May Date: Everest and General Schmanciness.

Okay, so for May's date we went to a restaurant. Again. Right?

Except- this restaurant happened to be Everest, and Everest is considered one of the best restaurants in the world. So we were excited. (We were also excited because it was our fifth wedding anniversary, but come on. Everest.)

Our drive down to the financial district was also pretty special because of the gigantic pink moon that highlighted Lake Shore Drive. Very Nick Drake.

After taking three separate elevators to get to the restaurant (I felt rather important/lost), we arrived at the positively gorgeous establishment. We were seated by like fifteen people and presented with multiple tasting menus and options. Here's what we ate:

-A trio of preludes which included a foie gras flan-like awesomeness, a silver cup of chilled pea and mint soup (which just tasted green and beyond refreshing), and a spoon of a fluffy bacon-infused happiness. (Super technical, I realize.)

-My first starter was Maine peekytoe crab with a celery root and granny smith apple remoulade. It melted my face with joy.

-Peej's first dish was crusted Berkshire pork cheeks and poached veal tongue on a beautiful bed of veggie something or other that he promptly devoured. For the record, we didn't actually converse with each other for the first half of the meal.

-Next up we both chose the roasted Maine lobster in an Alsace Gewurztraminer butter and ginger sauce. We contemplated being grownups and not dipping random things into the leftover butter, but that didn't last too long.

-My main course was the magret of mulard duck in pine honey. It was one of Everest's most famous dishes (and the personal favorite of our terrific waiter), and I'm stoked to report that it rocked my world.

-P.J.'s main dish was the loin of venison with a wild huckleberry jus and spiced pear. Our conversation during this course revolved around what we were eating. Baby steps towards romantic, date-like talking?

-We took a "break" between courses to have a gelee of ruby red grapefruit with these incredible grapefruit sugar crystals. Totally prepped me to keep gorging.

-My dessert was the Alsace New Style fromage blanc cheesecake with lemon, kirsch, and honey. It tasted like a slightly savory hug from an angel.

-Peej opted for the Alsace Vacherin and, aside from being a fairy castle concoction which our daughters would steal in a heartbeat, was a divine creation of Tahitian vanilla and strawberry glace, raspberry coulis, and meringue so pretty I wanted to wear it.

-Next, we were presented with celebratory chocolates (filled with espresso cream) because, obviously, we were starving.

- And finally, alongside our cappuccino and jasmine tea, we received a plate of dessert bites juuust in case we weren't ready to be rolled out to our car. Among my favorites were the lavender macaron and the raspberry jam bit o' awesomesauce, but P.J. blissed out over the white chocolate and espresso truffle. (Let's be honest, here. They were all our favorites.)

After nearly closing down the joint, we took the obligatory tourist photo in front of the stellar view of Chicago's skyline. (I waved to the street- 40 floors below- and then promptly stopped.)

It was an awesome dining experience and a terrific date. Proving that, yet again, great company doesn't need "conversation" to fill a perfect evening.

Just a world-renowned chef.

If we look exhausted, it's because it's 11:30pm and we've just eaten all the food in Chicago.

We Need More Birthdays: The American Cancer Society & A Sponsored Video.

I'm honored to be part of The American Cancer Society's 100th Birthday Celebration. Even though this is a sponsored post, all thoughts and opinions (and raging hatred of cancer) are my own.

Most of y'all know that my Dad has colon cancer- a particularly awful, terrible, unfair kinda cancer- and that my entire family has spent the past six months rallying around him. (And we're pretty lucky to have realized that "family" encompasses loved ones across the globe.)

Since November, I've seen cancer take a strong fella who never so much had the flu and turn him into an exhausted- though stoic, always stoic- guy at the mercy of chemotherapy, pills, hospital stays, and weeks lost to severe illness.

And I want my Dad back. I want more time to make memories like the ones where we danced at my wedding. Went on road trips. Ate nachos and watched The X-Files as part of my epic eighth grade Friday night Dad-dates.

And I want my Dad to be healthy again so he can do all the stuff that he and my Mom have always planned. (That Cape Cod beach-front cottage ain't gonna buy itself.)

The American Cancer Society- the folks behind nearly every single breakthrough in cancer research- are celebrating their 100th birthday. Since the early 1990s, the American Cancer Society has contributed to a 20 percent decrease in cancer-related deaths...totaling over a million lives saved since that time alone.

They want to do better.


The American Cancer Society wants to fund all potentially lifesaving cancer research. Help patients get rides to and from their treatments, and have comfortable places to stay during that time. And fight for all to have access to health screenings, clean air, and so much more.

They can't do it alone.

Help them make some noise about finishing the fight against cancer. Do it for my Dad. Heck, do it for your Dad- or Mom or friend or sister or child. Or for yourself. Do it for all of our loved ones who've bravely fought this disease- who battled their all and then some- but who were cruelly taken from us way too soon.

 I'm doing it for a beach-front cottage.

 I know just the guy for the place.

 *** This post is sponsored by the American Cancer Society.

Traditional 5th Wedding Anniversary Gift? A Nap.

This guy.

Peej's headshot back from when we were dating. I swoooooned. Lots.

