Five Years Of Misadventures And Pretending To Write.

Today, dear friends n' family n' people societally obligated to [tell me that they] read this blog...

Today is Lollygag Blog's 5th birthday.

Yes. It's been five years of zero through-lines, cautionary diaper tales, encouragement towards apartment-rentin', and the occasional mention of The Hamburglar. This site started out as a place to free-associate and enjoy some For No Particular Reason writing. (Which sadly, is time zones different from the kind of discipline needed for successful and lucrative playwriting and novel-creating. I've heard.) For your perusal/hilarity/first-ever-time seeing the weirdness that goes down in my brain all the time, here's a brief recap:

This is what I was doing roughly two weeks before I started Lollygag Blog. Sigh.

June of 2008: I was an apartment-renting, nannying newlywed. And I was forever coming across these incredible picture frames with the oddest inscription and enclosed photograph combinations. This was my second-ever post.

June of 2009: Pregnant and about to embark on homeownership (of the fixer-uppiest home ever to be owned), I decided to instead focus on my impending 29th birthday. (I want to call up almost-29-Keely and ask how rested she feels. And I'm really gonna listen to what she has to say. And then I'm gonna hang up in anger and disgust.)

June of 2010:  Having successfully lived in a home which threatened daily to fall down around me for almost a year and boasting a totally functional infant child, I was able to turn my interests towards things of REAL importance. Like a mallard puzzle which haunted my dreams. (And goodness me, but why didn't someone suggest that 80,000 words was slightly too lengthy for a "normal reader?'

June of 2011: Since we're clearly such experts, we decided to have another kid. But this time we weren't gonna panic- oh no- because we were no longer First Time Parents. (Sorry, Susannah.) I also became obsessed with playing games on the Nintendo DS. I don't "hobby" halfway.

June of 2012: Two daughters, a house semi-standing, and the lifelong dream of finally getting to go to jury duty! (Spoiler: all those years of watching Law & Order maaay have been wasted.)

And this is what my weekends look like now.
Photo courtesy of Clark Street Photos.
Dilapidated fence courtesy of our Scooby Doo property.

Which brings me to the now. And I love "the now" of this blog. Between the awesome blogtacular pals I've made (have you met Alison? Julie? Greta? To name a very smallish, wonderful few), and working with some utterly fantastic clients, to search terms that have brought readers to my blog such as "smell in attic" and "what to do about the burning," I'm feeling pretty lucky and stoked. Stokely.

Not to mention the simply marvy readers and commenters and lurkers who make me feel slightly less crazy- or slightly more acceptably whimsical. Thank you. I love you. You look really great in that shirt.

Here's to another five, yeah?

I promise to have snacks next time.

It's My Birthday All Day.

At the risk of sounding like a teensy weensy child with a big ol' bow atop her pincurls...

...Today is my birthday.

And even though 33 is far too old for pinafore-wearin' (I asked), I'm still down to celebrate. Because seriously, at this point it's never been clearer to me that every single second of life is worth celebrating. Even the parts which aren't quite so self-high-five-worthy.

Nora (still very much so three years of age) informed me that she was going to make me a banana cake. I asked her what recipe she had and this is verbatim what she told me:

"You smash some bananas, smash some peanuts, you need one cup of jam, two cups of sugar, three cups of cake [ed. note: I knew it was in there somewhere], four cups of bread, seven things of some orange pieces, and eight apples. Mix it in. And then it's a cake. And you'll need nine peaches. And you stir and you stir and it'll be so yummy to eat. And put candles on and blow it out and you eat a piece. And that's how you make a cake. If you make a cake you can make a banana cake with all of your favorites."

Pinterest that, ladies.

Things haven't changed a whole heck of a lot in terms of how I celebrate my birthdays. I mean- yeah- my older sister has ceased doing puppet shows at my parties (for reasons that are way beyond me) and has recently slacked in the department of reading the [first] Mario Brothers Nintendo game cartridge insert story to me on my birthday eve (it was a good read)...but I still found myself playing with porcelain dolls this morning. And while I'm not wearing the purple two-piece Birthday Outfit O' Awesome (which I rocked for roughly six years), I am wearing a sundress.

And a crown.

Eerily like what I'm wearing today.

