekend and will no longer refer to myself as a fat guy in a little coat. To commemorate the special times we had together and the way that coat warmed my soul, I would like to play a tribute:

Pleasant Grove?

Pleasant Grove always seemed like a nice enough place. After all, it is called the City of Trees and it is P.G. that hosts the quaint Strawberry Festival every year. I've actually been meaning to go there for some time to visit Patina's and get a pink donut from Daylight's, but that becomes less appetizing as the days pass. You see on my forty five minute drive to school, I pass through P.G. At first my thoughts were, I need to go check that place out! There is nothing I love more than finding the hidden treasures in a small town. Just ask Rory about my love for Kearny, Nebraska. I adore it. Well, after a week of driving by P.G., planning my weekend visit, I noticed a terrible stench. An overpowering, putrid stench that has remained in P.G. for at least two weeks now. It's as if a sewage pipe exploded, but nobody noticed. So I took the liberty to write the P.G. Chamber of Commerce a little note. It went like this.

To whom it may concern:
I have been interested in paying a visit to your town for some town. However, the town seems to be suffering from some sort of sewage problem. It makes Pleasant Grove seem very unpleasant. Will this situation be remedied in the near future?

Cordially,
Lauren

Until I get a letter of response I will be wearing a clothespin on my nose and buying a brand new air freshener.

Student Teaching

I'm doing my student teaching at Timberline Middle School and am really excited for the semester. To give you an idea of what it's like to teach middle schoolers, I'll tell you a bit about my first day.

Day One: After introducing myself to the class, my mentor had them ask me questions in Spanish. I was asked the following questions:
Do you want to go on a date?
Do you drink alcohol?
Do you smoke illegal drugs?
Do you have feet?
Do you eat?

I can tell this semesters going to be great one. lol.

Family History

This summer we decided to start learning a bit more about our family history, specifically my Dad's family since the majority of my Mom's and his parents are done. My Dad is a convert so that involved starting with square one. My Dad is 100% Irish, which is something I really identify with. I love our Saint Patrick's Day traditions, corned beef, and spent a fair amount of my childhood doing the jig. I even own a copy of Far and Away, Riverdance, and The Secret of Roan Inish. I'm pretty sure that right there proves I'm hardcore Irish. Anyways, despite my love of everything Irish, I am a bit irked at my ancestors. For some reason unbeknownst to me, they decided to all be named the exact same thing. Every single one of my realtives are named Daniel, Thomas, Catherine or Mary. Not even kidding. Except for Mabel Mackey, which is such an original (and awesome) name that it was a pleasure to research her. She's the only Mabel Mackey. Ever. To make matters even more complicated, everyone with the last name McGrath lived in the same town in Ireland. And to further complicate things, they all moved to Chicago. So after researching all 57 Daniel Rooneys we completed a five generation pedigree chart. In order to continue we will be setting sail for Ireland in 9.5 years. It's going to be awesome.