Six years ago, he asked me to marry him. He actually shouted the question at me in exhaustion after multiple misunderstandings (mine) and attempts at subterfuge and romanticism, dammit. (His.) There was also his Grandma Dobbie's world-famous, forevermore-to-be-dubbed Engagement Pasta.

Kids, this is what a phone picture looked like in 2007.

Five years ago, I said yes. (He did, too.) Also, there was a brief moment of fear that our geriatric organist had kicked the bucket. But no- oh no- he had just been napping. Did I mention that P.J. cheerfully agreed to let me walk down the aisle to Boston's More Than A Feeling? In a Catholic church? (Tom Scholz would've been proud of how those pipes soared.)

We're blurry because our love cannot be contained.

Shortly thereafter, we honeymooned in Virgin Gorda. The only reason I'm including this picture is that I will never again look this incredibly awesome. (It's not hubris if I'm looking back on a pic, post-two pregnancies, yeah? I could be looking at an ancestor for how far removed I feel from this girl. An ancestor with a six pack.)

Kids, this is what your mother looked like before all those c-sections.
Your Dad still looks the same. (We are angry at him about that.)

Close to four years ago, we bought this house. This rambling, ramshackle, [financially] ramrodding house. And honestly? He's yet to make me feel like anything less than queen of my castle. (Except for that time the air duct vent fell and hit me on the face in the shower.)

Yep, that sure is a couch wedged into a hallway. It lived there for longer than I care to remember.
You know what? I don't even know why I watermarked this picture. Because really.

Three and a half years ago, we welcomed Nora Jane into our little twosome. And things haven't been quiet/boring since. But, we realized we were pretty good at this sorta thing.

It's like 1pm in this picture.

So a year and a half later we decided to bring Susannah Mae home from the hospital. And promptly realized just how not bolted down everything in our house was.

She's suspicious. Rightfully so.

There have been trips. There's been Italy and Wisconsin and California and even upstate New York that time our plane got rerouted due to an ice storm.

Our home has [mostly] been on an upward trend of kitchens that are useful, windows that open and close, and bathrooms without sewer sinkholes.

And since the day we met, we've been in (and involved with) a plethora of shows- some really, really good and some horribly, hilariously bad- and I was certain he was the shining star in each and every one.

He's still the cutest boy I've ever thwacked in the head with a tree branch [onstage]. And he's definitely the only one who'll do when it's time to play that game of "It's 3am, what's that sound? Go look." He's an absolute marvel to watch as a father- and we clearly create terrific little citizens together.

Yeah, I'd say the first five years have worked out.

Happy anniversary, love. Thanks for making every day feel like a cabana in Virgin Gorda.

A rather crowded cabana.

The mouse ears take up a lot of space.

My Dad Is The Best Post-BreakUp Date.

Hey everyone [Dad], it's that time again!

It's Wacky Wednesday Rem[wem?]inisce Day!

A.k.a. Dad, you've got your 11th round of chemo today and that totally sucks but you sir, do not- so here's a bit of awesomeness to take your mind off of the unfortunately quiet rave taking place in your hospital room. (You've got the drugs; I could absolutely Spotify you some house music. If you'd like. Just lemme know.)

(And in case you wanna catch up: Week 10, Week 9, Week 8, Week 7, Week 6, Week 5, Week 4, Week 3, Week 2.5, Week 2, and Le Intro. A hint at the crazy-awesome that is my father.)

The year was 1995. I had just turned 15.

I had recently been- for lack of a more delicate term- dumped by my first "real" boyfriend. And, well, I wasn't taking it so hot. It was the middle of the summer, and all of my friends (those whom I hadn't abandoned for the appeal of an upperclassman boyfriend) were busy doing terrific things in far-flung locales like New Hampshire.

Yes, I had a mullet. And a 2XL sweatshirt.
WHO WOULD BREAK UP WITH THIS?

My Dad, however, knew exactly what would cheer me up (and perhaps even blow my mind). He took me to a Blues Festival nearby, well aware that I was had a near fangirl obsession with Etta James, B.B. King, and the like. Both were there. We also saw Jimmie Vaughn (bro of the legendary Stevie Ray), J. Geils, and Elvin Bishop. (My heartache was flung aside as I realized that my Dad had presented me with the best summer of my life.)

He had gotten us seventh row seats. And- miracle upon miracles- people in the first six rows all meandered off before Etta James' set. (Fools!) So then suddenly there she was, singing- DIRECTLY TO ME AND MY DAD. I nearly lost my mind with joy as I sang along with her. Then I noticed that my Dad was laughing. And I noticed the look that Etta was giving me. (My Dad later called it the "why is this little white girl singing every single word?" but I called it The Ultimate In Awesome, Amen.)

The day was beyond fantastic, but what really sticks in my mind is the fact that it was an entire afternoon with just me n' my Dad. Listen, I'm the second of four girls. My folks owned a 'round the clock breakfast and deli establishment. One on one time with either of my parents was always at a premium- but that day, my Dad made me feel special. Cool. Non-mullety.

Like I was completely worthy of a day like that. Like I was his first choice and really, should be anyone's.

Even with my special blend of je ne sais quoi.

So Dad, get better. There are so many other concerts and festivals and musical extravaganzas we need to experience.

(Next time I'll buy the 35 buck souvenir hat.)