I even have a birthday request. Which- oh my gawd- I realize is crass. But indulge me. Because this year has already been A YEAR, youknowhatImean?

My birthday request (besides world peace, a nap, and for my Dad to get better/make me a tray of his famous Alfredo) on the oh-so milestonerrific 33rd birthday is to get my Facebook page's likes up to 660. Really. That's it. Why 660? Well, today's June 6th...and asking for 6613 likes is borderline cray cray...and hiking the number up by 200-something seems doable...and 666 is the devil.

So 660. Obviously.

If you're so inclined, it'd be awesome if you'd share this here linky loo:

Keely's Facebook Fan Page For Lollygag Blog (Of Awesome). 

That one. Right up there. The way I figure it, this birthday present is way cheaper than a smallish blue box from Tiffany's and way less mentally crushing than that time I asked for a bunch of troll dolls and every single kid at my party showed up with one, but two kids came with identical soccer trolls (which I loved), but after the party one had disappeared and I stayed up for like a week searching for it and clearly- 23 years later- have yet to move on.

I thank you. (Both for sharing and for not being outwardly judgmental about my inability to let go of material possessions.)

And thanks for being part of what I'm already pretty sure is going to be my favorite birthday.

As soon as I find that darned soccer troll.

My Dad Will Beat Cancer. (Round 12.)

Dad, today is your 12th round o' chemo. (Out of 12!)

And while you've been strong and stoic and awesome, I've been posting memories and pictures and videos that kiiinda make you wish you could cancel the internet.

So today, I will listen to you. (And it's only taken a day shy of 33 years.)

Here, for your hooked-up-to-chemotherapy viewing pleasure, is a video that the girls and I recorded shortly before bedtime last night.

Please excuse the lack of studio quality.

And the fact that one of us is in jammies.

And another has been having a day.

And the third really needs to pee. (I'll just let you try to Encyclopedia-Brown-out whom is whom.)

We love you, Pop/Dad. We all hope that this course of treatments knocked out the cancer from your awesome, dudely being. And that you feel better so, so soon.

Because if you don't, I might be forced to tell people that you were in an 8th grade band called Destiny's Children.

My hands are tied, here.

Airline Travel Brings Out Social Ineptitude.

Flying brings out the absolute worst in people. It just does.

There's the elbowing and jockeying for boarding positions. Because everybody needs to be the first to- do what, exactly? Sit down? Really? Even though every single one of us already has a seat (or boarding number), out of nowhere comes this competitive urge to beat the jerks onto the flight. And get settled. Because then we'll be home faster. Obviously.

Once boarded, some people have the inability to just step into their row without fluffing jackets perfectly over seats and armrests. Or turning their overhead luggage sideways- taking up two spaces- to ensure it doesn't get dinged. But God help the person in front of them doing the exact same. Flying must breed a special type of self-importance mixed with an utter lack of self-awareness.

On last night's flight back home to Chicago, I overheard a middle-aged woman brag to her seatmate that she always shoved her luggage in the first available overhead bin- so she didn't have to lug it all the way up and down the plane. And she could disembark more quickly! I wanted to slug her. I wanted to [loudly] point out that the seven rows of hands-free traveling in which she was luxuriating pretty much guaranteed that a person sitting towards the front of the plane would have to shove their bag towards the rear of the plane. And thusly not be able to retrieve their bag and get off the plane until every other person had left. But no, totally. Take it easy on those T-Rex arms of yours and enjoy your SkyMall.

There are the people who shoot dirty looks at the parents of screaming toddlers. Or at folks needing extra assistance or a wheelchair on the ramp. Or in the direction of people needing to climb over them to get to window or middle seats- even after the flight attendant announced that it would be a completely full flight.

Then there's just the weirdness.

Like the people coughing directly into your eyeballs.

Or the one-sided "conversations" that last two and a half hours.

Or this woman sitting next to me who, moments after takeoff, placed her jacket over the entirety of her head for the duration of the flight.

I was seated next to The Mummy.

But even janky air travel is worth it when you get home safely to your two edible munchkin children and your heartthrob of a husband who cleaned the house.

And as long as that's my constant, I can take the occasional 8 buck bag of in-flight chips.